saturo's babymama

“why are you up?” he asks, already kicking the door shut behind him.

“i wanted to stay awake and wait for you,” you reply, voice hoarse and sleepy as you stretch your arms above your head. a tired yawn slips out right after, your eyes watering slightly.

“tch. i told you to stop doin’ that. you’re not getting enough sleep this way,” he says, brows furrowing as he walks closer. his tone isn’t harsh, just concerned.

“you know i don’t like sleeping alone,” you frown softly, watching him stop right in front of you. he drops his gym bag onto the floor with a dull thud before turning back to you fully.

“yeah, cause it’s sleeping that we do when we’re together, right?” he smirks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

FEAT. pro-hero CELLOPHANE & CHARGEBOLT

“eatin' real good, ass fat, i'm greedy,”

mdni cw: pussy eating

wc: 2k?

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

starting track….

“i don't want yo n*gga, he needy,”

denki k. ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“oh my god— let me get through the fucking door first.”

“oh, so-you-hate-me-and-you-want-me-to-die,” you silence denki, and his spew of stupidity with a single hand that cups his face and squishes his cheeks together.

he can be cute when he’s being a whiny bitch. the scrunch on his face turns into a pout, so you lay a teeny tiny peck on his lips before pushing him backwards so you can come through the doorway.

he had bitched and moaned all morning, it’s his one day off in the last, like, month, and you’re “leaving me already.”

oh, boo-hoo.

you knew he was gonna try and pull some sneaky shit, some stupid shit, so you took your sweet time coming home from work.

but your boy was antsy.

practically itching himself like an addict, rocking himself back and forth, all fucking day, waiting for you to get home.

you take a peak into the kitchen, at least he cleaned, no dishes in the sink, floor mopped, some leftovers on the stove for you, what a cutie.

but you don’t even get that far.

you don't even get to eat.

why should you, you didn’t let him eat this morning.

arguably, it's his fault for not waking up early enough to treat you before you left. you’re not the late type. well you can be, but you like sleeping so much your morning routine has been carefully crafted so that you have the bare minimum amount of time needed to get ready when you get up. and if he thought his little, annoying, blonde ass self, was going to disrupt that, he should think again.

so you left him like that, hard, pouting, itchy for five more minutes of your touch.

tough, fucking, luck.

you can’t indulge him, you give him an inch and he’ll take a fucking mile. you let him have one ‘last little smooch before you leave’ and then your panties are off before you even realise.

he’s always been like that. the worst combination of greed, always greedy, always hungry, and being so, what’s the word…charming, that he’s able to talk you into whatever he wants 99% of the time.

so you put your foot down, for once, and he’s so used to being spoiled.

annoying brat.

blowing up your phone the whole day, he missed you, missed you so bad he just had to send you twenty different pictures of his leaky dick.

flushed, pink, angry at you for leaving it in this state, and he always says his hands aren’t as nice, not as soft, they don’t know him as well as yours do.

“missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs into your ear, hands skirting round to feel up your chest. you’re still in your work clothes, sweaty from the day and from the journey home.

missed you? you can tell.

his hard, aching, cock slots itself into the crease of your ass, as he rocks back and forth, so fucking greedy. you haven’t even taken your shoes off yet, you’re still holding your bag, he can’t be serious.

you spin round and grab his face, again, and sneer, “i saw you this morning, stop fucking around.”

but that doesn’t do much to deter him, it makes it worse if anything. eyes misting over at the tone of your voice, the bite, the exasperation, and the way your soft fingers grip him, with force, with control.

he’s so fucking hard.

and you, his poor, exhausted, darling. so angry. so fed up.

he knows how to make you feel better.

lays you out flat on the couch, peppers your skin with apologies, with thanks. thanks for letting him touch you, thanks for being his, thanks for how, fucking, good you smell.

he inhales at the junction of your neck when he kisses you there, he thinks you can’t tell. the scent of your skin, the honeyed warmth of whatever body lotion you use, the traces of perfume, and of you.

