ARIES 22

*****MINORS DNI***** im here to disassociate

[aotdump]

Hopelessly Devoted

18+ Minors DNI

Various Characters---but if I'm being completely honest I’m def writing this picturing Zeke Yeager.

THIS IS NOT EDITED, SO THERE ARE PLENTY OF MISTAKES AND IT’S MY FIRST REAL WRITING PIECE PLZ BE KIND

---

When he looks back on his day with you, he was really surprised on how it turned out. Completely spontaneous, a day created out of boredom. It’s funny really, how today ended up to be a day that he will never forget. 

---

It started like any other Saturday. He wakes up just a few minutes earlier than you, though it's enough time to give him to admire your sleeping form and indulge in the quiet warmth that fills your shared bedroom. 

He pulls you closer to his bare chest with the arm that has gone just a bit numb from where you laid your head all night. He’s not complaining, he never would. Not when it’s you. 

Gentle kisses being placed on your shoulder stir you awake, his welcoming scent fills your nose, you smile. A scent that will always make you feel safe and at ease. Before you even open your eyes, you lift your arm just enough to cup his cheek and make your way up to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Good morning, angel.” He whispers, so gentle that goosebumps form on your skin.

---

From there the morning went as it usually does. You guys lay in bed for another fifteen, twenty minutes, wrapped in each others limbs and discussing any dreams you guys may have had.

You get up and get the shower going while he starts the pot of coffee. He grabs the towels, and you put toothpaste on his toothbrush. A daily routine that has occurred for so long that the air that surrounds you is sweet and domestic, he’s noticed.

While the water warms, he stands behind you in the mirror, tall figure towering over your own. You two brush your teeth and lock eyes in the mirror too many times to count because not having the glimpse of each other for just a few seconds feels like an eternity. It’s comedic really. He notices the frothy white grin you make when you catch him, he always does.

The shower is at a perfect temperature by the time you two step inside. He always lets you step under the water first, wanting you to enjoy the automatic relief it gives your muscles.

“How do you feel?” 

“Still a little sore, but it’s nothing too serious.” You reply sweetly. Your voice like honey.

He kisses your forehead, switching your positions. He notices the dark marks that adorned your neck, collar bones and breasts. Flashbacks of last night flood his brain. Your rising chest, labored breaths, and wanton moans--like scenes in a movie that he never wants to stop watching.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be more gentle next time. I didn't mean to get so carried away last night.” He grins.

The giggle that leaves your mouth makes him fall in love all over again. “I wasn’t complaining, love.” The smile you two share is one that is familiar and full of adoration.

He bends down to give you a kiss, “Wash my hair for me?”

“Anything for you.”

---

By the time noon comes rolling around, you guys are completely bored. It’s been around an hour and a half of just cuddling and surfing the tv for a show to watch.

He’s playing with your hair when he says, “Love, I’m bored.”

“Me too, there’s nothing to watch.”

“We should go out today, how does a day date sound?”

You rise in excitement, squishing his cheeks until his lips pucker. You place a fat kiss on his lips. “That sounds fantastic.”

When you walk away, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. It’s always been an issue, though you don’t seem to mind. He loves you, he loves looking at you. He never wants to miss a thing about you, wants to memorize every part of you that he may have never noticed before. He finds something new to love about you everyday, today, it was the way your eyes glossed in excitement. 

--- 

By the time you stepped out of the restroom, he was already done getting ready--thirty minutes earlier. But he didn't mind waiting, not when it comes to you. Easy conversation had filled the silence while he was sprawled on the bed while you were doing your makeup. 

The sound of the light switch filled his ears, “Okay, I’m ready.”

When you stepped out, he sat up and his breath was caught in his throat. Adorned in a white sundress, that fit your frame so well, it made his heart clench and his jeans uncomfortable. He notices the different items of gold jewelry he has gifted you over the five years you have spent together. Everything about you was angelic. You took his breath away.

“My beautiful girl,” he says while grabbing the left side of his chest and dramatically sighing and throwing himself on his back. “God, be still my heart.”

