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TSUKISHIMA X YAMAGUCHI X READER

AGED UP CHARACTERS | MDNI

The bass thumped hard enough through the floorboards to rattle the red Solo cups stacked in the corner. Tsukishima Kei leaned against the kitchen counter, his backwards cap low over his eyes, sipping casually from his drink as his gaze swept over the crowd. The party was one of those typical college Friday nights—cheap beer, body glitter, and too many people pressed into a too-small house.

Beside him, Yamaguchi Tadashi stood stiffly, shoulders hunched and fiddling with the rim of his untouched cup. He was overdressed in a cardigan and clearly not in his element.

“You look like you're about to bolt,” Tsukishima drawled, nudging him with an elbow. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Yamaguchi muttered, lying badly.

Tsukishima tilted his head, smirking. “You're not. Which is exactly why we need to fix that.” He took a final sip and set the cup down with purpose. “And I have an idea.”

Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow, wary. “Oh no.”

Tsukishima spotted you across the room, laughing with someone near the fridge. He nodded in your direction.

“You trust me, right?”

Yamaguchi hesitated. “…Ish?”

“Good enough.”

And before Yamaguchi could stop him, Tsukishima was already sauntering over to you, cool and confident, dragging his nervous best friend in tow.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, giving you that lazy half-smile he knew worked more often than not. “Y/N, right? We’ve got a weird question for you.”

You turned, arching an eyebrow at the tall blond who’d appeared out of nowhere, his hand casually clamped around Yamaguchi’s wrist like he was keeping him from running. Your gaze flicked between them—Tsukishima in a sleeveless jersey and too much attitude, Yamaguchi flushed and visibly regretting every life choice that led him here.

“Weird question?” you asked, already intrigued. “That’s a hell of an opening line.”

Tsukishima shrugged. “I don’t believe in small talk.”

Yamaguchi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Tsukishima didn’t miss a beat. “Yamaguchi’s a virgin,” he said flatly.

Your brows lifted, the drink halfway to your mouth paused in midair.

“And he’s in his head about it. Way too much.” He leaned in just enough to drop his voice so only you two could hear. “So I thought maybe… if someone cool, someone chill, helped him out—with me there—he might stop stressing and start actually living.”

Yamaguchi made a sound between a gasp and a groan. “Tsukki!”

You looked between the two of them—Yamaguchi’s eyes pleading (but with what? Panic? Hope?), and Tsukishima watching you like he already knew your answer.

You sipped your drink, slow and thoughtful.

“That’s… incredibly forward,” you said finally.

Tsukishima smirked. “Not denying it.”

“And you’re saying this like you being involved would help somehow?”

He grinned wider. “I’m good at what I do. And he trusts me.”

Yamaguchi looked like he wanted to crawl under the fridge, but he didn’t deny it.

You set your drink down on the counter, stepping a little closer to the two of them, folding your arms.

“Well,” you said, giving Yamaguchi a once-over. “He’s cute.”

Yamaguchi blinked. “Wait—what?”

Tsukishima just smiled.

Yamaguchi was still processing your words when Tsukishima hooked two fingers in the collar of his hoodie and tugged, steering him like luggage.

“She said you’re cute,” Tsukishima murmured, amused. “Don’t pass out.”

“I’m not—” Yamaguchi sputtered, voice breaking halfway through.

"Follow me. Both of you." Tsukishima commands

You followed behind, cup in hand, heart thudding with the kind of buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol. There was something about the contrast between them that made your skin prickle—Tsukishima’s laid-back dominance and Yamaguchi’s overwhelmed sincerity. And both of them were looking at you like you were something just out of reach.

Tsukishima’s room was cleaner than you expected for a college guy’s place—dark walls, a half-made bed, shelves stacked with manga and headphones, and a floor lamp casting a warm low light. He closed the door behind the three of you with a soft click.

“Okay,” you said, setting your drink on the desk. “So what now? You guys just… tag team me?”

Tsukishima shrugged out of his jersey, revealing a lean line of muscle under the tank top beneath. “We’re not animals. Unless you’re into that.”

Yamaguchi sat down stiffly on the edge of the bed like it might combust under him. His eyes darted from you to Tsukishima, then to the floor.

“I—uh—only if you’re really okay with this,” he said quickly. “I don’t want it to be weird, or pressure-y, or—”

You walked up to him, placing your hand gently on his knee.

“Yamaguchi,” you said, voice soft but firm. “Do you want this?”

He looked up at you, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “I do. I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

From behind you, Tsukishima leaned in, bracing one arm on the bedpost and letting his voice drop low near your ear.

“That’s the best part,” he murmured. “There’s nothing to mess up. We’ll show him how it’s done.”

You turned your head slightly toward him, eyes locking.

“I hope you’re as good as you say you are,” you said, lips curling.

He gave a slow, cocky smile.

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

Tsukishima sat beside you on the bed, his long fingers brushing your thigh with idle confidence. “Pay attention, Yamaguchi,” he said, tone low and instructional, like this was just another practice drill. “You’re going to learn something useful.”

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, nodding, his eyes fixed on you like you were something sacred and fragile. His nervous energy hung in the air, almost sweet in its sincerity.

You leaned back, letting Tsukishima coax your legs apart with a firm, practiced hand. He watched your face as his fingers slid under the hem of your skirt, slow and teasing. “Start soft,” he said, almost to himself, as he pressed light, deliberate strokes against you through your underwear. “Get her used to it. Build her up.”

You exhaled, hips twitching slightly, and Yamaguchi’s lips parted as he watched the way your body reacted—every breath, every tiny sound you made like a live wire running straight into him.