you, you, you.

your sweat, your skin, it’s some crazy pheromone bullshit the way it makes his cock ache. god, he wants to smell you everywhere, wants to taste you everywhere, wants to lap up every inch of your skin, of your flesh, wants to lick it all up and drown in it.

pulling down your bottoms with haste, denki's fingers slide the fabric all the way down so it pools at your ankles, and stuffs his face into your panty-clad crotch so he can take a deep inhale.

fuuuuck.

shit, shit, he couldn’t put it into words, the way your scent makes his brain melt, slip out of his ears, flooding his senses with you and only you. he’s exactly where he wants to be, with you resting on your elbows and glaring down at him like he’s some sort of nuisance, like a pest, he has to restrain himself from making a mess all over the couch, again. instead focusing on making a mess out of you.

he mouths at your clothed pussy, slobbering all over the fabric, teasing your clit with his tongue, the dulled pressure making your toes curl as your legs come to wrap around his shoulders, and one hand fists his hair to push him deeper, closer.

you tsk at him like he’s a misbehaving dog, “if you’re gonna do it,” another shove of his head, “do it properly.”

you think he’s nodding, or maybe that just the movement of his tongue, lapping at the fabric, soaking your slit so your pussy clings to it, like he’s trying his best to suck out your juices from the damp cotton.

“nasty bastard,” the words are harsh, but the tone is breathless, a soft sigh, as you card your fingers through his soft blonde locks, twisting the hair around the digits, nails scratching at his scalp, “can’t even lemme have dinner first, huh?” punctuated by a yank of his head so he can face you.

his dazed amber eyes meet yours as he giggles, “m’sorry babe, m’gonna make it up to you, yeah?" as he kisses the crease of your thighs, over the fabric, below the fabric, "y’gonna let me? lemme make you feel good,” he murmurs into the soft creamy flesh of your inner thighs, leaving bruises in his wake.

“c’monnn,” he’s so hot when he’s trying to convince you to let him give you pleasure, “c’mon mama, it’ll be so good,” he kisses at your stomach, staring up at you, fake innocent puppy dog eyes that make you pulse, “just lemme have this first, then i’ll fix you a plate.”

“ain’t shit sweet but the pussy he eating,”

hanta s. ↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

it’s been a long day.

same routine, same business as usual but, for some reason, it hits him so much harder today.

he feels it every time he moves. in his shoulders first, that dull pull from overusing his tape all day, elbows stiff from swinging between buildings for hours straight, thighs sore from landing wrong one too many times. there’s a nasty knot in his lower back that’s been there since some concrete support beam nearly pancaked him during a rescue op last winter, and he's been skipping his physio.

that’s the feeling. the deep, marrow-level ache that settles into your bones after years of throwing your body around a city that never fucking sleeps.

his day started before sunrise, and he had to creep out of bed at four am. because his agency got called in for traffic management after some villain tore through the motorway barriers during a police chase. then paperwork, then patrol, then a proper emergency downtown.

he had to keep his head on straight for that, collapsed scaffolding, trapped civilians, tape anchored around snapped steel beams while emergency crews yelled directions over each other.

but now he's done, now he can rest for the day, now he can go home and have a sweet treat.

your thighs bracketing his head, his mouth moves like he’s starving. he’s been thinking about this all day. about you. about your juicy pussy. he tallied every hour at work, counted down every single minute until he could come home and eat.

“fuuuck, lemme get in there.”

he’s worked all day for this, tirelessly, dutifully, protecting the city, protecting civilians, and this is his reward. this is what he deserves.

