marylouise

every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.

he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.

then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.

nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.

your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.

you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.

you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.

“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.

nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.

you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.

his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.

fuck.

he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.

“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.

he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.

every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.

he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.

he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.

he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.

“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.

his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.

“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.

“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.

he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.

he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.

nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.

the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.

he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.

you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.

your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.

“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.

“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.

nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.

and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.

+

a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.

nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.

it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.

it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.

he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.

you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.

each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.

he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.

tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.

the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.

nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.

you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.

“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”

he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.

he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.

you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.

the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.

nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.

he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.

“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”

you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.

your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.

the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.

his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.

you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.

he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.

you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.

nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.

he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.

you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”

“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”

you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”

caught him red handed. fuck you.

he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”

his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.

“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”

you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”

the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.

he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.

nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.

he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.

his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.

his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.

he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.

the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.

nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.

he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.

he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.

he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.

the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.

he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.

only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.

he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.

nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.

when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.

your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.

he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.

you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.

the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.

“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.

he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.

you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.

nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.

his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.

the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.

he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.

“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.

your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.

his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.

now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.

he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.

you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.

nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.

but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.

with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.

your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.

he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.

the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.

your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”

the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.

nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.

“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.

nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.

his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.

the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.

nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.

nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.

your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.

finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.

a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.

the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.

he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.

“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”

the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.

he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.

“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.

every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.

he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.

then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.

nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.

your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.

you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.

you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.

“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.

nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.

you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.

his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.

fuck.

he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.

“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.

he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.

every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.

he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.

he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.

he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.

“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.

his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.

“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.

“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.

he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.

he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.

nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.

the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.

he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.

you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.

your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.

“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.

“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.

nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.

and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.

+

a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.

nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.

it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.

it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.

he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.

you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.

each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.

he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.

tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.

the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.

nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.

you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.

“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”

he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.

he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.

you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.

the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.

nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.

he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.

“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”

you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.

your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.

the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.

his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.

you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.

he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.

you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.

nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.

he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.

you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”

“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”

you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”

caught him red handed. fuck you.

he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”

his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.

“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”

you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”

the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.

he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.

nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.

he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.

his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.

his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.

he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.

the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.

nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.

he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.

he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.

he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.

the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.

he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.

only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.

he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.

nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.

when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.

your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.

he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.

you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.

the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.

“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.

he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.

you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.

nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.

his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.

the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.

he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.

“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.

your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.

his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.

now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.

he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.

you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.

nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.

but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.

with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.

your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.

he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.

the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.

your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”

the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.

nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.

“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.

nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.

his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.

the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.

nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.

nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.

your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.

finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.

a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.

the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.

he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.

“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”

the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.

he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.

“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.

when his tongue pushes deeper into your mouth and his large hands finally cup your breasts, you shiver involuntarily, your body pressing forward into him, brushing against his crotch and pulling a low grunt from him in response.

his thumbs find your nipples, gently pressing into the sensitive buds, keeping his touch there just to stir you up. it works, of course. the sensation pulls more sounds from you —broken, breathy, honest — and something warm starts building deep in your stomach, unfamiliar but addicting.

your breath catches completely, fingers tangling in his already messy hair, tugging lightly at the strands as you keep kissing him, still grinding against his clothed dick without fully realizing it. he grunts into your mouth again, rougher this time, reacting to to you.

and you don’t even try to hide how long you make these moments last.

you drag them out on purpose.

you two would kiss for hours, just to see how long it takes before one of you finally gives in and pulls away first, trying to make the other give up.

and it the end? you would be breathless, turned on and wet, your underwear uncomfortable and his pants obviously straining him.

“do i give you a hard time?” you ask on a shaky voice, a smile creeping up your lips.

he just scoffs, forehead resting against yours, hands coming down your waist, gripping at your skin.

“hah, you wish,” he smirks, then his lips find you again, as if everything that happend is just the beginning.

you two really like torturing each other.

before you even get a chance to pull him, he's already making quick work to escape, using the heat of his flames to vaporize the water-whip. rather quickly, the palace garden becomes overtaken with a thick, imperceptible fog, and once again, the air grows suffocating. you can't see him, but you can feel him. the heat of his flames. the smell of ash. he moves with the delicateness of a blown dandelion, like smoke sifting through air.

it's so quiet, so still, that the only thing you can hear is the sound of your own blood rushing through your veins. the ringing in your ears as you try to focus on your surroundings. it should scare you — being exposed like this, like a prey animal — but any feelings of fear are quickly replaced with those of unadulterated excitement.

still en garde, you cautiously begin treading through the fog, turning every-so-often so as to avoid being caught in a sneak attack from behind. somewhere in proximity to you, you hear the faint sound of shuffling, and you turn on your heels quickly, ready to attack — only, there's nobody there. every attempt made by you to clear the fog is pathetically thwarted, and any space you somehow manage to clear, is almost immediately replenished.

your excitement was beginning to wane. this little game of cat-and-mouse was quickly starting to grow irksome, and you wanted to just say, "to hell with this sparring match!" but you decided to hold your tongue instead.

if you were going to win, you were going to have to play dirty. "growing tired, fire lord? or are you scared to face me?" you yell into the fog, a smirk playing on your lips. no response.

smiling, you open your mouth to speak again, "fine. i guess i'll have to spar with the avatar, at least he doesn't hide from my attacks like a coward," you start, abandoning your stance. you lace your hands behind your back, and begin to walk further through the fog, feigning indifference. "the thing i love about aang, is that he's not afraid to take a blo–" your sentence is cut off unceremoniously.

in comes zuko, barreling through the fog with an onslaught of flames. the attack is sudden, but doesn't hinder you from delivering your next series of blows. now that you've got him in close range again, you deliver your dirtiest trick of all.

you close your eyes again, and focus not only on your nearest surroundings, but everything. the moisture in the air, the sweat on your skin, the water in the flowers of the garden, the blood rushing through your body — his body. then, with the self-assuredness of a trained assassin, you bring him to his knees, forcing him down into the stone with a strong but steady hand.

the man's amber-gold eyes blow wide, not in fear, but in shock. he strains against your hold, but to no avail. slowly, as if you were a hunter admiring a fresh kill, you begin to encircle him. holding him here, like this, you can feel everything. the sweat above his brow, the saliva pooling in his mouth, the blood pumping through his heart and traveling to his other organs. the artery on the side of his neck is pulsating so wildly it might as well be an extension of your own. eventually, you halt your movements and bend down to kneel before him, inching close enough until your lips are just centimeters away from his.

"forgive me for playing dirty, baby, but i've had enough of sparring for today," you whisper, tilting your head in preparation for a kiss, ghosting your lips over his. "i can think of a few things that are just as productive, and none of them involve these..." you rasp, hand wrapping around his robe. the words die on your lips the moment you make contact with his, and with one smooth flick of your wrist, you relenquish control over his body.

without hesitation, he grabs you by the shoulders and pins you down into the rough stone of the garden ground. his grip is bruising, and his thumbs, which are positioned on either side of your collarbone, leave crescent-shaped indents in their wake, but there's no real threat. no bite.

"you're right," he breathes, looming over you, chest pressing to yours, "that was pretty dirty. i should punish you for it, leave you here to…" he removes a hand from your shoulder, trails it down the space between your chest, down the expanse of your stomach, then settles between the aching heat of your thighs. he cups your cunt over the fabric, and you shudder at the contact. "…should leave you to take care of it yourself."

zuko practically curses under his breath. he can feel you through your pants and — shit, you're so wet. he has half a mind to take you right here. to ravage you, and pull you apart threadbare, while you're lying on your back for him, so willing and ready — but the self-discipline he's honed over the years is ironclad. unlike you, he's learned to be patient. to take his time. and right now, he was going to show you exactly what it looked like when someone played dirty tricks.

squirming in his hold, you push up from your elbows, chin high and eyes sparkling with something that does nothing to calm the ache in his cock. feeling emboldened, you lean up, the beginnings of mischief on the tip of your tongue. "being mean doesn't suit you," you prod, peering up at him through long lashes, giving them an avian flutter.

zuko chuckles, deep and drawn out, and you can feel the vibration of it in your ribs. he takes a rule from your playbook, puts his face real close to yours, so close that you think he's going to kiss you — but he quickly bypasses your lips and droops down to your ear instead.

his breath is hot on the shell of your ear when he whispers, "and being a brat doesn't suit you. like you a lot better when you're nice to me. think i let you get away with too much," he says, hands already making quick work of disrobing you. "if i rewarded insolent behavior, that'd make me a bad fire lord, wouldn't it?"

you turn your gaze, mulling over what to say. "so, make an example out of me, fire lord," you breathe, tone laced with something raw, bleeding with want and desperation. you cease your squirming, lay your head back against the stone, and look up at him through lidded eyes. the blue of your irises so dark, that they almost look obsidian in the afternoon light.

"i yield," you exclaim. " i yield, i yield, i yie–!"

he captures your lips in a fervent kiss, and whatever ounce of discipline he thought he had, is long since forgotten the second you sigh into his mouth. immediately, you melt into his embrace, and he loosens his grip on your shoulders to hoist you up and into his lap. your hands are quick to wrap around his neck, and you take advantage of this new position to press your body closer to his, letting your lower half rock languidly over his clothed crotch. he responds with a soft groan, and you drink it down immediately, licking a wet stripe across his lips so you can lick into his mouth.

briefly, you pull away, and a crystalline rope of saliva tethers from your mouth to his. breathless and panting, you draw your head far enough to study him. his silk robes are disheveled, the pieces of hair that frame his face stick to his skin like wet parchment, his lips are slick with spit, and his chest and face are smattered in a deep, crimson-red shade that resembles the color of his hanfu.

he's so beautiful like this, you think. when he's not bearing the weight of an entire nation's misdeeds on his shoulders. when he's not bearing the weight of his father's sins, and everyone else who came before him. reaching up, your finger traces the royal headpiece nestled in his bun, trails across the ridges of each point. slowly, you lift it from his head, and watch as his long, raven locks falls into place around his shoulders.

"back then, they'd have your hand for removing a fire lord's headpiece from his hair," he says, leaning back on his hands.

"yeah, well, just add it to my long list of offenses," you smirk, wrapping your arms around his neck again. "plus, i think this fire lord happens to enjoy me."

zuko leans in, rests his forehead against yours. "i do?" he asks, voice light and teasing.

"you do," you say, matter-off-factly, lips ghosting over his. "it's why you let me misbehave so much."

"you're right, and that stops right now," he replies, though, you know his threats are empty and hold no real weight. it shows in the way he kisses you, how he picks you up and carries you to the grass. shows in the way he slips his thick fingers into your weeping slit, working you open until you're a sobbing, desperate mess for him. and when you're begging for him, so wet, and pleading, and pliable, that's when he unsheathes himself from his robes.

fists his aching cock once, twice, before he's leaning over your expectant body, one arm nestled beside your head, and the other wrapped around the base of him, lining up with your core. his eyes flit from your face to between your bodies, and he watches intently as the head of his cock begins to breach past your folds. the both of you shiver upon contact, and you find your arms wrapping around his back, fingertips leaving impressions into the heated skin. slowly, he pushes further and further, until there's no telling where he ends and you begin, and the second he's fully sheathed, the both of you throw your heads back.

he's so deep, and so heavy inside of you, and it stings. it should be easier after so many times, but it never is, and when he attempts to move, you squeeze your thighs around his hips so as to still him.