“See that?” Tsukishima murmured, voice right against your neck as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric. “How her body tells you what she wants? You don’t need to guess if you’re paying attention.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid inside you, slow and sure, curling just right, your hips twitch as you let out a soft groan. You reached out, found Yamaguchi’s hand, and squeezed. “Come here,” you said softly, guiding him closer.

He obeyed, kneeling in front of you like he was praying, eyes wide and flushed with awe.

Tsukishima’s lips brushed your ear. “You touch her next,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and licking them absently as if to taunt. “But first…”

He stood, tugging off his tank and then undoing his belt, unbothered by how Yamaguchi’s eyes went briefly wide. Tsukishima was lean, toned, confident in every motion. When he pressed against you, his length hard and heavy between your thighs, he held your gaze with a kind of heat that burned low and deep.

“Watch how she opens up when she’s filled right,” he said, guiding himself to your entrance. He slowly pushes in, groaning softly at your tightness.

"Christ..."

He start thrusting, starting of slow and shallow to let you adjust to his thick, long size.

Tsukishima’s rhythm grew more insistent, his hips snapping forward with a precision that sent shockwaves through your core. Each thrust pushed a soft, breathless sound from your lips, and Yamaguchi was completely transfixed—his hand splayed over your stomach, feeling every twitch and tremble of your body as it reacted under their touch.

“She’s so responsive,” Tsukishima murmured, eyes heavy-lidded as he watched the way you arched into him, “Every sound, every breath—she’s telling you everything you need to know.”

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, his lips brushing your jaw as his hand dipped lower, testing the edge of your skirt, your skin hot beneath his fingers.

“Can I…?” he asked, voice tight and low, barely more than a breath.

You turned your head, eyes locking with his. “Yes,” you whispered. “I want you to.”

That was all the permission he needed.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem, tentative but eager, and when they brushed between your thighs—slick, trembling, already worked open from Tsukishima’s steady pace—you gasped his name, sharp and sweet. He flinched like he’d been struck, eyes wide at the way your hips bucked under his touch.

“Just like that,” Tsukishima said, his voice rough now, sweat beading along his neck as he moved harder behind you. “Don’t be afraid to touch her like you want her.”

And he did.

Yamaguchi’s shyness melted into hunger. His fingers learned quickly, stroking your clit in sync with Tsukishima’s thrusts, watching how your mouth fell open, how your whole body shivered. His lips found your neck again, desperate and reverent, whispering your name like a prayer between kisses.

You were floating—caught between Tsukishima’s deep, confident drive and Yamaguchi’s trembling, worshipful attention. One had you gasping, the other had you melting. You couldn’t tell whose name you said next—maybe both, maybe neither—but it didn’t matter. All that existed was heat, breath, rhythm.

“You feel her shaking?” Tsukishima growled low, his voice tight with restraint. “She’s close. Don’t stop.”

Yamaguchi didn’t. You cried out—sharp, broken—your hands flying back to clutch Tsukishima’s arm as you tumbled over the edge, body arching between them.

Tsukishima held you through it, grinding into you with a low groan, and Yamaguchi watched you come apart like he couldn’t believe he was part of it—like you were art, and he’d helped paint it.

When your body finally stilled, trembling and slick with sweat, Tsukishima leaned in and pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder—more tender than smug.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “Nailed it.”

Yamaguchi looked at you, dazed, flushed, lips parted.

“Can I…” he began, voice hoarse, “Can I try more?”

You smiled, slow and breathless, pulling him closer.

“Oh,” you said, your voice a sultry murmur, “we’re just getting started.”

Tsukishima eased back, his breath warm against your skin as he withdrew, letting the moment settle like static in the low-lit room. Your body still pulsed with aftershocks, thighs trembling slightly, skin flushed and damp. He brushed a hand down your spine, slow and grounding, before flopping back onto the bed with a satisfied exhale.

“Your turn,” he said to Yamaguchi, voice thick and heavy with approval. “She wants you now.”

Yamaguchi blinked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected to get this far. His eyes met yours—uncertain, almost shy again—and you reached for him, fingers curling into the collar of his hoodie to tug him closer.

“You okay?” you asked, soft.

He nodded, swallowing. “I… yeah. I want this. I want you.”

You kissed him again, slower this time, less about urgency and more about reassurance. He melted into it, his hands finally steady as they found your waist. He was warm and earnest, his touch lacking Tsukishima’s practiced finesse but making up for it with raw sincerity. Every brush of his fingers, every breath he took, told you he was all in.

You helped him out of the hoodie and the shirt beneath, revealing pale skin and a lean chest, tense with nervous energy. He was beautiful in a completely different way—open, unsure, but trying so hard to get it right. Your hands slid up his arms, coaxing him closer until you lay back, pulling him over you.

Tsukishima’s voice came from beside you, lazy and low. “Take your time. She likes it when you go slow.”

Yamaguchi flushed, but nodded, his lips brushing down your neck as he lined himself up—hesitant but driven. He paused, looking to you.

“Tell me if I do something wrong.”

You cupped his cheek. “You’re not going to.”

Then you guided him in.

The first moment was breathless—his eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open in a soft, broken moan as your warmth surrounded him. He moved slow, almost reverently, as if he couldn’t believe this was real. His hips rocked gently, and you could feel the tension in every inch of him—how hard he was holding back, trying not to lose control too soon.

You met his movements with your own, rolling your hips up to meet him, whispering encouragement between gasps. Every time you moaned his name, his rhythm grew more confident, more fluid. His hands gripped your hips like he needed something to hold onto, and his lips kept finding yours—desperate, breathless kisses between thrusts.