“don’t even think about it sweetheart,” when you flinch, when you try to squirm out of his grip, how could you even think about leaving, not when needs you this badly. and god does he need you. needs your sloppy cunt all over his face. needs to rub his nose against your throbbing clit, needs you dripping down his chin, he wants to drown in it.

hanta’s on his knees.

as soon as he walked through the door he collapsed here, face first into your sweet pussy. mouth salivating, his body rutting against the bottom of the couch, he really has been thinking about this all day, about the meaty flesh of your thighs wrapping around his head and suffocating him. and now that he’s here, finally, it feels like he’s in a dream.

a dazed, drunken state, his shaggy black hair shaking with every movement of his mouth, of his tongue bullying its way in between your puffy pussy lips. and then his lips latch onto your clit, one harsh suck, and you’re spilling more and more of your delicious pussy juice into his greedy mouth.

it’s so fucking sweet, his fingers bruise the side of your thighs, he can barely hear you, hear how you whimper, hear how you moan for him, with how your thighs are acting as earmuffs. it’s a shame really, and he considers, briefly, on changing positions, just so he can hear the way your voice cracks when you call out his name. but he prefers this. prefers how easy it is to drink up each wave of cream that gushes out of you. and he likes how he can feel your legs shake like this, how you foot kicks at his back on a particularly malicious flick of his tongue. he likes how you anchor yourself onto him, how much you need him, how you've been craving this, the feeling of his mouth slurping up every last drop, just as much as he has.

if he passed out, right here, like this, and you got up, or moved, he would gain conscious back just to tell you to leave him there. he wants you to keep him here always, he's nothing but an instrument for your pleasure, he's nothing except what you need, a mouth, a tongue, some fingers. the desire to make you feel good is all consuming.

and he's so messy with it, so hungry and loud, god it's embarrassing, the wet smacks of his lips echoing throughout the room and intermingling with the shattered moans he’s pulling out of you. when you grip his hair, like a handle for a rollercoaster ride you can't stop, when you pull on it, he let's out a deep appreciating rumble that vibrates its way up your spine. his nose bumping against your clit, soaking his face in your essence, your scent infiltrating his brainwaves, making him stutter in his movements, making him drool.

the scratch of the stubble scattered across the surface of his chin rubs your pussy raw in the most delicious way. sends tingles all the way down to your toes, which in turn causes you to dig your heels into hanta’s sturdy back, which causes the cycle to repeat itself.

you could stay here forever, both of you blissed out after a long day. your back pressed into the couch by the firmness of his grip, the guardian of your pleasure, his big palms allow you to crumble into him and, well,

your pussy really is that sweet.

summary: katsuki had a wet dream about you — and now he can’t get the image out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. and when you find out? you’re sure as hell not making it easy for him.

warnings: best friend!katsuki, best friend!reader, reader is shameless, reader is down BAD, teasing, flirting, cursing, dirty talk, wet dream, smut, blowjob, gagging, spit, dom!katsuki, bratty!sub!reader, degradation, “this is a bad idea” typa fic, MDNI;

wc: 2,3k

Katsuki Bakugou has a best friend problem.

And it isn’t the kind of problem that can be solved by just talking about it, like normal friends do.

No. This is pretty difficult to solve.

Why?

One, because Katsuki doesn’t even talk about feelings or problems most of the time. He just bottles them up until something new appears and then forgets about whatever bothered him before.

And two, he definitely won’t talk about how a wet dream with his best friend made him feel.

Yeah. A wet dream.

He hasn’t had one of those since he was a fucking teenager, and it makes him feel so stupid. He is a grown man, for God’s sake. An established pro-hero. A respected one. And more recently?

A fucking loser.

A loser who now struggles to even meet your eyes while you’re having a simple conversation, because every time he does, he remembers how you looked in his dream — naked and sweaty and so fucking eager to suck him off.

feat. PRO-HERO CELLOPHANE

“here kitty-kitty, here kitty-kitty,”

mdni cw: ummm fingering, bad language, no 'grown folk sex' bcos im 20 fuck yall, what else, running from it, praise ig, needy reader, soft dom sero, is it soft dom? idk man, teasing, he's so annoying, fem reader, black coded reader, umm idk its kinda dub-conish? bondage, improper use of quirks, he’s sooo greedy omg, some shit just writes itself.

wc: 1.6k

starting track...