"just be still, please. for a second," you gasp, closing your eyes, trying not to focus on the intrusion, the twitching of his cock inside your walls. while the two of you lay still, zuko begins to busy himself with your lips. kisses you slow, with purpose, like he's trying to compartmentalize the shape of them to memory, and how they taste, and how they feel as they move against his. if agni decided, for whatever reason, to strike him down at this very second, he thinks he'd die happy. being between your thighs, kissing you breathless, he never grows tired of it. it's addicting, almost, and scary — how easily he loses any semblance of sense around you.

he tears himself from your lips, noses against your jawline, down the column of your throat, kisses and bites the skin there until you're littered in marks of his creation. the pain has long since subsided, and now you're eager for him to make a mess of you, to take you apart, piece by piece.

you find your hand snaking into his hair, and with a firm, but gentle tug, you pull him from the interstice of your neck and say, "do your worst, show me how i ought to behave around a fire lord."

sitting back on his haunches, he pulls all the way out of you, leaving just the tip of him inside, and then plunges all the way back into you with a devilish smirk. the force pushes you up against the grass, and your back arches in response, giving him enough access to maneuver you onto his lap. adjusting to the new position, one arm settles on the fat of your ass, and the other reaches up to cup your jaw. his grip on your jaw is vice, rough, and he turns your head to force your gaze to his. slowly, he begins rolling his hips, lifting you all the way up, just to bring you all the way back down with cruel precision.

"doesn't matter how hard i give it to you," he grits through bared teeth, his fingers pressing into your cheeks, "you're just gonna do what you want anyway, hm?"

you let out a soft laugh, hands sifting through silk locks again, grabbing a fistful. "you make it easy," you say, tugging on the strands. "you just look so cute when you're mad at me, and you get that knot between your brows. how can i no–!" he interrupts your admission with a sharp, punctuated thrust.

"you're such a brat," a thrust, "so stubborn all the time, and you've got such a smart mouth… but agni," another, "the way you fuck me, the way you fit around me… makes up for all the headaches." removing his hand from your jaw, he halts his ministrations briefly to slip off his hanfu until he's left in just his tunic. he lays it flat on the grass, then gently settles you down against it before grabbing you by the hips, and flipping you onto your hands and knees. without pause, he lines himself up again with your cunt, and pushes all the way to the hilt, until the plush, pad of your bottom is flush with his pelvis.

he doesn't even give you a second to adjust to the intrusion, immediately pulling out of you, and plunging back in, forcing your back into an impossible arch so that he can sink even deeper. you drop to your elbows in reponse, laying your head against the cotton fabric, and stuff it in your mouth to keep from screaming out for everyone on the palace grounds to hear.

his staff had been suspecting there might be something going on between the two of you. between all the "sparring matches," and "diplomatic meetings," and "impromptu visits," they figured you were more than just the fire lord's friend. it was the palace's best-kept-open-secret — everyone in his retinue knew, but nobody had ever been bold enough to question it. still, you didn't want to confirm their suspicions.

zuko notices you biting down on the fabric, and he forces you up on your knees, holding your hands behind your back. "don't act shy now," he grunts, hands tightening around your arms, "you needn't worry about anyone hearing. they're paid to mind their business. so, please, let me hear you."

you shake your head, stuttering out a small no, and he responds by wrapping a hand around your throat, so that he can press you flush against his chest. with his free hand, he sneaks his way down to the flesh between your thighs, and he presses two, fat fingers against your clit. he circles the nub in tight, quick sucession, and your back bows against him. a loud, debauched moan rips from your throat, and though you can't see it, there's a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips. his chin lowers to rest on your shoulder, and he turns to whisper in your ear, "good, so you can take direction. again, louder. this time, say my name."

"z-zuko – ngh – faster," you demand, hand shooting up to rest against the one he has on your throat. zuko obliges, quickening his rhythm, pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt, all while his other hand continues to work your swollen clit raw. you're breathless, and panting, and every inch of your body feels lit aflame, like you've been submerged in a vat of liquid-hot lava. you're fluttering around him now, a telltale sign of your impending release — and you can tell he's close too. his breaths grow shallower, and his thrusts, once fast and precise, are becoming erratic.

"are you close?" he asks, fingers relentless. you nod rapidly, crying out a breathless yes. without unsheathing himself, zuko forces you down onto your stomach, fucks you that way, and rocks into you like an animal gone rabid. it's obscene, unbecoming of a man with as much authority as he has, but he can't be bothered to care. not really. not when you're a sobbing mess beneath him, moaning his name, telling him how good he feels, how deep he is, and squeezing around his cock like a vice.

the knot in your stomach is taut, and threatens to unravel with every thrust of him that bumps closer, and closer to your cervix. the pleasure is so dizzying, that you're not even aware you're speaking. "i-i'm c-close!" you shriek, mouth agape. "come with me. w-want it inside."

unceremoniously, you come with a shrill cry, and the air shifts around you, becomes suffocating. your body stiffens, before relaxing, and you — all but literally — melt into the ground beneath you. your subconcious mind is anywhere but here at the moment, somewhere above, up in the clouds. your body feels like it's made of sea foam, you feel so light, that you briefly question if you're even real.

with a few more punctuated thrusts, zuko follows behind you, spilling his white-hot seed deep inside of you. you squeeze around him from the sensation, and he whimpers in response before falling atop of you. lazily, he continues to pump you full of his cum, and then rolls off of your limp body.

the two of you lay in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and the gentle breeze in the air does well to cool your sweat-slicked, over-heated bodies. eventually, the rapid rise and fall of your chests begin to slow, and your breaths return to a more relaxed state. when you turn your head to look at him, his chest is flushed all the way to his cheeks, and there's a calm expression overtaking his sharp features. you scoot closer, draping half of your body atop his chest, and just observe him.

you've never been shy about admiring him. lazily, you trace the planes of his face with your finger. you let it wander over his jaw, the rough edges of his scar, across his forehead, down his nose, then stop at his lips. you run your fingertip along the plush pads, before abandoning them to thread your fingers through his silky-smooth, raven hair.

"you're beautiful," you whisper, more so to yourself, not really looking for an answer. his eyes flicker across your face, then he sits up on his elbows, and places a chaste kiss to your lips. short, sweet, but firm.

"i love you," he says, unthinking. he's never said it before, nor have you, but he's thought it on more than one occasion, and he's always known it. hesitantly, you pull away, and he thinks he's upset you, but then you're tackling him into the grass, kissing him breathless.

"you love me?" your voice is so small, so sheepish, barely above a whisper. he can't even believe it's coming from you, that someone as loud, and stubborn, and annoying as you can sound so unsure. he wants to tease you for it, but he doesn't.

"of course, why else do you think i put up with all your mischief?" he admits, throwing an arm behind his head. "i mean, being gorgeous can only get you so far…"

gasping, you slap his chest, and he lets out a boisterous laugh. "oh, really? i happen to think this face has gotten me pretty far," you say, poking him. "you were practically undressing me with your eyes the moment we met!"

zuko raises his arm up in surrender, metaphorically waving the white flag. "okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves," he laughs. you squint your eyes playfully, raising a brow. "alright, maybe i did perhaps, think about you naked the first time we met. and you've exceeded my expectations, so you should pat yourself on the back — mmf!"

this time, you cut him off with a kiss. "okay, let's head back now before your advisor has my head," you say, huffing out an exasperated breath. as you begin to pull yourself from his hold, he pulls you right back down, keeping you pressed to his side.

"let him wait," he sighs, hands hiking up your skirts, "the fire lord is busy."

when he finally settles between your legs, his cock looks obscene against your smaller frame. thick, heavy, already glistening. you tense again the second you feel the blunt head nudge your entrance.

“breathe,” he says, one hand stroking your thigh. he’s trying so hard to be gentle, but his voice is strained. “i’m not gonna shove it in. not like that.”

he rubs the head up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness. you’re soaked despite the nerves, and that small fact makes him groan low in his throat. still, he goes slow—pushing in just the tip first, jaw clenched tight.

“fuck… you’re tight,” he hisses. his hips twitch, instinct screaming at him to thrust, but he forces himself still. “too much?”

you shake your head, eyes still closed. “keep going… please.”

toji pushes in another inch, then another, cursing under his breath the whole time. every time you whimper he freezes, big hand rubbing clumsy circles on your hip. he feels too big, too rough, too much for someone as anxious as you. but you’re taking him so well, stretching around his thick cock, and it’s driving him crazy.

halfway in, he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. his voice comes out rough but surprisingly soft. “you’re doing good, baby. so fucking good for me.”

when he finally bottoms out, buried to the hilt, you both moan. he stays still for a long moment, letting you adjust, even though his arms are shaking with the effort of holding back.

then he starts moving—slow, shallow thrusts at first, trying not to be too rough. but toji has never been gentle in his life, and it shows. his hips snap a little harder than he means, the slap of skin louder than he wants. every time he catches himself he curses and slows down again, kissing you messily to make up for it.

“sorry—shit, sorry,” he mutters against your lips when he accidentally thrusts too deep. “you feel too good. can’t help it.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, finally opening your eyes. the fear is still there, but so is want. “it’s okay… i like when you’re a little rough.”

that seems to break something in him. toji gathers you against his broad chest, one thick arm sliding under your back to hold you tight. he fucks you like that—deep, steady, still a little clumsy, but wrapped completely around you. every thrust is punctuated with gruff praises and clumsy kisses.

when you finally cum, clenching hard around his cock, toji follows right after with a low groan that vibrates through his chest. the feeling hits him like a punch to the gut.

your walls flutter and squeeze around him so tightly, pulsing in waves as your orgasm crashes through you, and it drags him under with you. his hips stutter once, twice, then slam deep one final time as he spills inside you—thick, hot ropes of his creamy cum flooding your insides for the very first time.

“fuck— that’s it… take it,” he rasps against your ear.

it feels overwhelming. the wet heat of your pussy milking him, the way your body trembles and clenches like it never wants to let him go, the slick sound of his cum already starting to leak out around his thick cock. he’s never felt anything like this before—raw, intimate, almost too much.

every pulse of his release seems to push deeper, filling you until you’re stuffed full of him. toji stays buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush against yours, letting every last drop spill into you. his breath comes in heavy pants against your neck as the intensity slowly ebbs, leaving him shaky and strangely tender.

he’s cum inside plenty of women before, but never like this.

never while holding someone so small and anxious in his arms. never while feeling your heartbeat hammering against his own. never while his rough hands are still gently stroking your back like you might disappear if he stops touching you.

the sensation lingers—warm, wet, intimate—and it makes his cock twitch again even as he softens just a little inside you.

“shit…” he mutters. “you feel that? feel me filling you up?”

he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, still rocking ever so slightly to push his cum deeper, savoring the way your body accepts every bit of him.

for the first time in his life, cumming inside someone doesn’t just feel good.

it feels right.

then his large hand slides down between your bodies. his palm presses firmly against your lower belly, right below your navel. he pushes down gently, feeling the slight bulge of his thick cock still buried deep inside you.