Beside you, Tsukishima watched, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with satisfaction.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already making her moan like that. Told you you’d be good.”

Yamaguchi groaned, burying his face in your neck as your body clenched around him. His control faltered, rhythm stuttering, but you didn’t care—every uneven thrust, every shudder in his frame just made it more real.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him closer, anchoring him to you as he moved faster, needier, the tension in his body finally boiling over. His breath hitched against your skin, and he gasped your name like it was sacred just as he reached his peak, his body jerking in your arms.

You held him through it, stroking his back, your lips at his temple. He trembled against you, breath ragged, overwhelmed in the best way.

When he finally stilled, he looked at you—wide-eyed, stunned, and glowing.

“I—I didn’t last long,” he said, voice cracking.

You smiled, brushing the hair from his forehead. “You were perfect.”

Tsukishima stretched out beside you both, propping his head on one arm. “You’ll get better with practice,” he said dryly.

Yamaguchi shot him a glare, but there was no real bite behind it. Just gratitude. Relief. Maybe even pride.

You lay between them, skin warm, body humming, and you could feel the shift in the air—something new, something fragile and sweet blooming in the afterglow

You lay tangled between them, skin warm and heart steady, feeling the quiet weight of something new settling in the silence. Maybe it started as a lesson—but it ended as something neither of you wanted to unlearn.

MEGUMI X READER

Timeskip | Aged up characters

- MDNI

______________________

Megumi’s breathing is uneven under your fingers. His uniform jacket slips off easily, revealing the toned but slender frame underneath. You touch him like he’s made of something precious—your palms slow and reverent as they move across his chest.

His skin jumps beneath your touch.

“You okay?” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He nods quickly, but there’s tension in his jaw. “Y-Yeah. I just… I’m not used to this.”

“To being touched?” you ask softly, eyes searching his.

“To being touched like I matter.”

Your heart clenches, and you cradle his face in both hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You do matter, Megumi. To me. You always have.”

He tries to nod again, but you feel him swallowing hard, holding something back—tears, maybe, or just years of loneliness. So you kiss him slowly. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just a soft press of lips, over and over, until his shoulders start to relax and he kisses you back with more certainty.

Your hands wander again, this time under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tense lines of muscle that seem permanently braced for battle. You pull the shirt up, breaking the kiss only long enough to tug it over his head. He watches you, a little dazed, as you take him in.

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.

He scoffs quietly. “I’m not—”

You silence him with a kiss to his throat. “Let me decide that.”

Your mouth trails down his neck, across his collarbone, down the center of his chest. You leave soft kisses and lingering touches, memorizing every reaction—the way his stomach tightens when you kiss just above his navel, the shaky breath he lets out when your fingers skim his hips.

When your hands move to his belt, he stills. Not pulling away—just hesitating.

“Megumi?” you murmur, looking up.

He meets your eyes. “I’ve never… done this like this. With someone who…” He stops himself, then exhales shakily. “Who cares.”

You reach up and kiss him gently, reassuring. “Then let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

You undress him slowly, lovingly, until he’s bare beneath you. His cock is already hard, resting against his stomach, flushed and twitching slightly with each uneven breath he takes. You stroke a hand down his thigh, then up to wrap around him, careful and deliberate.

He gasps—his eyes flutter shut, lips parting as his hips buck ever so slightly into your hand.

“Feels good?” you ask, voice low and coaxing.

He nods, barely able to form words. “F-Fuck… yeah.”

You lean down and kiss his chest again, whispering against his skin. “You don’t have to hold anything back. I want to hear you.”

Your hand moves slowly at first, dragging slick over the sensitive head, down the shaft. Megumi’s hands find your waist like he’s grounding himself. His moans are quiet at first, breathy and almost shy, like he’s not used to being vocal—like he’s been taught to stay quiet, stay controlled.

You straddle him again, letting his cock slide between your folds, slick with arousal. He whimpers softly at the contact.

“Y/N…” he breathes, looking at you like he might fall apart. “Please. I—I need you.”

You line yourself up and sink down onto him slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his. His head falls back with a strained groan, eyes fluttering shut as you take him in inch by inch.

“Fuck… you’re so warm,” he mutters, almost disbelieving. “So soft.”

You start to move, slowly grinding your hips down, letting him feel every bit of you—tight, wet, wrapped around him fully. He grips your hips, not guiding, just holding—anchored in you like he’s afraid he might drift away.

“You okay?” you ask again.

His hands tremble. “Yeah. Just… I didn’t know it could feel like this. Like… love.”

You lean down, kissing him with every bit of emotion you’ve got. “It is love.”

The pace builds—slow but deeper, the kind of sex that drowns out the world. You whisper sweet things in his ear. You tell him he’s good, he’s beautiful, he’s safe.

And when he finally cums, it’s overwhelming—his hands gripping you tightly, mouth against your shoulder, moaning your name like he’s been holding it in for years. He shakes through it, body trembling beneath you, the release raw and full of emotion.

You ride out your own climax moments later, gasping his name as your body clenches around him, hips grinding down until you both fall still, panting, wrapped in each other.

You don’t pull away. You just hold him.

And this time, when Megumi wraps his arms around you, it's not cautious or hesitant—it’s full, desperate, like he’s finally letting himself believe he’s wanted.

“Stay,” he whispers against your skin, voice hoarse.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur back. “Not ever.”

ITOSHI RIN X READER

Timeskip!! - MDNI

warnings- smut.lots of smut.

You hadn’t meant to ignore him.

Training had been brutal all day with drills, everyone pushed themselves harder than usual, practicing attack patterns and breakaway techniques until your muscles screamed. You hardly had the energy to notice anything beyond the next drill, the next breath.