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“what time you gonna be back?”

sero huffs out a quiet laugh, low into the receiver, shoulders dipping as he leans back against the brick wall outside the restaurant. the night air’s cool, city noise humming around him, neon from the sign above bleeding red across the pavement.

he can hear it. the pout. you’re doing a piss poor job of hiding it, trying to keep your voice level, but it’s there, soft around the edges, pulling at his heart strings.

“tchhh… i don’t know, babe,” he says, cigarette tucked between his lips, words curling around the smoke. “what time d’you want me back?”

on the other end, you huff, softly, tiredly, his poor baby.

he grins, slow, lazy, eyes half-lidded as he exhales a thin stream of smoke off to the side.

“i want you here now, han.”

yeah. there it is. his head tips back against the wall, a soft tsk leaving him like he’s annoyed, but his slick smile is still there, stuck at the corner of his mouth. because his girl, his pretty girl, is at home, asking for him like that.

you’re not usually like this. usually it’s sharp words, dry tone, acting like he’s just barely tolerable. always got something to say, always got him rolling his eyes and biting back a laugh.

this is new, and he likes it a little too much.

“now?” he repeats, teasing, quieter this time, voice low as he drags the cigarette from his mouth, tapping ash onto the pavement. “damn. didn’t know i was in such high demand.”

you make a small sound, somewhere between a groan and a complaint.

“don’t start,” you mutter. “you said you’d be back early.”

“i said i’d try,” he corrects, easy, like it’s nothing. but his gaze flicks toward the restaurant door anyway, where muffled laughter spills out every time it opens.

shoto’s thing, it's a big deal, and the first time they've all been together in almost two years.

he looks back down the street.

then back at the ground.

“…it’s just dinner, baby,” he adds, softer. “i’m not gone-gone.”

another pause. he can hear something shifting on your end, fabric, maybe you moving on the couch, or pacing, you do that when you’re thinking too hard.

“i know,” you say, but it’s quieter now. honest. “just—”

he frowns slightly, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “just what?”

he can hear you exhale, he can almost see you bite down your ego and pluck up the courage to say, "i miss you."

god, his heart melts, and his cock twitches. you are so fucking cute, you don't even realise it. and he's a weak, weak man, it doesn't matter that he literally saw you this morning.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping, smoothing out just enough. “you miss me?”

he’s smiling like an idiot, full-on, but you’d never hear it in his tone. he knows better than to push it too far, knows you’d snap right back if he started sounding too pleased with himself.

there’s a small, irritated sound from you. you're probably rolling your eyes, you've probably got that half-disgusted scrunch on your face that he loves so much.

“don’t make it weird," your voice crackles through the phone, deadpan at his silence.

“i’m not,” he lies easily.

“you are.”

“a little,” he admits, softer.

the teasing edge dulling as he rubs the back of his neck, glancing down at the cigarette before dropping it and grinding it out under his shoe.

“alright,” he says, like he’s decided something mid-step. “i’m not staying long.”

you go quiet for a second.

“…you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he cuts in. “i want to.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“what, i leave you for a couple hours and this is what happens?”

three fingers stuffed into your sopping, quivering pussy, flexing, scissoring, in and out, and in and out, and in and out—

“nothing to say?”

what can you say? what can you do? other than drool into your pillow and quiver. other than arch your ass back into his palm and whine when he stops moving.

other than start pouting, again, “hann— why’d’you stop?”

fuck he loves this. he lives for this. because, again, you’re not normally like this. you love making his life hell, you love pushing his buttons and telling him how unfunny he is when he retaliates. you love frowning at him, and rolling your eyes, and muttering sarcastic shit under your breath.

so he savours these moments, the times where you crumble into his arms, or into his bed, and only he can pick you back up and put you together.

it inflates his ego so bad.

and his dick.

which he’s been ignoring for a while, and he’ll probably keep ignoring it for a little bit longer. i mean, how can he even focus on his own pleasure right now, not when his pretty girl is begging for his attention.

him and only him.

he wants to hear you say it again, call out his name, he wants that little “hanta, please,” on loop in his brain, again, and again, and again.