“fuck… can feel myself right here. so deep in you.”

you gasp sharply—you’re still so oversensitive from your orgasm, every nerve raw and sparking. the feeling of his hand pressing down while he’s still inside you makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment. you try to squirm away.

“toji… don’t— it’s embarrassing…”

“no,” he says, firm but surprisingly gentle. his thumb strokes softly over your skin as he looks down at you, eyes dark and intense even in the low light. “look how well you’re taking me. all full of my cum… belly swelling just a little because of me. nothing about this is embarrassing, baby. it’s fucking perfect.”

you whimper, face burning hotter, but your body betrays you by clenching around him again. toji lets out a low, satisfied hum and presses down just a tiny bit more, feeling the shape of himself through your soft stomach.

“yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “so damn pretty when you’re stuffed full of me.”

then toji rolls onto his back, taking you with him so you’re lying on his massive chest, his cock still nestled warm inside you. the room is quiet except for your slowing breaths. his rough hands, usually so quick to grab and bruise, now move with surprising tenderness. one palm strokes slowly up and down your spine, while the other hand cups the back of your head, thumb brushing gently behind your ear.

he keeps caressing you in long, lazy passes—over your shoulders, down your arms, along the curve of your waist. every touch is careful, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid his calluses might scratch you.

what the hell have you done to him?

he feels clumsy and huge and completely out of his depth, yet he can’t stop touching you. can’t stop wanting to be gentle for you.

“you okay?” he asks.

you nod. “yeah… you were really good to me.”

toji huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no bite in it. his hand keeps stroking your back in slow circles. “didn’t think i still knew how to be gentle,” he admits, almost to himself. “you’re making me all soft, doll. never thought anyone could do that.”

he pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders and tucks you more securely against him, one thick thigh sliding between yours to keep you close. his fingers continue their gentle exploration—tracing the shell of your ear, the line of your jaw, the delicate skin of your collarbone.

“stay here tonight,” he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. “don’t want you going anywhere. not after that.”

you smile against his chest, and toji feels something warm and unfamiliar settle deep in his ribs.

yeah… you’ve ruined him.

and for once, the roughest man alive doesn’t mind being soft at all.

"No, we don't need your help." The pinkette giggled, gesturing for you to join them.

You huffed as you dropped your bag on the floor, you were still currently in your uniform, minus the blazer. Your shirt had some stains on it from all your tinkering you had done earlier.

"So what do you want?"

"Eh, that's no way to talk to your best friend." You rolled your eyes at Mina's outburst, the rest of the girls giggled, Jirou offered you some sweets as you snatched an empty skietch pad from the circle.

"We haven't seen you in a couple of days. What's so precious that it's taken your time away from us?" Ochako asked, voice slight of teasing as she nudged her knee with yours.

"A boy, maybe?' Hagakure chimed in, your face scrunched up in slight disgust. It's not that you didn't appreciate the guys in your school; you just didn't have time for them. Most of the time.

You weren't a virgin, far from it, but some of the guys didn't give you as much pleasure as tinkering with your gadgets did (pun not intended)

"No, the boys in my course are boring as fuck and expect to just get a girl off on penetration alone."

A beat of silence.

Then the whole group howled.

“Damn, say it louder!” Mina cackled, nearly choking on a chip.

“I’ve just given up on men until I meet one who knows what he’s doing.”

“Oh?” Mina leaned in, eyes sparkling. “So you’re open to the right one?”

You paused, side-eyeing her. “I guess? But no one’s really caught my eye.”

The circle went suspiciously quiet.

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jirou said way too quickly.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me—what’s with the faces?”

“It’s just…” Mina grinned, eyes devilish. “There might be someone who could keep up with you.”

You laughed, leaning back on your hands. “Highly doubt it.”

The group kept giving you knowing glances that started to irritate you, but before you could demand anything, Midoriya walked into the kitchen, his eyes glancing over to you before they lit up.

"You're here." The green-haired boy ran over to you, excitement in his voice. '"ohmygod thank god, ineedhelpwithmysupport--"

"Deku, slow down. You know I can never understand your rambling"

"R--right sorry. My support item’s been acting weird and I wanted to see if you could take a look at it. I didn’t want to bother Hatsume again—last time she added a grenade launcher without asking.”

You snorted. “Classic Mei. Yeah, I got you.”

Midoriya lit up, you already started walking as he rambled on next to you.

Bakugo had watched the two of you walk off together, he had froze mid step as he stepped into the common room, Kirishima and Kaminair stopping behind him.

“…The fuck?” he muttered, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Aww, was that y/n just now? I wanted to tell her about this new game I found." The overenergetic blonde let out as he waltzed up to the girls.

"Where the fuck are they going?" He barked, not caring how outraged he sounded.

"Oh, Izuku asked her something and she agreed. I guess they are getting it over with." The blonde blinked at his pink friend, he must not have heard her right.

"The fuck you just say?"

Mina looked up at him, and her grin spread slow and sweet. “He asked her for something,” she said innocently. “So she said yes. I guess they’re getting it over with.”

Bakugo blinked.

“Excuse me?” His voice cracked around the edges.

“Oh, you know,” Mina said, fake-casual. “He asked. She said yes. So now they’re off… getting it done.”

“They’re working on his support gear, Bakugo,” Jirou cut in, rolling her eyes. “You can calm down before you combust.”

“I am calm,” he growled.

“You’re clenching your fists so hard your knuckles are white,” Hagakure pointed out.

“You’re jealous,” Mina teased, wiggling her brows. “So cute.”

“I’m not fucking jealous!”

Kirishima raised a brow. “You sure? Because it kinda looks like you want to murder Deku.”

“Tch.” Bakugo scowled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Dumbasses. Don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

He turned and stomped off, ears red.

“Where’s he going?” Kaminari asked, watching him leave.

“Probably to pace a hole into the training room floor,” Jirou replied.

It had only been two days since you started working on Deku’s wristbands, and honestly? You were kind of obsessed.

They were one of your favourite projects to date. Originally designed by a renowned American tech engineer and brought to life by Mei during your first year, the bands were a blend of precision engineering and brute-force durability. Honing them to perfection? A dream.

Your lab was your sanctuary—quiet except for the bass-heavy rap playlist bouncing off the walls, the smell of solder and metal in the air, and the hum of your tools in your hand.

You were currently bent over the workbench, shorts riding up your thighs, cropped tank clinging to your body as you adjusted one of the internal circuits with surgeon-level precision. You barely noticed the way your hips swayed to the music while you worked—it was instinctual, natural.

Deku had followed you to your lab that day, notebook clutched like it was his lifeline, rambling about specs and hopeful upgrades. You listened. You even took a few notes. Then, you promptly kicked him out.

“I’ll bring them to you when I’m done,” you said.

That was 48 hours ago.

You wiped sweat from your brow, tongue poking out between your lips as you tightened the last screw on the left bracelet. The power calibration was just right now.

“Fuck yeah,” you murmured under your breath, pleased with yourself.

You were about to run a final diagnostics scan when—

“Oi.”

The low, gruff voice snapped you out of your focus.

You blinked, barely registering the thunk of something heavy being dropped on your bench until you looked up—and damn near lost your train of thought again.

Katsuki Bakugo. Resident rage monster of 3-A. Towering in front of your workstation, a towel slung over one shoulder, chest still gleaming from a fresh workout. His black tank clung to every inch of his torso like it had been painted on, and those gray joggers hung low on his hips like they had a damn grudge against your willpower.

Your gaze flicked to the gauntlet he’d dropped, then back to him.

“Can I help you, Bakugo?”

“There’s something wrong with this damn thing,” he grunted, jaw tense. “Don’t got time to mess with it myself.”

Your brows raised in surprise, you heard that he worked on his gauntlets himself. Refusing to let anyone tinker with his babies so yes, you were surprised that he was asking (?) for your help.

You blinked, honestly a little thrown. “You want me to look at your gauntlet?”

“I’m asking, ain’t I?” he snapped, irritation laced with something that felt like… impatience.

You blinked, thrown off. This was… weird. Not that he was asking for help—well, okay, yes, that too—but it was the way he was doing it. Almost like he trusted you. Like he was trying not to sound too desperate, and failing miserably.

You squinted at him, skeptical. “You don’t let anyone touch your shit.”

He just folded his arms tighter.

You scoffed, pushing your glasses up your nose as you looked over him, it wasn't a secret that Bakugo was a hot head, he called everyone he could extra's and blew up at people for little things but he was one of the strongest at UA and he was fucking hot.

“You’re not really asking, though,” you said, grinning. “You’re demanding. That tone? It needs work.”

“Oi—”

“Hush.” You leaned over the gauntlet, trying (and failing) to tamp down your excitement. If working on Deku’s wristbands was thrilling, Bakugo’s gauntlets? That shit had your panties wet. You’d always wondered how the internal mechanisms kept up with the sheer output of his quirk. The heat, the pressure, the exhaust management—how it didn’t blow his damn hands off every time.

Your fingers danced over the gauntlet, brushing the edge of the release valve. “God, this is so sexy.”

Bakugo couldn't help but watch you, you were in your element. The way your fingers ran down his gauntlents, like they were your prized possession. The excitement that glimmerde in your brown eyes as you began to tweak his shit.

His eyes trailed down to your bare thighs, specks of oil and dirt taineted your brown skin but you still looked beautiful none the less.

It wasn't normal for him to have a crush, he didn't do crushes. Yeah he's been with a couple of girls but that was just sex. He had never wanted something more, but yet he somehow had feelings for you and you still were unaware.

He thought he made it obvious a couple of times but the blonde came to learn you were quite oblivious and blind to things that weren't your gadgets.

"I could have fixed this for you right now but I don't have the part I need. I'll have to run to the mall tomorrow for it. That okay?"

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. “I’ll come with.”

You blinked. “Huh? You don’t have to—it’s just a quick trip—”

“I’d rather know what you’re puttin’ in my gear, so yeah. I’m coming.” You blinked at his bluntness as he walked out of your workshop, your eyes following the way his back muscles moved as he walked.

Wait.

Did he just sugest that you two spend time together?

Alone?

Willingly!?

It was a mistake to tell your pink friend about your visit from the blonde.

"NO WAY! It's a date. It has to be a date!" Your eye twitched at the level of excitement that came from her lungs.

"it's not a date Mina, he's just being possessive about his gear and wants to make sure I'm not messing it up or whatever." You said as you finished putting on your outfit.

"Yeah, so why you dressed like it's a date?" You blinked at her question, looking in the mirror over your outift. It wasn't strange that you wore an outfit like this, everyone who knew you outside of your tinkering knew you'd like to t dress girly whenever you had the chance.

So yes, a pink skirt and crop top shouldn't have screamed date. But Mina has now put ideas in your head.

“Okay but like,” she started from behind you, voice softer now. “You like him. Don’t you?”

You paused, fingers hovering over your hair.

“…I don’t know.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

You didn’t reply.

Because maybe you did know. Maybe the way your chest fluttered when he called you dumbass with no real malice, or when you watched him spar with Kiri and the others. He was a sight for sore eyes, so yes he found him attraive, as hell. But did you like him?

You said you didn’t have time for any of the guys in your course and while that was true, the most part of it was because you often wondered if the blonde was cocky in other areas.