But Rin noticed. He always noticed.

He noticed the way you barely glanced at him between sessions. How you slipped into a conversation with Bachira and Isagi without seeking him out, the way you normally would.

Rin caught the way your smile came easier around everyone else. Not him.

He said nothing, as usual. The cold mask he wore stayed in place: detached, disinterested, immaculate.

But under the surface, he simmered.

Now, walking back to the dorms long after everyone else had collapsed into their beds, your phone buzzed.

Rin Itoshi [1:43 AM]:

"Come to my room. Now."

The text was simple. Sharp. Not a question.

You hesitated in the hallway, heart thudding.

You could almost feel his eyes already—impatient, irritated, burning with something you couldn't quite name.

You shouldn’t go.

Rules. Curfews. Sanity.

But your feet moved anyway.

By the time you reached his door, your palms were sweaty.

You knocked once, soft.

No answer.

You reached for the handle, and it swung open from the inside, Rin standing there in low sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, hair still damp from a shower. His blue eyes fixed onto you immediately — no greeting, no hesitation — and the next thing you knew, he was pulling you inside and shutting the door with a click.

The room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp on the desk. It cast Rin’s face in sharp shadows, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones cut with almost brutal precision.

You opened your mouth to say something — an apology maybe — but he was faster.

"Don’t," he said, voice low.

You froze under his stare. His fingers brushed against the inside of your wrist, featherlight, and the contrast between his touch and his expression made you dizzy.

"You ignored me all day," Rin said.

It wasn't an accusation. It was a fact. Plain. Devastating.

"I didn’t mean to," you whispered.

His eyes narrowed slightly. His hand slid up your arm, deliberate, slow, until his fingers were curled around the back of your neck. The touch was almost tender — if not for the possessive way he pulled you closer, forcing you to tip your head up to meet his gaze.

"You don't get to," he said.

There was a pause — heavy, electric.

Your heart hammered so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

The tension stretched between you, taut and trembling, like a ball about to be snapped into the net.

Without warning, Rin kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishing — his mouth crushing yours, forcing a gasp from you that he swallowed greedily. His hands tightened around your hips, pulling you flush against the hard, lean line of his body. You could feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

He kissed like he played: with singular, devastating focus.

You barely noticed your back hitting the wall, the way he pinned you there with his body weight. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, palms rough against the bare skin of your waist.

"Tell me," Rin murmured against your lips, voice rough. "Tell me you want this."

"I want you," you whispered, breathless.

Rin made a low noise in the back of his throat — something between a growl and a groan — and kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, deliberate strokes.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

You fisted your hands in the soft fabric of his shirt, tugging, wordlessly pleading.

Rin understood. Of course he did.

He pulled back just enough to strip your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without looking. His gaze raked over you — bare-chested, panting, flushed — and something darkened in his expression.

"You’re mine tonight," he said simply.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t want to.

Rin’s hands didn’t fumble.

They moved with infuriating precision, like every inch of your body was a map he already knew by heart.

His fingers slid down your sides, slow, almost reverent — if it weren’t for the way his nails occasionally dragged just hard enough to sting. You shivered under the assault, arching into him instinctively.

He smirked, barely — a tiny twist of his lips that you would have missed if you weren’t drowning in him.

“You’re shaking already,” he murmured, voice low and rough. His forehead rested against yours again, trapping you between him and the wall, his hips pressing firmly between your thighs.

You could feel him — already hard, already straining against the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

A helpless sound escaped you.

Rin caught it immediately. His hand snapped up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"No hiding," he muttered. "I want to see everything."

Your chest heaved, your pulse skittering wildly. You nodded, wordless.

Satisfied, Rin kissed you again — slower this time, almost lazy, as if savoring the way you melted under him. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before sliding inside, drawing a low whimper from your throat.

You barely noticed when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down in one fluid movement. Your underwear went with them, leaving you bare, trembling against the wall.

Rin dropped to his knees without a word.

You gasped — and he smirked against your thigh, the faintest brush of teeth scraping your sensitive skin.

"You don't deserve it," he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself.

"But I'll still give it to you."

Then his mouth was on you — hot, relentless, devastating.

You cried out, hips bucking, but Rin’s strong hands gripped your thighs, pinning you open for him. He licked into you with slow, obscene precision, every flick of his tongue deliberate and measured like he was studying every reaction you gave him.

And you gave him everything.

Broken sounds spilled from your mouth — his name, pleas, desperate whimpers — and Rin drank them in like oxygen. His lashes were dark against his sharp cheekbones, his brows furrowed in pure focus.

Rin Itoshi didn't just eat you out.

He dismantled you.

Piece by piece.

You felt the orgasm build almost too fast — a tightening low in your stomach, spiraling out of control.

"R-Rin, I'm—" you gasped, fisting your hands in his hair, trying to pull him back.

He growled — a low, warning sound — and sucked hard on your clit, sending you over the edge with a cry that you barely managed to muffle into your hand.

Your legs shook violently, threatening to give out, but Rin caught you easily, standing and lifting you without effort.

You barely realized he had carried you to the bed until your back hit the mattress.

You blinked up at him, dazed, ruined — and he stared down at you like you were something his, something only he could touch.

"You’re not done," Rin said.

The way he said it — calm, certain — made your head spin.

He stripped his shirt off with one hand, revealing taut muscles, lean lines, a body built for brutal efficiency. He made no move to tease, no drawn-out seduction — he wasn’t trying to be sexy.

He just was.

The waistband of his sweatpants slid low, and then he shoved them down enough to free his cock — thick, flushed, angry-red at the tip, already leaking.