“where d’you think you’re going?”

because why are you running from it, feebly trying to shift yourself up the mattress. two big hands grab the underside of your thighs and pull you in, closer.

“thought you wanted me ‘here, right now’,” you hate when he does that, mocks your voice in that ridiculous high pitched manner that sounds nothing like you. “‘swear you said that, huh, baby, could’a sworn you were begging me to come home?”

your pussy replies for you, just squelch, squelch, squelch, god if you had any coherency, you’d be so embarrassed. but you’re so far gone, he knows it, so he doesn’t push for an answer.

instead he snickers, one of his hands placed on the small of your back, pushing your body further down into the mattress, practically holding you hostage, and the rough pads of his fingertips slowly caressing your inner walls.

“baby,” he snorts, swirling the digits, around and around, your poor abused clit, swollen, puffy. “stop tryna run, you wanted this, you wanted han t’come and make you a mess.”

“my girl’s soooo fucking filthy,” and he cages your body with his own so he can murmur directly into your ear, “listen to her, poor thing, she’s been thinking about me all day.”

god you hate him so much, you foot kicks out to try and get him to shut the fuck up, but those stupid fuckin’ hero instincts of his.

tape. the tape hero.

how could you forget.

you feel the familiar weight of it, the binding of his quirk, the underside of your calves suddenly feeling heavy and sticky.

asshole.

you haven’t forgotten yourself yet, “fuckin’ bastard,” you slur in between moans, as you weakly attempt to wiggle your trapped legs. “lemme go— lemme,”

“tch, not talkin’ t’you honey,” he’s delirious on the feeling of your warm syrupy walls clenching against his fingers, even tighter now that you can’t move, “m’talkin’ t’my poor baby down here.” punctuated by a wet smack to your clit that has your toes curling.

“she needs me right now,” he mouths at your shoulder, desperate to leave his mark on you, desperate for you to feel this tomorrow, to remember him when you go to work in the morning, “you’re not gonna deny her, are ya?”

you crane your neck back at his closeness, your soft pout returning, awh, how adorable, he caves easily, gifting you something that’s more claim than kiss.

his tongue making itself at home in your mouth, trying to hide his smirk as he nibbles on your lips.

he can’t help himself when you get like this.

especially when he knows that the weak attempts at escape are just for show, just so you can say later than you definitely weren’t into it, and what the fuck is he talking about.

always the way with you.

but you’ve gone quiet now that his tongue’s down your throat, invading your personal space. maybe this is what you wanted all along, him. crowding your body and clouding your senses.

god, it get’s him off.

how badly you want him, how much you need him.

and the fact that you can only get off with him here, the fact that your fingers don’t compare anymore, not after you’ve had a taste of his fingers, and his mouth, and his cock.

he might cum on principle alone.

might? he does.

with one limp hump, and a pathetic strangled groan that he desperately tries to swallow down. but it’s never felt so good.

he rides it out, through jitters and twitches, and fingers still pummelling your gummy pussy as he does so.

you feel it, the warmth spreading, through the fabric of his pants, all the way to the back of your bare thighs.

you would’ve started snickering, maybe made a cute little scathing remark as you are prone to, if not for the fact that he does quite literally everything in his power to distract you from the evidence of your effect on him.

his unoccupied hand snakes it’s way under your body so he can pitch your puffy nipples, his palm heavy as he grabs a handful of the soft flesh of your tit.

he doesn’t even let his mouth part from yours as he thumbs your clit, he leaves no space for you to comment, but i don’t think you would, even if you could.

not when you’re floating like this.

caught somewhere between space and time, where only he exists, only hanta, and his stupid, magical, fingers.

but even as he coos condescendingly when you finally squirt, and it gets all over his wrist, soaks his bedsheets, and the tingles spread all the way down to your toes, you know he’s not finished.

he still has to leave his mark deep inside his poor little pussy.