"Bakugo doesn't do hangouts, Kiri has to drag him whenever we do group hangouts and he just suggested he'd come with you? He's finally given up on sly ways of flirting I'd give him that."

"W-what are you on about?"

The pink girl grinned as she looked over at you, "We told you that there was someone who could keep up with you the other day did we not?"

You glared at her, but she just grinned wider, chin propped on her hands. She hummed as she got up from your bed, pulling your hair out of its ponytail, your curls stopping just below your shoulders.

“Keep it out,” she said softly. “Trust me.”

“Mina…”

“I’ll shut up. But text me everything. Like, updates. Live feed. I want tea in real time.”

And with a wink, she left.

You turned to look back at yourself in the mirror-- no you were not changing. This wasn't for him, you dressed for youself, your girly counterpart to your greasy tinker fairy.

This was not a date. You were just going to to get the part you needed, pick up some manga and other bits and come back and finish of his gear.

You made your way out of your dorm building, walking over to the gates where he said he'd meet you. You noticed him before he noticed you, he wore a white t-shirt with some black jeans...

Fuck, fuuckkkk. Why was he so fine!?

"You're late."

"Huh, I'm actually early," you replied, swallowing thickly as his eyes dragged over you.

You felt your pulse spike under his gaze, and suddenly every word Mina said was back in your head. You crossed your arms over your chest—just to do something with your hands—but didn’t realize it only pushed your boobs up a little higher.

Bakugo's pupils dilated only for a second before he started walking.

"Hey, you can't just walk off."

"Then keep up."

You jogged a few steps to catch him, lips twitching. “You’re the one who invited yourself, y’know.”

“Tch. Only ‘cause you’d pick the wrong shit.”

“Oh, so now I’m the dumbass and the liability?”

His shoulders twitched—maybe from a laugh, maybe from irritation. With Bakugo, it was always a coin toss.

You kept walking, the silence falling in comfortably between you both. You didn't know what to say, you wanted to say something, there couldn't just be silence between you two for the whole time.

But what would you even say? Mina had put ridiculous ideas in your head about Bakugo, and now you didn't know how to act around the blonde.

"Here." You blinked, looking up at him as he handed you his left earbud.

"I can just listen to my own music."

"Huh? What's the point in that if we're together." He rebuttled, shoving the bud into your ear.

"Yeah, but you probably listen to heavy metal, that's probably the only thing that keeps up with your exposiveness." You teased, the blonde clicked his tongue as he pinched your cheeks, causing you to whine.

You were about to scold him, but the sound of his choice of music caught you off guard.

“…Wait. Is this—?”

“Don’t say shit.”

“Is this—SZA?!”

Bakugo growled low under his breath, glaring at the sidewalk like it betrayed him.

“Oh my god.” You bit your lip, grinning. “You listen to Snooze?”

“She’s got good vocals, alright?” he snapped. “Shut up.”

You couldn’t help it. You full-on laughed. “This is so soft. You’re soft. I’m gonna tell Kiri.”

“You tell anyone and I swear to god—”

You were still giggling as the two of you turned the corner. He kept his head turned slightly away from you, but you could see the pink creeping up his neck.

Your fingers brushed his briefly as you walked—just a flick of skin on skin. Neither of you moved away.

“…You listen to music like this often?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged, still looking ahead. “Sometimes. When I’m working. Shit gets loud in my head. It helps.”

Your smile softened.

You didn’t expect him to say something like that.

And maybe you didn’t need to.

It wasn't long until you reached the shop you needed.

It was tucked into a side street—one of those speciality spots that looked half abandoned from the outside but had everything a gearhead could dream of on the inside.

You pushed open the door, the bell above jingling as you stepped into the cool, metal-scented air. Immediately, your eyes scanned the shelves, familiar with the layout. Organised chaos. Home sweet home.

Bakugo followed behind you, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced around. "This place looks like it's one breath away from collapsing to shit."

You grinned. "That’s the point. All the best stuff is in the mess."

You walked confidently toward the back where the hardware modules were displayed behind glass. “This guy sources from the same place the Support Course pulls from. He just doesn’t bother with the fancy labels.”

You crouched down, scanning the second row until your eyes lit up. “There. That’s the one I need.”

He leaned over your shoulder, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his chest behind you. “Sure that’s it?”

“Do not question me.”

“Tch.” He leaned in closer, voice low. “Just makin’ sure. Can’t have you screwin’ up my shit.”

“Your shit was overclocked and fried through three layers of plating. That’s not on me.” You tilted your head up with a smug smile—and regretted it immediately.

His face was right there.

Crimson eyes. Faint scent of whatever cologne he wore mixed with burnt caramel. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just looked down at you, his mouth twitching like he was about to say something.

Instead, he reached over and knocked on the glass.

“Yo! You got this one in stock?”

An older man shuffled out from the back, nodded, and went to grab the part. You quickly straightened up, heart thudding like a drum in your chest. You avoided Bakugo’s eyes as you pulled out your wallet.

He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. “I got it.”

You blinked. “What? No, this is my—”

“You’re fixin’ my gear,” he said gruffly, not looking at you. “Least I can do is pay for the part.”

“But I—”

“Shut up and let me do it.”

You opened your mouth again but closed it when you saw his ears going red.

You both stepped back out into the sunny street, walking shoulder to shoulder in a much more relaxed silence than before even if he still refused to meet your eyes for paying for the part.

You tucked the part carefully into your bag and sighed contentedly. "Alright, mission complete. Wanna head back?"

Bakugo made a sound like he was already halfway through saying “yes,” but then you turned slightly, eyes catching on a storefront a few doors down.

“Ooh—wait,” you pointed, already switching direction. “Hold up. I wanna check out the manga shop.”

Bakugo raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“You decided to tag along with me, so put up with my side quests.” You shot him a look over your shoulder.

You pushed the door open, the little jingle ringing out again, and walked inside. The place was compact but cosy—wooden shelves lined every wall, organised by genre and series. You let out a little happy sigh and made a beeline for the romance section, already scanning for the next volume of a series you’d been waiting on.

Bakugo followed behind, keeping his hands in his pockets, pretending to look bored. But you noticed how he didn’t stray too far. Not even when you stopped in front of a bright pink-covered volume with delicate art.

“Ooooh—finally.” You grabbed it like it was a treasure, flipping through the pages. “My Star’s Last Confession, volume 10. I’ve been waiting months for this one.”

The blonde glanced at it, and froze.

You caught it. “What?”

“…Nothing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You know this manga.”

“No, I don’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Katsuki. You paused. You definitely know this manga.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s just—whatever. It’s popular. You see it online.”

You blinked at him. “You read romance manga?”

He turned his head like he was trying to physically escape the question. “Tch. Not usually.”

You gasped, stepping in front of him. “Oh my God, you do. Don’t even lie. Wait—wait—do you actually like My Star’s Last Confession?!”

“…maybe.”

You smacked his arm with the volume in your hand. “No way! First music and now manga, you actually have taste.

He rolled his eyes, but his ears were pink. “It’s not about taste. The story’s just… good.”

“Ohhh, so you cried when Rika confessed at the shrine, didn’t you?” you teased.

“I didn’t cry.”

“You so cried.”

Bakugo tried to look annoyed, but the way his mouth twitched said otherwise. “You get loud about everything, you know that?”

“Only things I'm excited about,” you grinned.

You both browsed for a while longer, laughing over a few ridiculous plot twists and complaining about series that dragged out too long. At one point, your hands brushed reaching for the same volume—and neither of you pulled back.

You quickly grabbed your manga, pressing it to your chest, and cleared your throat. “Okay… I’m ready to head back to campus.”

Bakugo didn’t move. “We don’t gotta yet.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean…” he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I was thinkin’… There’s a noodle place not far. You hungry?”

You tilted your head. “Like… get food?”

He shrugged. “Why not?"

Your heart did that dumb little flutter again. “...Like, you and me?”

He gave you a look that was definitely not annoyed—just a little too intense. “Yeah. You and me.”

You tried not to smile. “Okay. Yeah. I could eat.”

As you both walked out of the store, bags in hand, earbuds still loosely shared between you, you couldn’t help but feel like maybe Mina had been onto something after all.

You two had a great time, the blonde wasn't the silent brooding type you expected him to be. He asked you questions, spoke to you about your goals for after UA.

The conversation was good-- comfortable, and if it didn't happen more than once, you would have surely thought you were hearing things. But Bakugo was being flirty, in his own ridiculous way.

And to top it off, he paid. Again.

Like it was normal. Like you two did this kind of thing all the time. And somehow, it felt like that—natural, easy. No explosions (yet), no arguing (much). Just the two of you, side by side, eating and talking about stupid things and he made you laugh.

Was Mina… right?

The question had been gnawing at the back of your mind the entire walk back. Every time your arms brushed. Every time he looked over, like he was checking to make sure you were keeping up—even though you both walked in step.

“You good?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. He didn’t look at you, but his voice held something gentler than usual. That gravelly low that came out when he wasn’t on edge.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Just… thinking.”

His eyes cut over briefly before he nodded, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

You breathed out, still feeling the leftover heat of him beside you. It wasn’t even cold, but the wind caught your skirt and made you curl slightly inward.

“You cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe if you brought a jacket, given what you’re wearin’—”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” you shot back, brows raised, even though there was a smile tugging at your lips.

He glanced at you, eyes flicking down then back up. “Didn’t say there was. You look good. But now you’re cold.”

I… look good?

You silently thanked God for two reasons: one, that it was dark outside. Two, that you were Black, because the flush rising to your cheeks would’ve been way more obvious otherwise.

“Thanks, by the way,” you said, a little quieter. “For the food. I wasn’t expecting… well, I dunno. Just… thanks.”

“Tch. Told you not to make it weird.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, and this time when you looked over at him, he didn’t look away.

The gates to the dorms were up ahead, and even though your feet were aching, your chest was heavier at the thought of the night ending.

“I’m gonna start working on the gauntlet,” you murmured. “Should be ready by tomorrow. Midday, latest.”

Bakugo gave a little nod, then slowed just a fraction, tilting his head toward you.

“Y’know… I wanna trade.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

His ears were red. He wasn’t looking right at you. “I got a signed first edition of somethin’ you might like. You give me what you bought today, I’ll trade you.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“What series?!”

“You’ll see.”

“Well show me!”

You barely waited for his response before you bolted toward the dorm doors, Bakugo’s low laugh trailing behind you like heat.

He watched you go, a smirk pulling at his lips. In the common room, Mina nearly dropped her phone trying to wave you down as you beelined past everyone and made a beeline for the elevator.

“Girl! Where the hell you—?”

“Later, Mina!” you called over your shoulder, not stopping.

Bakugo strolled in a second later, ignoring the confused looks, a small smirk tugging against his lips.

The journey up to his room was fast, it was probably from all the excitement to see what series he was talking about.

But that excitement soon turned to nerves once you actually got to his room.

It was what you expected to be fair. His room was completely clean and organised, a couple of All Mighht posters and some rock bands, his books laid out on his desk and a pile of gym clothes on his chair in his corner.

You slowly entered the room, jumping slightly from the slam of his door. Your eyes darted over the room, noticing small things that seemed to make sense for him but before you could get a deeper look you felt a nudge into your arm.