Your mouth went dry.

Rin caught the way you stared at him — and for the first time, something flickered across his face. Not arrogance.

Something closer to vulnerability. Desire. Need.

"Turn over," he ordered, voice sharp.

You obeyed immediately, rolling onto your stomach, chest pressing into the sheets. You barely had time to breathe before Rin was kneeling behind you, grabbing your hips roughly and pulling you up onto your knees.

You felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against your entrance, teasing, pressing.

Then, with one slow, brutal thrust, Rin pushed inside.

You choked on a moan, fists clenching the sheets.

He was big — thicker than you remembered — and he didn’t give you much time to adjust, starting a punishing rhythm almost immediately. Each thrust forced a broken gasp from your lungs, each snap of his hips brutal, relentless.

You could hear his breath, ragged and strained, could feel his fingers bruising into your skin where he held you like he might never let go.

"Too much?" he muttered, voice strained.

You shook your head desperately. "N-no, please, more—"

He growled, low and feral, and slammed into you harder, the wet sound of skin against skin filling the room along with your incoherent cries.

You felt drunk on him — on the stretch, the pleasure, the overwhelming fullness.

Rin wasn’t speaking anymore.

He was just breathing — harsh, desperate — like he was fighting something inside himself, something ugly and possessive and unstoppable.

You knew you weren’t going to last long. Not with the way he was fucking you like he had a point to prove, like he was trying to imprint himself into your very bones.

And judging by the rough, broken noises spilling from his throat, he wasn’t far behind you.

Your climax hit you like a freight train — sudden, blinding, devastating — and you screamed into the sheets as your body convulsed around him.

Rin cursed viciously under his breath, hips stuttering once, twice, before he buried himself as deep as he could go, spilling inside you with a hoarse, wrecked sound that you barely recognized as his voice.

For a moment, the world spun.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the pounding of your heart.

Then Rin pulled out slowly, his hands lingering on your hips like he couldn’t bear to let you go completely.

You collapsed into the sheets, utterly spent, utterly ruined.

And Rin — ever Rin — just stared down at you silently, chest heaving, his blue eyes dark and unreadable.

BAKUGO X READER — MDNI

Timeskip!!

warnings: smut/nsfw, rough sex, hair pulling, language, fem!reader, Mdom

____________________________________

University life had never been easy, but you never imagined it would be this hard. Juggling classes, assignments, drills, and everything in between, you found yourself constantly exhausted, always on edge, barely keeping up. And then there was him.

Bakugo Katsuki. The human embodiment of a thunderstorm—always loud, always in motion, always infuriating. He seemed to have it out for you from the very first day. The moment you’d stepped onto campus, something about the way you carried yourself must have triggered him. You’d caught his attention with a simple, unassuming mistake, and from then on, he’d been relentless.

It started with insults—casual jabs about how you took notes, how you couldn’t keep up with the physical drills, how you were “too slow” in everything you did. At first, you’d tried to ignore him. It wasn’t like you had time to waste on someone like him. But then something strange happened: you started fighting back.

You weren't the kind of person who let things slide, especially when they were so annoyingly persistent. So you bit back. Every time he said something sarcastic or belittling, you responded in kind. The words were sharp and quick, and the more you clashed, the more you felt the pull of something you couldn’t quite define.

It wasn’t just the way his insults got under your skin. It wasn’t just his presence in the room that made your heart race. There was something about the way he looked at you, sometimes—something that lingered for just a little too long, that made you question whether he saw you the same way you saw him. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but the tension was always there, simmering just beneath the surface.

You chalked it all up to irritation—the tight knot in your stomach every time he showed up, the way your pulse jumped whenever his voice cut through a room. It had to be anger. What else could it be? He was relentless, impossible, always pressing your buttons with an accuracy that made your blood boil. But even with all that, your eyes found him before anyone else’s did. You remembered every insult he threw like they were burned into your brain, and worse, you caught yourself waiting for the next one. You told yourself it was because you needed to be ready. It couldn’t possibly be because you wanted to hear what he had to say, or how his voice dipped when he got serious, or how the corners of his mouth twitched when you managed to get under his skin too.

Bakugo wasn’t any better. If anything, he seemed more agitated around you than anyone else, like your very existence was a challenge he refused to back down from. Every shared assignment was a contest, every passing comment from you sparked a fire behind his eyes. He didn’t just argue—he provoked, waiting for you to bite back, and when you did, he looked satisfied in a way that made your chest tighten. There were moments, rare and fleeting, when he looked at you too long, like he was trying to figure you out. But then it was gone, replaced with another scoff or a cutting remark. You told yourself he hated you. He had to. Because the alternative—the idea that he might be feeling the same impossible, maddening pull you were—was something neither of you would dare to admit.

It all came to a head one night, long after the rest of the dorm had gone quiet.

You’d just finished a brutal late-night training session. Muscles aching, clothes sticking to your skin with sweat, you stumbled into the common area, ready to collapse. But of course, he was there—Bakugo, sitting on the worn-out couch like he owned the place, a water bottle dangling from his fingers and his sharp eyes already locked on you.

“Oi, why are you here?” he muttered, voice low and rough.

You rolled your eyes, too tired to deal with him, but he kept watching you like he was waiting for something. You ignored the way your chest tightened under his gaze, tried to move past him, but he stood up. In one step, he was in front of you, tall and broad and impossible to ignore.

“You look like shit,” he said. But there was something different in his tone. Less mocking. More… tense.

“Thanks,” you shot back, lifting your chin. “Glad to know you’re still full of compliments.”