… end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

sorry guys i have cellophane sleeping in my bed tnite and im NOT SHARING.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

his hands will no longer stay on your hips. they move up slowly, sliding to your waist as he grips the hem of your blouse. there’s a brief pause — like he’s checking you, watching your reaction — before he starts pulling it up, careful not to rush anything.

and you don’t stop him. you encourage him.

your hands come over his, guiding his movements as he lifts the fabric higher and higher, over your stomach, inch by inch, until he finally reveals your breasts. your nipples harden instantly in the open air, and he bunches your blouse just above them, holding it there, leaving you exposed in front of him.

you moan softly into the kiss, your head tilting to the side, following his rhythm — or trying to— because it’s getting harder to keep up. wet, messy sounds fill his room along with your soft whimpers, the closeness between you two only growing more intense.

+ oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, teasing, situationship, implied voyeurism (?) // it's nothing special i just wanted to banish this bitch from my brain

"Just one last time? Before he gets here?"

"… Fine. But not for long." You huff, dropping onto the plush mattress and planting your feet on the bed. 

You watch as he practically trips over his feet to get to you, settling onto his knees between your legs as he brings his lips towards your heat.

In all your months in this … situationship. Denki's never shied away from his skills. He was boastful, arrogant — and just cocky enough to always back it up. His skills with his tongue were both a blessing and a curse, especially when he wants to ignore everything you say and pretend your rules don't exist.

DO I EVER

We know Denki, we know lmfao

It’s messy and tumblr nuked the quality but I was cackling the entire time while drawing it

og under the cut

a mha college au feat. DENKI K. & HANTA S.

“ladies and gentlemen, introducing, the chocolate starfish, and the hot dog flavoured water…. BRING IT ON!”

mdni

cw: “HELP!! MY BESTFRIEND WANTS ME TO SUCK HIS DICK SO HE CAN RECORD IT AND SEND IT TO HIS SITUATIONSHIP?!”

wc: 2k

starting track….

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

…….

“dude, you’re fumbling with the thing—”

“—i’m not, s’literally fine—”

“you’re gonna— you’re gonna smudge the cam— oh my god—”

“shit, i dropped it, hold on….”

“…you’re a fuckin’ mess.”

“me?! i’m the mess??? this was your idea.”

sero snatches his phone back from his bestfriend with a half-scoff half-snort. it was a bad idea asking denki to do this, the guy never takes anything seriously.

not that this is serious.

this, this is the funniest thing of the century.

this, this is him proving how fucking petty he can be.

because you, oh god, you’ve been taking the piss. ignoring his messages, acting like you don’t know him when he sees you in public, posting another guy on your story. really? and the dude wasn’t even all that.

he had to get his lick back, obviously.

but he has to be smart about this.

posting himself with a girl wouldn't do anything other than push you further away, and while he does enjoy your little games. he does actually, sorta-kinda like you.

he needed something, something good, something smart, something to make you jealous, but also hot, bothered, and horny.

how could he pass up an opportunity like this, a gift from above, or below, however you wanna look at it, in the form of denki kaminari.

because you're aware, he told you himself, offhandedly, about how he and denki used to fuck. not heavy, just two bisexual best friends, down on their luck, fried as shit, sometimes denki's dick in his mouth was just the natural progression of things, he can't help that.

but he remembers what you had said in reply.

“that's hot.”

and he was tickled, ego stroked, he prodded you further, because what exactly is the hot part, him, denki, both of them together? and you, in your own words said you wouldn't mind watching.

something about, yaoi, hentai, and something else about heated rivalry, and something else that he wasn't fucking listening to, because he was already filing this away for later.

you wouldn't mind watching.

but you’re not here. in fact, he hasn’t seen you for weeks, he thinks you might be mad at him for something he forgot about.

but just because you're not here doesn't mean he's just gonna fuck his fist, and mope about. not when his roommate is the denki kaminari.

the camera flips around.

they’re in hanta’s room, low blue lighting, nu metal on the speaker, loud enough to mask the noise they’re about to make, but not loud enough to distract from the task at hand.

denki’s leaned against the headboard, face lit by the blue light of his phone, probably scrolling on reels.

because sero was right. denki is not taking this seriously, at all. because this is stupid, you and hanta always fight like this, and he has to hear all about sero’s new ‘get back plan’ every fucking time.

at least this time he gets a good fuck out of it.