A sealed plastic sleeve, slightly worn at the edges from age. Your eyes widened.

“No. No fucking way.”

He smirked. “Yep.”

“You have A Garden In Winter?! SIGNED?!”

The title alone sent a jolt through your whole body. It was one of your favorite slow-burn romance manga—long out of print, basically impossible to find in good condition.

And he had it.

“Don’t play with me, Katsuki” you said, snatching it gently from his hand like it was made of glass.

“Hey—careful with it,” he warned, but his tone was light. Almost teasing.

You stared at the neat signature across the front page, your mouth dry. “How the hell did you even get this?”

Bakugo shrugged and plopped down on the edge of his bed. “Had it since second year. My mom got it signed at some con. Didn’t know what it was until I actually read it.”

“And you read it?”

“…Yeah.”

You looked up from the sleeve slowly, still half in shock. “So you’re telling me you’ve been reading romance manga this whole time and hid it from everyone?”

“Those extras don't gotta know this shit.’,” he muttered, leaning back on his hands.

You laughed—this delighted, disbelieving sound that made his lips twitch.

“I’m not letting this outta my sight,” you muttered, flipping it open like it was sacred.

“So? You tradin’ or not?” he asked, nodding toward the small bag you still clutched.

You set your bag on his desk and pulled out the part he needed, laying it neatly beside his blueprints. You hadn't even realised you sat on his bed until you madce yourself comfortable, skirt riding up your thighs softly.

You could feel his stare on you, you tried so hard to concertate on the book in your hand. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of his sheets untul they hit something wooden.

Blinking slightly, you picked up to woddedn sticks, looking back at the blonde who just continued to stare at you.

"Oh my God yeah, your a fucking drummer boy. Remember from the festival in first year."

Bakugo scoffed slightly, taking the sticks from you before placing them down on his desk.

"Those extras know I'm good at everything and goaded me into playing."

You bit your lip, eyes wandering over him, heart beating slightly against your chest. "Maybe people underestimated you, you say your good at everything-- doesn't mean your actyally good at everything."

The blonde's eyes dipped slightly, gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes once again.

"I am good at everything."

You licked your lips softly, watching how he inched closer to you.

"Some people have to see it to believe it."

You weren't suprsied it happened, what you was suprised about was how fucking amazing it felt.

Kissing Bakugo was just what you’d always imagined it would be. He didn’t do anything half-assed, so you weren’t surprised by the passion behind it. Being this close to him was exhilarating. You could smell the faint scent of caramel on him when you breathed in, tilting your head slightly as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip.

He wedged his knee between yours, prying your legs to open futher as he pushed you both down onto the bed. Your hands were planted firmly in his hair as his fingers ran on the inner skin of your thigh.

He pulled away, the two of you breathless. He didn’t go far, his lips trailing down your jaw and to your neck, nipping lightly as he went. You sighed when his hands moved from your thigh, fingers drifting along the exposed flesh of your belly and trailing lightly up your sides. Your nails began scratching lightly along his scalp and tugging at his soft locks as his teeth worried at the place where your neck and shoulder met.

It wasn’t long before his fingers smoothed their way up your calf. Your breath hitched when he spread your legs wider, tracing one finger over your clothed slit. The look in his eyes was positively feral when they met yours. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You moaned softly as he began drawing small circles, but it was short-lived when you pulled the blonde off you, the worry in his eyes was bright before disappearing as he watched you pull your top over your head. His eyes galzed over in lust as they darted down to your boobs that were covered in a white lace.

He leaned in, mouth warm as he traced the edge of your bra with his tongue. You unclasped it and he wasted no time tossing it aside, big hands kneading your tits while his mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking until it was stiff and aching. Your back arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair, gasping when he switched to the other with the same slow, tormenting rhythm.

You dragged him up into another kiss, messier this time, as your hands worked beneath his shirt. He pulled back just enough to rip it off, and fuck—he was gorgeous. Cut like a sculpture, every line and dip begging to be touched.

Your hands roamed, nails dragging over his pecs and abs before you leaned up to mouth along his collarbone, feeling the rumble in his chest when you nipped his skin.

He let out a low growl, flipping you further up the bed and covering you with his body again. His forearms braced on either side of your head, hips pressing into yours while he kissed you rough and slow, like he needed to make the moment last.

Then his mouth was gone again, trailing heat down your torso. He tugged your skirt down, and you helped him kick it off, breath catching as the room's cool air kissed your exposed skin. He groaned when he saw your soaked panties—black, delicate, and clinging to your folds.

“You know how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this?” he muttered, hot against your thigh as he settled between your legs.

Your head fell back when his hand slid higher, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles over your clit. Even through the lace, it made you twitch.

“Katsuki—” you whimpered.

“You’ve been so fucking oblivious,” he growled, voice rough with restraint. “Actin’ like I didn’t want you. Actin’ like I wasn’t ready to drop everything just to touch you like this.”

You gasped as he slid your panties aside, thick fingers gliding through your soaked folds. “Shit—you're so wet already.”

Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down, slow and deliberate, letting his eyes roam as he took you in bare for the first time.

He groaned like he was in pain. “Fuck. Look at you.”

You spread your legs for him, shameless, your cunt glistening under the soft light, already clenching on nothing.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then again, higher, until he was just breathing against you.

“Bet you taste even better than I imagined.”

Your hand threaded through his hair, and the second your hips lifted in silent invitation, he dove in.

His mouth met your pussy like he’d been dreaming of it—tongue flat and slow at first, licking from your entrance to your clit, groaning when your thighs trembled around his head. He sucked your clit between his lips and you cried out, hips twitching, legs instinctively trying to close, but his hands were there—gripping your thighs, holding you wide open for him.

He was messy with it. Tongue fucking you between tight circles over your clit, moaning into your folds like he couldn’t get enough. You were panting, writhing, one hand clawing at the sheets, the other gripping his hair like a lifeline.

“Fuck, Katsuki— please—don’t stop—”

That just made him go harder, sloppier, like he was trying to make you come with his mouth alone.

And you would. You were close. Too close.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my fuckin’ face?”

Your back arched. “Yes—yes, I’m gonna—”

“Good. Make a mess on my tongue.”

It was almost a shame how fast you came. A choked moan leaving your lips, hips rolling, body shaking as he lapped you through it, humming into your cunt like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And when he finally pulled away, his mouth glistening, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand and smirked.

“You good?” His arm came up to wipe the wetness from his mouth and chin, a smirk on his lips when you nodded.

You cleared your throat. “So good.” You sat up on your elbows, watching him stand again and shove his jeans along with briefs down his legs. Your eyes widened slightly at his size, appreciating his body quietly. He was an Adonis, and you wanted to trace over every inch of his body with your fingers and tongue.

He didn’t give you a chance, crawling back towards you. You spread your legs wider to accommodate him. “Do I need to grab a condom?”

“I’m on the pill.”

You weren’t sure why the question made your stomach flutter the way it did, but something about the way he asked—so sure, but still asking—sent heat straight to your core.

“Oh, thank god,” he groaned, leaning down, palms flat on either side of your head as he kissed you deep. The taste of yourself on his tongue was lewd and addicting, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, anchoring him to you.

You don't know why it took you so long, but God, you knew you’d probably never get enough.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, voice airy and pleading as he coated his tip with your slick, your hips rocked up toward him, impatient to feel him filling you up.

He didn’t say a word—just locked eyes with you and began to push in.

Your mouth dropped open on a moan as the stretch began to build. He was so big it almost hurt, your body instinctively tightening around him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw clenched tight. “You’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until he bottomed out and you swore the air left your lungs.

"Kat—fuck." You were full, completely and utterly stuffed. It was the best kind of pressure, and your cunt fluttered helplessly around him.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, one hand gripping your hip, the other stroking along your waist to soothe you. Then he started to move.

He pulled out almost all the way, then rolled his hips back in, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching on every exhale. Slow at first, his pace deliberate, like he was learning what made you moan, what made your thighs twitch, what made you lose your goddamn mind.

“Fuck, you feel insane,” he grunted, voice strained as he dipped down to kiss your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “So fuckin’ warm, so tight—shit, you were made for me.”

Your hands ran up his back, nails scratching lightly over his shoulder blades. “Faster,” you begged, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Please, Katsuki, harder—”

Your moans and mumbled pleas of faster and harder were answered with a smirk, the boy between your thighs raising himself up to his knees and lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder. Large hands held your hips firmly in place as he slammed himself inside, tip kissing your cervix as you arched up in pleasure. He picked up speed, the sound of skin slapping skin filling your ears as you bit down on your bottom lip, focusing on the feeling of him filling you up just like you’d always wanted.

“F-fuck!” you cried out, eyes rolling as his cock hit your sweet spot dead-on.

“Yeah?” he growled, hips snapping into yours with obscene, wet slaps. “That what you needed, baby?”

When he bent forward, pressing your leg up toward your chest, the stretch burned again in the best way, your body forced open for him. He sealed your lips in a kiss, groaning as he felt how your cunt squeezed around him when his tongue met yours.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered into your mouth, “wrapped around me like this—like you were waitin’ for me.”

Your walls kept fluttering around him, you could feel your orgasm trying to wash over you, but you didn't want it to end yet.

You pressed your plams aginast his chest, the blonde halted his movements, his brows furrowed as he stared down at you but didn't get a chance to ask you what was wrong.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pivoting your weight and flipped him over. Katsuki's eyes widened as you took your place, straddling him, cook still buried in your cervix.

"Fuck mama."

Katsuki threw his head back, eyes closed, his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked so pretty like this, his skin flushed and chest heaving, hair mussed from your hands running through it. You leaned forward, dragging your lips along his sharp jaw, breathing in the scent of caramel.

He chose that moment to tighten his hands around your hips, holding you steady as he bucked up into you, forcing you to sit up, your back arching in pleasure. The muscles in your legs burned from exertion, but you kept moving, bouncing on his cock and clenching around him. You knew you’d be sore the next day but felt too good to stop.

One of his hands moved from your hip, fingers trailing across your skin to dip between your thighs, one calloused finger pressing against your clit. Gasping, you moaned his name lowly, your head falling back as you felt your body preparing to throw you over the edge again. “Oh fuck, I’m close.” Voice trembling, you held your breath, letting your eyes close.

He sat up suddenly, chest to chest, feet pressed into the mattress as he fucked up into you. Your hands flew to his hair, moaning as you fluttered around his cock, his breath was warm against you as he whispered praises into your ear

“Katsuki,” you gasped, mouth falling open as your back arched. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah? Come on my cock, ma. Come for me.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a live wire—thighs shaking, fingers clawing at his arms, your pussy fluttering around him as he slammed up into you,, milking every last drop of pleasure out of you.

Your toes curled as you rode out your orgasm, nails digging into the pale flesh of his back as you tried to keep yourself tethered to him, feeling as though you might float away, his name shuddering from your parted lips

He slowed, grinding deep, but never let you go. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuckin’ beautiful when you come.”

Groaning lowly in your ear, he came right after, his cum painted your walls, the warm liquid filling you up as he continued to fuck you both through your orgasm.