His eyes narrowed, and that little muscle in his jaw jumped—like he was holding something back. You stepped around him, but he caught your wrist. Not hard, just enough to stop you.

“What is your problem?” you snapped, yanking your arm back. “Why can’t you leave me alone for one damn second?”

“I don’t know” he said, his voice sharp, like the words were pulled out of him. “You piss me off. Everything about you pisses me off.”

“Then walk away,” you said, stepping closer. “No one’s making you stay.”

“You want me to?” he asked. “Want me to walk away so you can act like you don’t wait for me to show up every time?”

Your breath caught. The silence stretched between you, thick and electric.

He was close now—too close. You could feel the heat coming off his skin, the raw tension in his body. Your eyes locked, and for one heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then something in him snapped.

He grabbed you—not roughly, but with enough force to press you back against the wall, his hands flat on either side of your head. His mouth was inches from yours. You didn’t push him away. You didn’t want to. Every nerve in your body lit up, the tension that had been building for months finally exploding to the surface.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “You think I don’t feel this shit too?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your hands were already in his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips crashed into yours—angry, hungry, desperate. You kissed him back with the same fire, like every insult and fight had led to this moment. His shirt was tugged off and the world narrowed to the heat between you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was fast and wild, fueled by months of tension and things neither of you had dared to say out loud. You lost yourselves in it—gripping, gasping, every move a challenge, every touch a dare.

But the way he looked at you—less like you were a problem and more like you were something he couldn’t stop thinking about—told you everything you needed to know.

Your chest rose and fell as you both stood there, still pressed against the wall, lips swollen, breaths heavy. His hands were still on you—one on your waist, the other curled around the back of your neck like he couldn’t let go. Maybe he didn’t want to.

Neither of you said anything. Words didn’t matter anymore. The air between you was thick, like it could snap in half if either of you moved.

But he did.

With zero warning, Bakugo stepped back, grabbed you by the waist, and with effortless strength, lifted you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“What the hell—?!” you shouted, pounding your fists against his back, but you weren’t really fighting him. Not seriously.

“Shut up,” he growled, gripping your thighs tighter to keep you still. “You want this. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, a rush of heat spreading through you that had nothing to do with embarrassment. His pace was fast, determined, like he was done waiting. He carried you through the dorm halls like he didn’t give a damn who saw, like he’d been holding this in for too long and now that the fuse had lit, there was no turning back.

When he kicked open the door to his room, it slammed shut behind him, and in one swift motion, he dropped you on the bed.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was on you again—hovering above, hands on either side of your head, eyes burning into yours like you were something he’d been dying to get his hands on.

“You drive me insane,” he said, voice low and full of grit. “Every damn day.”

“Then stop thinking about me,” you challenged, trying to steady your breathing. “No one asked you to.”

“I tried,” he said. “Couldn’t.”

Then he kissed you again—harder this time, hungrier. His hands were everywhere, rough but careful, pulling at your clothes, tugging your shirt over your head like he couldn’t stand another second of space between you. The heat between you surged, wild and unrelenting. You wrapped your legs around him, pulled him closer, and every inch of contact was like a spark.

His mouth moved to your neck, your collarbone, leaving hot trails of breath behind. You arched up into him, fingers gripping his hair, his name escaping your lips before you could even think to stop it.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just fire—pure and consuming—as the last barriers between you finally broke down.

Bakugo takes a minute to take in the view of you under him. His hands trailing up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading roughly. He looks but up at you, his eyes dark with lust.

"God...i need to be inside you. right now"

He gets up abruptly and walks quickly over to his drawer, grabbing a shiny silver package.

"Get on all fours." He demands, leaving no room for argument.

For once, you dont make a remark, instead you simply obey, positioning yourself on the ebd while he rips open the condom packet. Before you know it, he is behind you, shoving your face into the pillows below you. He pins your wrists to your arched back, holding them in place with one of his veiny, calloused hands.

"Shit, your so wet..."

His palm comes down on your ass, making you yelp and push back against him. He rubs his tip against you teasingly before slowly pushing his cock deep inside you. You whimper softly. Once fully sheathed, he lets you adjust, knowing you'll need to prepare yourself before he splits you.

After about a minute, he starts to withdraw, oeaving just the tip inside before slamming back in, grunting softly.

"Ah...Bakugo—"

"Shut up and fucking take it..."

He says, his voice strained. He picks up the pace, pounding into you mercilessly, drawing out cries and moans from you. With one hand still pinning your wrists to your back, the other goes to pull your hair roughly, making arch your back, opening you up to more of his brutal thrusts. He lets a a deep groan as you tighten around him.

"Shit... im gonna cum..."

He hears the desperate tone in your voice and doubles his efforts, dropping your hair and rubbing your clit in time with his brutal thrust, trying to tip you over the edge. It doesnt take long before you are crying out his name as you reach your peak. Your orgasm triggers his, with a grunt, he fills the condom. You collapse onto the bed, and he soon joins you.

The room was still, heavy with the scent of sweat and skin, and the quiet buzz of something that had finally been let loose. You lay there, limbs tangled with his, the sheets a mess around your legs, skin still flushed and hypersensitive. Bakugo’s chest rose and fell against yours, his breath warm on your collarbone, one arm draped possessively across your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go. Neither of you spoke. There were no insults now, no sharp remarks—just the soft echo of your heartbeat and the unfamiliar weight of what had just happened. His hand moved, slow and rough, tracing lazy lines along your hip, like he was trying to commit the shape of you to memory. For the first time, it wasn’t about winning, wasn’t about pushing each other’s buttons. It was quiet. It was real. And it scared the hell out of you.