“hey princess,” the blonde says when he realises the camera’s facing him now. he throws a lazy peace sign at sero’s phone with a grin.

yeah, he’s gonna get a good fuck out of this.

he can already tell. sero came to him with an ‘idea’ which was just cornering him in the kitchen and pressing his boner into the crease of denki’s ass and murmuring lowly in his ear, asking him to come up to his room and ‘help him out with something’.

if he had known then, that he was about to make a sex tape with his bestfriend, he would've oiled up for the camera.

instead he's shirtless, hair tousled, the corner of his shitty sonic tattoo poking out from under his waistband, and emoting like a dickhead.

just before he can do one last bicep flex, the camera flips back round to sero. eyebrow raised in distaste, the piercing catches the flash of the phone, he's rolling his eyes and scratching the corner of his nose.

"anyway," hanta clears his throat, slips back into that stupid fake nonchalant tone he gets when he’s sending you voice messages, “i remember you said you were into that whole ‘yaoi' thing.”

he snorts, like he's mocking you, "me n' denks were gonna bang, so, i figured," he's collapses onto the bed next to denki with no grace or care for where he lands, you can hear denki complain in the background. "why not show you what you're missing?"

he grabs the blonde by the face, squishing his cheeks with his palms and drags his face into the picture. both of 'em cheesing at the phone, with matching hazy eyes and drooping smiles. like ying and yang with equal degrees of swag and stupidity across them both.

denki runs his tongue across his teeth, he’s been waiting for sero to do something for a minute, to touch him, to touch himself, a kiss, anything.

instead sero’s still fumbling with his phone, trying to figure out where’s he’s gonna put it to get the perfect angle.

and denki’s tired of waiting.

“dude,” the blonde’s voice is lower now, softer, two steps away from a whisper. “dude, dude— hanta.”

there’s a shiver that snakes it’s way up sero spine when he hears denki say his name. it’s weirdly intimate, in a way it’s not normally. it scratches an itch somewhere deep in his gut.

denki sighs again, impatient, borderline pouting at the lack of attention. but his gaze is heavy lidded, and his voice is syrupy. “just hold it for now, you can put it down later.”

and sero’s easy. they both know this. that’s why denki takes it upon himself to crawl over to where his best friend is still sat on the edge of the bed.

“you’re thinking ‘bout this too much,” he winks at the camera, hands running up and down the faded material coating hanta’s thighs.

as he curls his fingers around hanta’s waistband, nails gently tracing the exposed skin, “let’s just do what we normally do.”

hanta’s disembodied groan echoes, “yeaaah—ngh, yeah,” denki palming his erection through the fabric, “yeah, you’re so fuckin’ right.”

denki smirks at the shaking camera, because he knows, whenever you watch this, that you’re thinking what he’s thinking.

he traces the tip of hanta’s weeping cock through the fabric, softly, barely there, so easily pulling groans out from his friend. it’s so easy to get sero worked up, a bat of your eyelashes, the promise of a blowjob, he’s already half way to busting.

“hanta,” denki coos again. coy. so fucking coy. batting his pretty eyelashes with that doe-eyed look on his face, of course sero was a goner. the camera is visibly shaking from where he’s trying to keep the screen tilted. the blonde paws at his waistband, “lemme suck you off, real quick, i promise.”

what’s a guy to do?

fuck, he can’t do anything. except gulp, audibly. and nod his head like an overeager puppy.

but denki wants to have fun, why not. isn’t this supposed to be a show, a show for you, something sweet to wash out the bitter taste of the toxicity of your ‘relationship’ with hanta, in the first place.