Your thighs trembled around his hips as the aftershocks rolled through you. For a long moment, neither of you moved—just breathing in sync, sweat-slicked skin pressed close, foreheads resting together.

Eventually, Katsuki eased you both down, his back hitting the mattress with a soft thump as you collapsed on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear. His hand found your back, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine.

"What's so funny?"

You peeked up at him, eyes still hazy with bliss. “Just thinkin’ about how long I’ve been clueless.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue and nipped gently at your neck, just enough to make you squirm. “Tch. Took you long enough. Now you’re stuck with me.”

You hummed softly, but the blonde lifted your chin up to press a kiss to your lips.

“You're stayin’ over,” he mumbled against your lips. “Not negotiable.”

You grinned, brushing your nose against his. “Guess I better get comfy then.”

You smiled at the girls who waved hi to you as you walked out of of the locker room, you were out of breath from the cheer you had just done for the winning game.

Your school ‘The Falcons’ took home the championship cup and you and the rest of your squad gave a performance of a lifetime and you were tiredddd.

Your bag, slung over your shoulder with your uniform and some school books packed away. You had quickly thrown on a pair of gym shorts that were snug against your ass and your matching sports bra that sported your school colours were much more breathable because lets be real, your ass was bigger than your boobs.

Your brain was racking with the thoughts of the day, your fresh set pressing against the keys on your phone. Mina (your sorority sister) was telling you about the party that the football team would be throwing tonight.

You rolled your eyes at the thought process, they had already been planning this party way before the finals— apparently knowing they would win. But you had to give it to them, they did win and you knew the party would be epic.

As your fingers continued to tap away on your iPhone, you failed to realise you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. A couple cuss words flew from your lips when your body slammed into a hard exterior, your eyes raking up the large body that stood in your way.

“Tch. ‘Bout time you noticed, brat.”

Your stomach did that annoying flip it always did around him, but you ignored it, lifting your gaze to meet sharp, almost crimson-like eyes. Katsuki Bakugo stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, his usual scowl in place. His dirty blond hair was still damp from the game, sticking up in chaotic spikes, and his sleeveless compression shirt clung to his frame, showing off every defined muscle.

You arched a brow. “Noticed what?”

His eyes scanned you like he was sizing you up, a stupid grin on his face. “You normally pay attention, yet here you are-- head in your phone not noticing shit. You’re lucky it was me and not some extra tryna get your attention.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting your weight onto one leg as you crossed your arms. “But to me, you are just an extra Bakugo." You teased, your lips pulling into a smirk as you noticed the twitch in his eye.

His scowl deepened, but there was something else there too—something smug, something that you were all too used to.

“Tch. Fucking brat.”

“Only for you,” You shot back, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening for half a second before he smirked. The expression was sharp, full of challenge. “Yeah, I know.”

You hated that he was right. Hated it even more that he knew it.

This was something you were all too used to with Bakugo, you remember when you first transferred here a year ago.

You quickly made friends with the right people, and joining the biggest sorority on campus also added to your popularity and with popularity came a whole lot of attention from guys, especially the quarterback of your college's football team.

You heard the rumours about him, he had made his way through a lot of girls and his taste quickly changed a couple months before you came to campus from tall leggy blondes to short curvy black girls.

He was a God and he knew it too, but you weren't gonna make it easy on the guy by falling at his feet like the other girls. So here came the back and forth game between the two of you.

“So,” he started, stepping closer, his presence almost suffocating, "You're coming to my party tonight."

You scoffed. “Not even gonna ask?”

“Don’t ask people shit,” he muttered, voice low, eyes locked onto yours. “And I already know you’re gonna show up.”

You let out a dry laugh, shifting like you were about to walk away. “Mm, I don’t know. I think I’m busy.”

He tsked, eyes narrowing. “Quit playin’. You like pissing me off too much to not show up.”

The grin on your lips was blinding. You stepped past him, letting your fingers barely graze his arm as you walked away. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, huh?”

His chuckle was low, rough, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine.

Summer Walker softly played through your speaker, the scent of vanilla body butter and cocoa-shea lotion mixing with a hint of perfume in the air. Clothes were scattered across the bed, a sign of the usual struggle of finding the outfit, but Mina sat comfortably in the middle of it all, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone like she had all the time in the world.

“Girl, if you don’t stop overthinking and just put on the outfit I picked, I swear to God,” Mina groaned, glancing up to see you standing in front of the mirror, hands on your hips, eyes scanning your reflection with a critical gaze.

You smirked, turning slightly. “And why should I let you pick my outfit Mina? Because it’s Bakugo’s party?”

Mina’s grin was instant, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Who said anything about him? I’m just making sure you look good. Which, babe, you already do, but I have vision.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Mina had always had an eye for styling, and you weren’t above letting your best friend work her magic.

Mina was as stylish as they came; her hairstyle was always different, but the colour always stayed the same. The girl sported pink like it was made for her. “Alright, fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

The pink-haired girl perked up instantly, reaching over to the bed and holding up her carefully chosen pieces. “Here, don’t ask just do.”

You looked down the clothes, surprised as you expected something more skimpy. “Jeans and a top?”

Mina scoffed, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. “Not just jeans and a top. You need something that says, I didn’t try too hard, but also, I look so good you’ll be thinking about me all night.”

You eyed the clothes, then sighed and grabbed them, slipping into the outfit. The low-waisted, distressed jeans hugged your curves perfectly, emphasising the dip of your waist, while the brown backless top fit like a second skin. The neckline was low enough to tease but the bare of the back showed off the tattoo you had just above your ass and the sheer fabric gave subtle glimpses of your toned stomach under the right lighting.

Mina clapped her hands. “See? This is what I was talking about. Casual but lethal.”

You turned to the mirror, smoothing a hand down your waist. The dark fabric contrasted beautifully against your melenated skin, making your golden undertones glow effortlessly. You had to admit—Mina knew what she was doing.

“Alright,” You said, feigning indifference. “It’s decent.”

Mina gasped. “Decent? Girl, please. You look so good it’s actually rude.”

You giggled but didn’t deny it. The two of you began to sing along to the low tune of ‘Heart of a woman’ as you both finished up your hair and makeup. You had fresh bundles sewn in your hair and it fell bone straight down you back, it layered as it framed your face nicely.

A warm-toned highlighter dusted over your cheekbones, collarbones, and the bridge of her nose, giving you a sun-kissed glow. A soft brown lip liner, blended into a sheer, brown lip gloss, made your full lips pop effortlessly.

Mina looked you over as she finished getting ready. A smirk on her lips as she sized you up. “Girl if I wasn’t a mess for Ejiro’s dick I would be all up on you.” You kissed your teeth at Mina's antics but blew her a kiss as the two of you left your sorority house.

The moment you stepped into the fraternity house, the atmosphere hit them like a wave—warm, electric, and pulsing with the bass of a Kendrick Lamar song shaking the walls. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, faint traces of cologne and perfume mixing together, and the occasional hint of weed drifting through the crowded space. The lights were dim, neon glows from LED strips casting everything in a hazy glow.

You and Mina navigated through the throng of bodies, brushing past sweaty football players, overexcited freshmen, and girls who stepped out with barely anything on, all vying for attention. You could feel the moment eyes zeroed in on your back, your hips had an extra sway to them.

“Two shots, babe,” Mina declared, dragging you toward the kitchen. The counter was already lined with bottles of tequila, vodka, and an assortment of mixers, and a few guys stood nearby, eyeing them with interest. Denki and Sero were already high or tipsy as they both grinned at you two.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Denki teased, nudging Sero. “Damn, y’all took your time.”

Mina rolled her eyes, pouring two shots with practiced ease. “Perfection takes time, boys.”

Sero whistled, eyeing her up and down before throwing an arm around Kirishima, who had just joined them. “Yeah, well, Kiri over here doesn’t mind waiting, does he?”

Kirishima chuckled, slipping an arm around Mina’s waist and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Nope. Worth it every time.”

Mina beamed, shooting him a playful look before tossing back her shot. You followed suit, the burn of the alcohol settling in your chest.

You could feel Denki's eyes burning on your lower back, you turned towards him, head tilted as your eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Yes Denks, how can I help you?"

"When are you gonna let me take you out pretty?" You giggled at his outburst, he tripped over his own feet, trying to style it out as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Across the room, Bakugo sat on the worn leather couch, drink in hand, scowling at nothing in particular. The party was loud, annoying, and full of people he barely tolerated, but it was for his team, so he had to be here.

His boys had left to do shots not too long ago, but Kirishima made his way back over with his girl on his arm. His eyes scanned the room lazily until something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.

His eyes zeroed in on you, you wore some low-rise jeans that clung to your ass nicely, he couldn't make out the top but he could see how it also clung to you like a second skin, the way you moved—fuck.

His grip tightened around his cup as he watched you spark a blunt. He eyed the way you moved slightly to the music like it was second nature to you, the glow of your skin under the dim lighting making something in his chest tighten. Then came the moment that really set him off—you giggled at something that dunce face was saying and he swore he felt his blood pressure spike.

“Tch,” he scoffed, leaning back. “Fucking hell.”

Kirishima, sitting beside him with Mina tucked under his arm, followed his gaze and grinned. “Ohhh. You got it bad, bro.”

Bakugo’s scowl deepened. “Shut the hell up shitty hair.” He downed the rest of his drink before making his way into the kitchen.

Your eyes sparkled as you looked over Denki's shoulder, turning your attention back to the electric blonde in front of you. “Looking like a damn dream tonight. Who’d you get all dressed up for, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Denki chuckled, giving you back the blunt after he took a draw without breaking eye contact. “Maybe you should give a guy a hint. I’m great at keeping secrets.”

Before you could respond, a sharp presence entered the kitchen—Bakugo, his expression thunderous as his eyes locked onto Denki.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’, Dunce Face?” Bakugo growled, stepping between the two of you.

The spiky haired blonde held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Relax, man. Just being friendly.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes, and though Denki was grinning, he got the message loud and clear. With a wink at you, he backed off, moving to find someone else to charm.

With Denki gone, you turned your attention to Bakugo, tilting your head. “What was that about?”

The blonde scoffed, crossing his arms. “Tch. Like I’m lettin’ some dumbass flirt with you.”

You pouted playfully. “Aw, jealous?”

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Watch it.”

You licked your lips, grinning when you noticed how quickly his eyes darted towards them. “Watch what? I didn’t do anything.”

He stepped closer, “You keep runnin’ that mouth mama...”

You batted your lashes, pulling one more drag from the blunt that lay between your fingers, you stood on your tiptoes and blew the excess smoke into his face. "There's so much I can do with my mouth."

He short-circuited; he never in his life thought a girl could leave him tongue-tied, but here you were. All he wanted to do was get his hands on you but he stalled, you were already off on the dance floor as some song by sexy red blared through the speakers.

He watched as Mina began hyping you up on the dance floor, his eyes glued to your ass as you began to twerk against the girl. He felt the way his jeans tightened, the telltale sign of his hard-on pressed right against his crotch. He growled as he watched some lowlife try to get between the two of you. he didn't even realise he pushed the extra away until he was on you, a rough hand gripping your waist and yanking you against him. His breath was hot against your ear.