You didn’t know what came next, but in that moment, wrapped up in his warmth and silence, you didn’t care. All you knew was that something had changed—and neither of you could go back.

⊹₊⟡⋆TSUKISHIMA X READER - MDNI

(timeskip Tsukishima!!!)

warnings: smut,language - contains explicit content,MDNI

----------------------------------------------------

It started with a knock.

Soft, hesitant. Not like him. Tsukishima didn’t hesitate. He didn’t fidget outside doors at midnight. And he definitely didn’t ask for things he couldn’t control. But tonight? He looked... different.

When you opened the door, the hallway light illuminated behind him, outlining the tall, lean frame you knew so well. He stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his glasses fogged slightly at the corners from the cold night air and blonde hair messy and unstyled. And those eyes—normally sharp, unimpressed, calculating... looked dull.

Tired.

"Can I come in?" he asked, voice low, quiet. There was something else in his tone that you could quite pick up. Something deeper.

You didn’t even answer. You just stepped aside.

The door closed behind him with a click that seemed to echo louder than it should have in the small space. He didn’t move to sit down. Didn’t ask how your day had been like he normally would. He simply stood in the middle of the room, it was as if the weight of the air had thickened around him.

"Tsukishima..." you started, reaching out, but he turned toward you with a look that stopped you in your tracks.

Not angry. Not cold. Just... unraveling.

And then he was kissing you.

It was sudden. Fierce. The kind of kiss that sucked the breath from your lungs and made your knees weak. His hands framed your face like he was trying to ground himself, thumbs brushing along your jaw as he tilted your head to kiss you deeper. You tasted frustration on his tongue, exhaustion, hunger.

"I need you," he muttered against your lips, voice barely more than a growl. "Right now. Please."

Your heart fluttered. he didn’t ask for things like that. He didn’t plead. He demanded. But tonight, there was something raw beneath the surface. Something that made your chest ache.

You nodded.

Clothes fell to the floor, soft and silent, until both of you were left in your skin. He kissed down your neck with trembling lips, teeth occasionally scraping your collarbone like he couldn’t decide between reverence and ruin.

Tsukishima backed you slowly towards the foot of the bed, making your gently fall onto the matress with a soft thud, the sheets were cool beneath your skin, and it wasnt long before he followed you down, crawling over you, his tall frame dwarfing yours. His mouth latches onto your collarbone, soon trailing lower, sucking bruises into your chest, your ribs, your hips—anywhere his lips could reach.

"I thought about this all day," he whispered against your stomach, feeling the warmth radiating from your skin beneath him. "About touching you. Being inside you. Hearing you say my name."

His fingers dipped between your legs, parting you with ease, his breath catching when he felt how wet you already were.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Your soaked, only from kisses. Not that im complaining."

He slowly slides two fingers deep inside you, a familiar warmth spreading across your body.

You moaned, your hips rising to meet his touch, but he held you down with one strong arm, using his thumb to tease your clit with slow, deliberate circles. His eyes stayed on yours, half-lidded and dark with desire.

"You don’t get to rush this. Not tonight. I need to feel every second of you."

Then his mouth was on your pussy—hot, wet, relentless, while his fingers worked you open. His tongue touching your clit with deep, slow strokes while his fingers explored you from within. He groaned like he couldn’t get enough, like your taste was the only thing keeping him sane.

You writhed beneath him, gasping his name, but he didn’t stop until you were shaking, until you were clenching around his fingers, your thighs squeezing his head as you came hard against his mouth.

But even then, he didn’t stop.

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips slick with you, and hovered above you with a look of reverence.

"You’re mine tonight," he said simply. "Every part of you."

Then he positioned himself between your legs, one hand guiding his cock to your entrance, pushing in deep. The stretch burned, but it was perfect, and your body welcomed him like it had been waiting for this all along.

He sank in slowly, inch by inch, cursing under his breath until he was fully seated inside you. He stayed still for a moment, forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.

"So fucking tight" he whispered. "I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that."

You rolled your hips and smiled, teasing. "Then don’t look. Just fuck me."

And he did.

The first thrust was slow and deep, pulling a moan from your lips. The next came faster, rougher, fueled by the frustration and stress he was feeling and soon he was pounding into you. Hard. You met each stroke with equal desperation, nails digging into his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist.

"Fuck, yes—please, don’t stop,"

"Not planning to," he gritted out. "Not until I forget everything else."

Your bodies moved in sync, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the room. He fucked you like there was no tomorrow.

His eyes met yours, you could see the pure need and want in them, his forehead sheen with sweat. You could tell he wasnt holding back tonight. The pleasure ripping through you was intense, your body clenching around him without thinking, dragging a broken groan from his throat.

He didn’t last much longer.

With a final, deep thrust, he spilled inside you, hips jerking as he buried himself to the hilt. He collapsed on top of you, sweaty and shaking, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he caught his breath.

Minutes passed in silence. Then he spoke, voice barely a whisper.

"I missed you today."

Your heart ached.

You ran your fingers through his hair, cradling his head to your chest. "I’m right here."

Friends with benefits (and feelings) --- MDNI

---------------------

Timeskip Nishinoya

warnings: Suggestive/smut,swearing

Notes: Yes i did cringe multiple times while writing this, yes i dont know why i decided to write this. Lmk if you want part 2.

____________________________________

You weren’t supposed to have favorites.

But the way Nishinoya looked at you from across the court, sweat-slick and grinning like he just won the damn lottery? Yeah, you were in trouble from day one.

It started as a joke — friends who just “helped each other out.” Post-practice hangouts that got handsy. Casual, no-strings-attached, totally chill.

Except tonight, he was already flushed before you even touched him.