“that’s not an answer,” slow, syrupy, as he licks his lips, eyes directed at hanta through the phone screen. he’s gone back to featherlight touches.

you both know sero loves this the most.

the build-up, the steady climb upwards. and every breath, every stutter, every sigh, every moan, in between then and now, he inhales all of it. almost like he enjoys this more than actually getting his nut. the act of dangling the pleasure in front of his face, just out of reach but so easily obtainable.

“m’sorry,” he exhales, eyes fluttering at the mere idea of denki’s mouth on his cock, “wan’ you t’suck my—fu-uck—”

shit, he would’ve dropped his phone if not for the burning desire for you to see this too, because denki’s mouth is like velvet.

the fleshy walls of his inner cheeks coax thick dribbles of pre-cum out of hanta’s throbbing cock. that perfect fuckin’ tongue of his glazes the underside in hypnotic waves, and all hanta can do is sit there and take it, let denki make a mess outta him.

it feels disgustingly good as the blonde pools his saliva and spits it right back onto him, that hanta can’t help but whine, low in the back of throat.

it’s a shame you can’t see his face. the way he tips his head back exposing the deep flush that blooms underneath the hickeys layering the column of his throat. his eyes, dark, dazed, and actively rolling back into his head, then fluttering closed, automatic, the puppet strings of his pleasure being pulled taut.

but you’d be able to hear how he hisses, “shii-it,” you’d be able to hear the pants pattering within his lungs increasing in volume every second, and the broken groans echoing in his chest with each bob of denki’s head.

you’d definitely get a clear view of denki. you’d see his mouth stretched around the base of hanta’s cock, bulge pressing against his cheek, visible from the outside, nose flush against the dark hair of his crotch.

and you know exactly what that smells like, if you inhaled now you’d probably still get notes of it. of that musk, the sweet sweat, that thing that is so uniquely hanta, that you could recognise with your eyes closed.

unlike denki, who’s dewey eyes are half lidded and fixed directly onto the camera. he’s a show off, he can’t help it, it just comes naturally to him at times like this. he might be laying it on a bit thick, swollen lips glistening with spit and jizz, eyelashes wet like lily stalks after rainfall. tears beading in his water line. the soft pout on his face as he slaps hanta’s cock against his lips, again, and again, and again.

but the dick-drunk daze in his eyes is real enough.

enough to let you know, whenever you do watch this, that denki’s cock is probably just as leaky as hanta's. in fact, if you're paying attention, you'd be able to see the way his hips roll, ever so slightly, and the friction making his mouth water. every subtle shift is just another drag of his cock against, either hanta's mattress, or, plainly, the material confining him.

either way, it's hot as fuck.

hanta seems to think so, "t-that's it, yeah, all the way into-nngh, shit, just. like. that."

deeper and deeper, all the way down into denki's throat, all the way down—

and that's where the picture goes black. muffled. fuck.

lucky for hanta.

because i doubt he'd want you to hear how wrecked he sounded, how animalistic. or see the primal instincts that caused him to grab denki's hair with both palms, white knuckled grip, and breed his throat. or watch him lose all composure as he forces the blonde to swallow every last drop.

and i doubt denki would've wanted you to see the way he limply accepted it, came back for seconds even, licking up every last spurt of his best friend's frothy cum. or the way he whimpered pathetically when he matched pace, and made a mess all over himself.

or the way he said thank you, afterwards.

or how hanta had grabbed him by the face and yanked the blonde back down on top of him. or how their mouths mashed together, hanta slurping the remnants of his own cum from the crevices of denki's mouth.

and i seriously doubt either one would've wanted you to see the electric current of overstimulation that phased through them both, after their sticky spent cocks made contact, in matching, delicious, pathetic humps.

or the way they spent the next twenty minutes torturing each other with the sensation, twitchy bodies and dazed grins.

…end of playback

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ermmm… haiiiii thank you for waiting 🫪