"I'm done with this, take your ass upstairs before I drag you there myself," You felt your stomach flip, smirking lightly as you faced the your friend—his dick pressing up against your ass. You rolled your neck to the side, feeling his hot breath against you; you knew your panties were a mess.

You could say no, you knew you could. But why would you? You had been playin' this boy for damn near a year and you were finally ready to give in.

You didn't say a word to him, but you winked at Mina before strutting your way upstairs. Bakugo didn't hesitate to follow behind you, leaving all but 10 seconds between your departure. He seemed to be annoyed by the pace in your steps because you soon felt his palm on your bare back, his thumb gliding along the base of your butterfly tattoo as he guided you to his room.

He barely acknowledged the few people loitering in the hallway as he pushed open his door and yanked you inside. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you, the muffled bass of the party now nothing but a dull thrum against the walls.

Your back hit the wood before you could take another breath. You looked up at the blonde, his hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in as his scent—smoky caramel and the lingering spice of his cologne—wrapped around you, drowning you. His breath was hot against your cheek, his chest rising and falling with the force of his restraint.

Your eyes scan his room, you didn't expect for his room to be this organised but it was. You didn't have enough time to admire it as you felt his hand grip the sides of your face, forcing you attention back on him.

"You done with that shit now?" His voice was dark as it hung in the air; you looked up at him through your lashes, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

"That depends. What's in it for me?" You barely got out the words before your hands and face were pressed against the food , the blonde kicked your feet apart. "Hey--" Your ass stung from the palm coming down hard on your ass, your breathing array as your stomach tightened.

"All the games you've played with me over the year, it's only fair we play one final one here, don't you think?" You moaned slightly as you felt his finger graze the wings of your tattoo; his touch was much softer than earlier. You heard him shift behind you, his knees hitting the floor beneath him.

He mumble a quiet 'fuck' before his lips grazed your skin. Your eyes rolled back softly as his lips softly worked against your back, you could hear him mumble quiet praises mixed in with curses which caused your pussy to flutter in your jeans.

"You walk around here acting like you own the place, teasing me, acting fucking bratty..."

Your moans grew louder; he was standing behind you now-- his hands around your stomach as his fingers grazed the waistline of your jeans. He hadn't even done anything yet you were a fucking mess.

"If I were to put my hands down your jeans, how wet would you be?" Your head rolled to the side, his nose buried in your neck as he inhaled the strong scent of coco butter that seemed to be mixed in with your YSL perfume.

"Yo-your ego is too big. Who says even if I am wet, it'd be because of you?" You knew you were playing with fire; the blonde was like a dynamite waiting to implode and you just loved playing with matches.

You felt his hand around your throat before you could blink, he squeezed enough to send you a warning but not hard enough to completely cut off your airways.

"So not only are you a brat, but you're a slut too." You would normally flip out on a nigga if he called you out of your name but not him. Katsuki Bakugo was the perfect exception.

You moaned; you don't know whether it was from his words or his touch. The way his fingers glided along your skin, the way your boobs fit perfectly in his hand, it was all perfect.

Your head rolled to the side, his mouth sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck as he played with your nipples.

You pulled away from him, turning to face him. His brows raised as he watched you—waiting for your next move. Smirking, you pushed past the angry blonde, making your way towards his bed. You put an extra sway in her hips, moving slowly as you could hear the slight bass of the music downstairs.

The music was nothing more than a dull thump, barely noticeable under the thick, charged silence of Bakugo’s dimly lit bedroom. The only glow in the space came from the red LED lights tracing the ceiling, casting everything in a deep, sultry haze. It made the shadows darker, the air heavier.

But the only thing Bakugo was focused on was you.

You stood in the middle of his room, body humming with liquid confidence.

He sat back in his desk chair, legs spread wide, jeans stretched over thick thighs, his dark shirt tight across his chest. His elbows rested lazily on his knees, but his grip was tense—like he was holding himself back. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, his eyes burning with something raw, something dangerous.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet; he'll let you have your fun.

The heavy beat from the speaker wrapped around you, slow, seductive, built for movement. Built for control.

And right now? You were in control.

You started to sway, rolling your hips to the rhythm, slow and deliberate. The brown backless top you wore clung to every curve, the soft fabric pressing against your skin like a second layer. The deep colour only made the warmth of your brown skin stand out more, glowing under the red light, catching Bakugo’s attention like a damn magnet.

His fingers twitched.

He bit his lip as he watched you twirl softly, getting a glimpse of the tattoo on your lower back every time you moved. He remembers when he first noticed it, you were at cheer practice, wearing these tiny ass little shorts that hugged your ass nicely and when you bent over into a stretch, the sun hit the tattoo like a fucking halo. Funny, for something so fucking sinful.

He thought he'd cum in his pants when he first saw it. His gaze often tried to find it whenever he could; he watched when you turned away, the sharp edge of his jaw tightening like he was clenching his teeth.

You turned, giving him your back, letting your hands trail down your waist, slow and teasing, fingertips brushing over the tiny, silver belly button piercing that gleamed under the red light.

You dipped low, rolling your hips in time with the music, and you swore you heard his breath hitch.

A slow smirk curled on your lips.

Still swaying to the soft beat, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and began to peel them down, inch by agonising inch. The soft denim clung to your curves, sliding lower over your hips, over your thighs, until it finally pooled at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your brown top and the black lace thong hugging your body just right.

His breath came out harsh, like a punch to the chest.

His gaze dropped.

And then, it stayed there.

On your thighs.

Thick, smooth, gleaming under the red light, your skin's deep warmth making his mouth dry. The contrast of the black lace against your skin made something in his gut tighten, something feral clawing up his spine.

Fuck, he could see everything. The soft dip where your thighs met your hips, the plush, toned shape of them, the way they pressed together just enough to make his fingers twitch.

He wanted them— he wanted his face buried between them, feeling them shake as you came apart. Fuck he was going to make it happen.

The muscle in his jaw ticked. His fingers curled into tight fists, his whole body felt tight, like a wire pulled too thin, like a matchstick ready to ignite.

And you? You knew exactly what you were doing.

Stepping out of your jeans, you turned, trailing your fingers along your own waist, your hands palmed your ass but not for long because they were already buried deep in your hair as you continued dancing for him.

Then, because you were a fucking brat, you dragged your hands up the sides of your body, arching your back slightly, letting him take in every curve, every dip.

He didn't even give you a moment to breathe because he was on you.

There was nothing soft about the kiss. Nothing hesitant. This was raw, heated, unrestrained.

Bakugo kissed you like he wanted to consume you.

His lips were hungry, moving against yours in a way that left no doubt. One of his hands tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, deepening the kiss as his other hand gripped the small of your back, keeping you flush against him.

You moaned into his mouth, and that only made him rougher.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, sharp and teasing, his tongue demanding, coaxing you open, stealing every breath, every sound. It was desperate, wild.

And fuck—you loved it.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his dark shirt as your body pressed against his, rolling against him, taunting him, teasing him. The way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched—he felt everything, and it was driving him insane.

His hands were rough as they roamed, trailing up your sides, his thumbs brushing the edge of your top, teasing the sliver of skin beneath.

Fuck.

He pulled away just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, both of you so close, so desperate. His cyes were wild, wide with want, with possession.

"Take off your top, lay on the bed with your legs pushed up to your chest."

You blinked as you still tried to catch your breath, "What?" A cry left your lips and the blonde pinched your covered nipple, his eyes still dark as they watched you.

"Did I stutter? Get on the bed, legs to your chest, now."

You didn't hesitate this time, quickly getting rid of your top you followed suit to the bed, laying down in the centre you pulled your legs up to your chest, your nails resting on the back of your knees.

You heard him mumble something but the race of your heart got in the way. All your liquid courage had gone out the window. You were getting what you wanted but you couldn't ignore the feeling in your stomach, scared or excited at what he might do? You didn't care anymore.

He kneeled by the edge of the bed, pulling you closer to him, but your legs stayed where they were. His lips began kissing the inside of your thighs, ignoring the one place you wanted him most. Your pants and whimpers grew louder, and you swore you heard the bastard chuckle.

"Katsuki..." You yelped once you felt a bite on your thigh, you knew tomorrow there would be the indentations of his teeth against your brown skin causing you to curse.

"’M’Sorry mama, didn't expect to hear my name come out of your pretty mouth." His tongue continuously swiped over the mark but you could feel the smirk against your skin causing you to suck your teeth.

"Make it up to me and eat my pussy then."

His chuckle was dark before you felt his lips kiss your clothed slit before his teeth tore through the fabric. "Oh baby, I'm going to devour you."

His heated breath ghosted across your sensitive flesh, his tongue tracing teasing circles around your clit before dipping lower to taste you properly. Your eyes rolled back as moans laced your tongue, your hands leaving your thighs to find their way in his hair but the blonde wasn’t having it.

"Keep your legs up there, you’re a fucking cheerleader—don't get lazy on me now." You groaned as he began kitten-licking the area around your clit before you complied.

His deep groan vibrated against your core as he savoured your sweetness, his hot breath making you shiver with each exhale. His hands found your ass, pulling you closer as he devoured you with increasing intensity, drawing out those sweet sounds he'd only dreamed of hearing.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groaned against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "Knew you would give up the act, your too much of a slut not to want me to ruin you." His thumb found your clit, circling it with deliberate pressure while his tongue delved deeper, claiming every inch of you. Your fingers began to leave impressions on your skin from how hard you were gripping, he worked you closer to the edge, his movements becoming more intense with each passing moment. His roughness only heightened the passion, every touch and growl reminding you of the fire that burned within him.

"Shiiiit, Katsuki-- I'm gonna cum." Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, moans slipping through your lips as he continued to work his tongue through your pussy.

He loved the way his name flowed from your lips and your mouth shaped it—a masterpiece in motion. Your voice, a melody, and your lips, a work of art. To be the one who heard it, the one who brought you this joy? It made him smile to himself, lost in the bliss of it all.

You felt two of his fingers roughly pull in and out of you, drawing louder moans from your throat. "Eh, who told you that you could cum without asking me?" Your hands leave your legs, not having enough strength and willpower to hold yourself up any longer, but Bakugo helps you out. One leg had been pulled over his shoulder, and the blonde held a bruising grip on your other thigh while his fingers and tongue continued to pull an orgasm out of you.

"P-leaasee, please, please." Your fingers gripped his locks pulling his face closer to your cunt. He nibbled on your clit, his face looking up at you, his grin wide as he watched you come apart on his fingers.

"Go on then baby, cum for me." And your body followed his command, all you could hear was his continued praises as he worked you through your orgasm.

You heard him chuckle as he reluctantly removed his fingers from your sopping cunt. Your vision began to clear as you watched him pull his shirt over his head, you moaned from the sight, the definition of his torso, every sculpted ridge of his abs—he was built like he was made to destroy, broad shoulders tapering into a lean, cut waist.

And those arms?

Thick, veined, carved to perfection—you wanted those arms around you as he fucked you into oblivion.

He smirked when he caught you staring, chest rising and falling with every controlled breath.

“You done eye-fucking me?” His voice was thick as he watched your thighs rub together to release some friction. You watched as his hands pulled down his jeans and boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach before it stood bold and proud in front of you.

Fuck.

Of course, he was that fucking big, he had the fucking ego for it.