His apartment smelled like the cheap body wash he always used, and there he was — on the couch, bouncing his knee, eyes wide the second you stepped inside.

“You took forever,” he said, voice breathy and impatient.

“I told you I was showering,” you said with a lazy smile, dropping your bag and sauntering over.

He bit his lip, shifting where he sat. “Yeah, but… I was thinking about you. And now I can’t sit still.”

You tilted your head, eyes dragging down his bare arms, over his tank top, to the telltale tent in his sweatpants. “You could’ve waited for me, hmm?”

He whined — an actual, needy whimper. “I tried, but you’re mean and hot and you take your sweet time on purpose—”

You cut him off with a kiss, and he melted instantly, fingers clutching at your shirt, pulling you into his lap like you were oxygen.

“Y/N…” he breathed against your mouth, hips shifting under you. “Need you— I’m serious, please don’t tease tonight.”

“Why not?” you asked sweetly, grinding down just enough to make him gasp. “I like hearing you beg.”

And oh, he did.

He was a squirmy mess beneath you, hands trembling where they gripped your hips, trying not to buck up too hard. His breath hitched every time your fingers slipped under his shirt, every time your lips brushed his neck.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whined, high and wrecked. “You always do this—act all cute and then ruin me.”

You hummed against his throat. “You love it.”

“…Maybe.”

By the time you had him sprawled out across the couch, flushed and panting, shirt pulled halfway off and sweatpants barely hanging on, his attitude was long gone. What was left was just Nishinoya — needy, sensitive, so easy to unravel.

“Y/N,” he moaned, hips rolling up into your touch, eyes half-lidded and desperate. “Please, I can’t—just do something—anything—please—”

You covered his mouth with yours to shut him up — not that you really wanted him quiet. His sounds were addictive.

You break away from the kiss to remove his sweatpants and boxers at once. Your eyes snap to his lower half, drinking in the sight of his muscular thighs and hard, aching cock, practically begging to be touched. Noya desperately tugged the hem of your skirt

Seeing the pure want in his eyes, you cant help but tease him a little, despite the ache between your legs.

You slowly take your skirt off, watching his pupils grow wide with lust. Noya lets out a soft groan of both annoyance and desire — desperate for you to end the torturous teasing, his hand goes to your hip, his fingers hooking your underwear, pulling them down.

"F-fuck..."

He watches as you sit yourself in his lap, straddling his hips — Nishinoya reaches over to his wallet and pulls out a condom, opening the wrapper with his teeth and rolling it on. You give his cock a few strokes, making sure its secure, he lets out a needy noise.

"P-please, Y/N...put it in..."

Your eyes trail back up to his face, he is softly panting, waiting for you to give him the relief he desperately craves. You give him a mischievous smile.

"Beg."

Noticing the look on your look on your face and the position he is in, makes him realise he is like putty in your hands. His breath hitched as he looked up at you, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with lust. His fingers gripped your hips, moving you closer, voice trembling as he whispered, "Please, Y/N… I need you—need your hands on me, need you to make me feel good. I’ve been thinking about you all day and I can’t take it anymore. Don’t tease, just—please, touch me. I’ll be good, I promise…"

----------------------------------------------------

His hands were trembling where they gripped your thighs, nails digging in just enough to leave little marks. He was already wrecked — flushed from head to toe, sweat clinging to his chest, eyes glassy with need.

You hovered over him, dragging your fingers along his stomach, watching every twitch of his muscles. He whined.

“Y/N… please,” he breathed, voice cracking. “I can’t— I need you so bad, please, please…”

You smiled down at him, slow and cruel. “You’ve been begging for what, ten minutes? You sound so pretty when you’re desperate, baby.”

“I’ll be good,” he gasped, hips bucking up instinctively, only to groan when you pressed him back down. “I swear I’ll be so good—just ride me, I need to feel you, I can’t take it anymore—”

Finally — finally — you let yourself sink down onto him, slow and steady.

He choked out your name like a prayer, head falling back against the pillows, mouth open in a silent moan. His fingers clutched at your hips like he was trying to ground himself, but he couldn’t stop trembling.

“F-Fuck, you feel so good—so tight—oh my god, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Was it worth the wait, Noya?”

He nodded frantically, moaning into your shoulder. “So worth it—please don’t stop—ride me just like that, I’m gonna lose my mind—”

And you did — slow at first, then faster, until all he could do was cry out your name over and over.

“Nngh—Y/N, I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His voice cracked, raw and frantic, hands clinging to you like he’d float away if he let go. You leaned in, kissing his cheek, whispering against his skin, “It’s okay, baby… let go. I’ve got you.”

And he did — falling apart with a strangled moan, body tensing beneath you as he came into the condom, shivering through it, chest rising in shallow bursts. You stayed with him the whole way down, cumming with him. One hand cradling the back of his neck, the other stroking his side gently.

He whimpered your name, quieter this time. Dazed. Vulnerable in a way only you ever got to see.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then his fluttering pulse.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “You did so good.”

Noya let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was nothing cocky in them now — just warmth. Gratitude. Something close to love, but neither of you said it.

You cleaned him up with soft touches, slow and careful, tossing the condom and grabbing a warm cloth. He squirmed a little at the contact, still sensitive, but didn’t stop you — just reached for your hand when you were done, tugging you down beside him.

His face found your neck instantly, breath warm against your skin. “Don’t leave yet,” he mumbled. “I wanna hold you a little longer.”

You slid an arm around him, pulling the blanket up over both of you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

And in that quiet, wrapped in the mess of tangled sheets and soft breathing, it was clear: this wasn’t just casual anymore.

Not even close.