He started to kiss up your legs as he made his way up your body. You pulled yourself up on your elbows before your lips met his, your tongue forced its way into his mouth, you moaned as you tasted yourself on his lips. The kiss was messy, desperate, and utterly consuming, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he bit down gently, drawing a gasp from you.

You hadn't realised your head hit the mattress, he threw your leg over his shoulder, his lips leaving yours, grazing your ears as the head of his cock tapped against your clit, drawing a sharp jolt from you, and a wicked smirk tugged at his lips before he slowly pushed inside. You both moaned from the feeling of him bottoming out, your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and squeezing him so tightly it made his breath hitch.

A guttural groan escaped his lips as he nearly collapsed on top of you, your nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails, "Wanted you for so fucking long, but you walked around like you were too fucking good for me." He rasped, his voice thick with need. He delivered a hard thrust, stretching you to your limit as a strangled cry escaped your lips.

"That's it," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled you against him. Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and squeezing so tightly it made his breath hitch. "So fucking tight," he growled, his hips snapping forward with rough, punishing thrusts that left you gasping.

He pushed your right leg up towards the headboard, his thrusts got deeper, your moans grew louder as you felt him deeper in your cervix, your eyes travelled down to where you two met. Moaning as you watched his cock pull in and out of you, his chuckle broke you out of your trance, eyes finding his as he angled his hips, driving into you harder, faster, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

"So tight, so pretty," he purred, his lips trailing up your throat. His teeth grazed your pulse before he bit down, marking you.

Meeting each of Bakugo's powerful thrusts, you felt yourself gush around him, your arousal soaking his thick length each time he pulled back before slamming down again. The lewd sounds of your connection filled the room, mixing with your desperate moans. Your stomach coiled tight with building pressure, toes curling as the intensity becomes almost too much to bear. Your hands pressed against his chest, overwhelmed by the sensation. "Wait! Katsuki... I-" Your words dissolved into a cry as your walls clenched around him violently. "I can't... it's too much," you gasped, even as your body betrayed you by pulling him deeper, your legs now wrapped around his waist.

"Too much?" he growled, his voice laced with taunt, his grip tightening on your hips as he maintained his relentless pace. "This is exactly what you needed, isn't it? That’s why you act so fucking bratty, just wanted to me fuck it outta you. " His voice was rough with desire as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

"This pussy is so perfect," He growled, his eyes locked on the way your slick walls clung to his cock, creaming and squeezing him with every thrust. "It's like it was made just for me. Tell me, baby, whose pussy is this?"

"Yours, Daddy," you slurred, mind a haze, voice trembling as the overwhelming pleasure built to a breaking point. Your body was on the edge, your pussy aching to release as his relentless pace drove you closer. He chuckled darkly, his hips snapping forward even faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your lips parted with continued moans, "You know long I've been wanting to fuck the brat outta you?" He rasped, voice dripped with need, "And look at you now, drunk on my cock calling me daddy. I think you're ready to cum now. I want it all on my cock. Can you do that for me, mama? Or is that too much for your sweet little pussy to handle?"

Before you could even respond, the pressure inside you exploded like a tidal wave, your juices spraying against his thighs in a messy, uncontrollable release. Katsuki groaned in appreciation, biting his lip as he watched you come undone beneath him. "Good girl," he muttered, his voice rough and low, as you gasped for breath, your body trembling in his grasp.

The blonde above you continued to drive into you as he chased his own orgasm, you moaned as your walls welcomed the hot ropes of his cum. You winced when his body left yours, you could hear him whispering rough praises to you, unable to piece the words together but you could feel the warm cloth as he began to clean you up.

The room was hot, the air thick with the scent of sweat, skin, and sex. The sheets beneath you were a tangled mess, your body still humming from everything that had just happened.

After he cleaned you up, the blonde lay beside you, eyes glued to you, your eyes closed as your body hummed from your orgasm. His chest rising and falling, your skin glistening under the dim light making you look like a fucking brownie. His arm was draped over your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

Then, his voice—low, rough, and possessive—broke through the silence.

“You finished with your game, you gonna be mine now?”

A statement, not a question.

You smirked, rolling onto your side to face him, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh yeah?” you teased, voice sultry. “Why would I do that?”

His red eyes darkened, jaw tightening as his grip on your waist flexed, his fingers pressing into your bare skin. “Because you were a slut for my cock, you started calling me daddy.”

You bit your lip, clearly enjoying the way his dominance flared. “Mmm, I don’t know, Katsuki. Could have been a lapse in judgment."

You giggled as he flipped you over onto your stomach; pulling your ass in the air. You knew he would continue to drag multiple orgasms out of you until you said you were his.

And you smirked into the sheets, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.

“isn’t he tutoring right now?”

and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.

he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.

1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗

satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.

fuck.

“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”

it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.

“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”

and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—

princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day

princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍

gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.

toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.

toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.

toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?

back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.

“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)

“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”

“no.”

instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.

you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.

“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”

“he deserves it.”

satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.

III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.

time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building

there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.

gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.

nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”

“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”

gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,

“hi, toru!”

you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”

the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?

“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”

nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“

“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”

you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?

the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.

“toru, what does this button do?”

“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”

“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”

“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”

and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.

you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”

& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”

you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—

“alright, let’s go.”

nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”

satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”

the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.

“holy hades. what just happened?”

“may God protect them from my jealousy.”

“wallahi i need a bad bitch on my lap.”

“you can’t say that, man. it’s ramadan.”

# UNIKAISEN

princess meltdowns , end.

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

Before he knew it, he was hard. Precum leaked through his boxers, as his hand ached to touch himself. It was wrong, he shouldn't but the more he stared at the picture, the more his mind slipped out of his control. He slowly pulled his length out, red and dripping. Shamefully, he began to stroke, shuddering at how sensitive he's become. He continued pumping, filthy wet sounds filling his ears as he closed his eyes to fantasize about you better.

You did this. You took his sanity and virginity, haven't called him back for weeks and now all he can do is remember the way you were on top, taking him in and out of a warm, sopping cunt, and your moans softly fanning his skin.

“Ah ~ you feel so good~ fvck~” You mewled into his ear, as he gripped tight to the sheet watching you fvcked yourself with him. Tears began to stream down his face, feeling himself getting closer and closer, stifling a loud sob as he tried to use his voice.

“[name] I-I-I need to-”

He let out a choked moan, as you sat up, taking in all of him, “you need to cum?”  You asked coyly. he nodded desperately as he pleaded and chanted your name like a prayer. a smile stretched on your face as you started bouncing on his throbbing cock, forcing sweet, cracked moans out his dry throat. he began to mindlessly beg for mercy, tears and snot running down his face. “ngh, no, no please~ i’ll~”

“You want me to stop?~” You threatened to slip off but he quickly grabbed your waist, hugging you to stay. You giggled, holding up his chin to make him face you. His green eyes were glazed over, begging for release, but he didn't know how to. You tilted your head, “Do you need help to cum?”

Eren couldn't speak. He looked up to if you were a goddess, basking in the small moments you were nice to him. He nodded, blocking out everything else in the world except you. He only wanted you.

You forced him to maintain eye contact as you slowly began to rock your hips, shuddering at your stimulation but pushing through it. You wanted to see him go dumb. 

“Let go at one, ok” ?You whispered against the shell of his ear, he moaned in response.

“Ten”

You tightened around him, overstimulated yourself.

“Nine~”

His mouth fell open, twitching underneath you.

“Eight”

He hid himself in the crook of your neck. 

You gasped, “Seven.”

Muffling his pathetic, loud whines and cries against you.

“Six”

You pushed him back against the headboard.

“Five. Don't make me start over.” You warned as he keened to your hand around his neck.

“Four, fvck~” 

You moaned, feeling yourself getting close too. Meanwhile, Eren was on the brink of filling you up to the brim. He sniffled, holding himself back. 

“Three!” 

Eren's vision blurred as his bottom half went numb. So close. 

“Two”

You paused to catch your breath. Looking down to see him absolutely gone. Drool flowed from his mouth as he lay there whimpering like a puppy. He looked too cute to not be awarded. You went closer to his face, feverishly closing the space between your lips. It was sloppy, desperate, and gross. Leaving a string of saliva between you two.

Eren let out a shaken “thank you” as his eyelids began to droop, still trying his best to look at you. You bit your lip, holding back a smile, but you couldn't help it. 

“One. Let it all out like a good boy~”

 In reality, he's thrashing around in his twin-sized bed alone in his messy dorm. Clear-frame glasses skewed and foggy on his face, hair disheveled,  left hand covering his mouth squeezing and twisting his cock, until warm seeds slowly cascaded down his shaft–pooling onto his abs.

He removed his hands as his body shook and convulsed. Eventually, he laying motionless, bordering sleep until his eyes began to flutter open, and he recollected himself. 

Once the clarity kicked in, so did shame. 

He rolled over, stuffing his face into a pillow. “Why did I do that!?” 

He wasn't sure what he regretted the most, letting his desires gain control over him, or letting you be first, so now his only desire is you. Eren Yeager, top of all his classes, who never let anything get in his way, fvcked with someone who he knew deep down would be the death of him and still indulged.

That's what he gets for falling for someone who hated his guts.

He reached for the box of tissues as his phone buzzed.

Groaning in irritation, he forced himself up to fix his glasses and pants, picking them up with his unsoiled hand. 

“unknown number”

Must be his lousy roommate, Jean Kirstein, calling from the county jail.

“What?” he rasped harshly, expressing his annoyance before Jean said anything. There was an unusual pause on the other side.

“...Is that how you pick up the phone, Yeager?”

Eren choked on nothing, falling into a coughing fit. It was you. After all this time, it was you! Why did you have to call now? He put the phone back to his ear, but was too scared to speak. 

“You good?”  You voiced concern. 

He gets himself together, attempting to play it cool. “Uh huh,” His voice betrayed him. “Um, how- how are you? I haven't heard from you in a while.”

You noticed but mercifully didn't say anything. “I lost all my contacts after I got a new phone. Mikasa gave me yours. Why? Did ya miss me?” 

You had no idea, but he couldn't let you know that. He steadied his voice, “No, because you missed 5 study sessions, I was getting worried about your…studies.”

You audibly blinked “...Lame.”

“Yeah, that was lame, " Eren thought to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose from an upcoming headache.

You smacked your lips, “But you're kind of right? I need to finish this history project tonight to save my grade, and I'm hardly finished. Can you come over?”

Eren froze. Did he hear that right? You never invited him to your house before, let alone your space, unless it came at the expense of his rationale. He cleared his throat. “Sure. Um, when?”

“Now, duh!” You dropped the call, leaving him back with unsanctified thoughts and feelings. That night with you replayed through his head like a broken record. His thoughts, his sounds, your sounds, your smell, your body, came back like a flood.  You've completely intoxicated him

 It made him dizzy.

Stumbling into his shared bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the dirty mirror–  his brown hair all disheveled, his eye bags were more visible, and sweat riddled his acne-prone skin, causing strands of his hair to stick to it. And to top it all off, dark red blood rolling down his nose.

He let out a deep exhale as he reached for a tissue. “Who am I kidding? [name] would never date someone like me.”

--

a/n: may or may not have a part 2. please don't count on it