You laugh and walk in-between his legs, grabbing at his arms and lifting him up. “You’re so stupid.”

He lays his hand on your sides and looks up at you into your eyes, “I’m serious baby. You look stunning. I am so lucky.”

Your soft lips meet his, leaving a slight sheen on them. You move to his neck and inhale, the intoxicating smell of his cologne fills your nose and you place another soft kiss there. “Not as lucky as me.”

---

The day is spent doing all the things you guys have talked about doing, but never really had the time for it. 

He takes you to the quaint little restaurant that he recalled you wanting to go to for the past few months. Hand in hand you walk in and sit down. You sit across from him, reaching across the table and grabbing his hands while your foot rubs up and down his leg. A small effort of affection on your part that makes him feel warm inside. But, he has to admit. He hates not sitting next to you, but he hates not seeing your face even more. So, he’s alright with it for the mean time. Besides, his heights gives him the perfect view of your cleavage down your dress. You notice, of course, it’s not like he’s hiding it. 

You laugh and kick his leg gently, chuckling out a small, “Perv,” without even looking up from the menu.

He laughs with you, “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.”

You squeeze his hand three times, he loves this restaurant now.

---

“That was delicious! Thank you!” You stand on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, arm in arm. “What’s next?”

“Hmmm. Let’s go to the cherry blossom park, then after that new museum. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fantastic. I love you.”

He responds smoothly, “Not as much as I love you.”

You pinch his side, he loves that too.

---

He can't seem to stop taking pictures of you. Your being just far too beautiful to not capture. 

Tucked in a private corner of the park, laying on a blanket he had packed just in case, you look like a goddess. The early evening summer sun starting to go down casts a golden glow on you. It highlights the curves of your body, dress fitting so snug that he finds himself staring...again. You get up, soaking the sun up as much as you can before the season ends and the air turns frigid. With the way you’re sitting, hands behind your back, knees slightly raised, it makes the hem of your dress rise. Your thighs look soft, he wants to touch them, wants to taste them. He settles with playing with your hair, letting the soft strands fall between his fingers. 

He feels the four words dancing on his tongue, dying to escape his mouth. He fights it though, it’s not the right moment he decides.

The cherry blossoms are beautiful, but they don’t compare to you. Nothing will, he believes. Petals fall and get carried by the soft, warm breeze. They surround you guys entirely. It feels magical. Well, almost. He sneezes and your head quickly turns and eyebrows furrow. “Are your allergies acting up baby? Do you want to leave?”

He sneezes again. You think he’s so cute. “No baby, I’m fine. I know you love it here, we can stay a little while.”

“Nonsense. Let’s go.” You stand up and dust yourself off, offering a hand to your lover. He grabs it.

But, he takes his opportunity while still on the ground to flip your dress up to sneak a peak of the cute underwear you're wearing. 

You break out into a blush and laughter, you drop his hand leaving him to fall back onto the blanket. He joins in with your joy, a hearty laugh harmonizing with yours.

“Naughty boy! Help yourself up.” You joke.

“Clown underwear huh? How sexy.”

You laughter gets louder, he sneezes, “That’s what you get!” You reach out again and help him stand up.

“Let’s get out of here.” He folds the blanket and you take his hand, kissing it as if you were a gentleman in an old move.

The smiles on your faces are wide and true. He sneezes. You laugh. Cherry blossom petals blow, he sneezes again. He’s hates allergies, but he loves you. You love the cherry blossom park, so he does too. 

---

By the times you guys make it to the museum the sun has gone down and deep purples and blues fill the sky. 

The inside is extravagant, beautifully lit and incredibly romantic. 

“I’m so glad we finally made it here, you’ve been wanting to visit for so long.” You say and look up at him.

“I know, me too. There’s so much to see, we might be here for a while if that’s okay with you.” He’s giddy and excited, he’s doesn't feel the need to hide it. You're you and he’s him, there’s no side of him that he won’t show you.

“Baby, I don’t care if we’re here for years, as long as I'm with you I’m okay.” You reply as if he should’ve known. He does, but he likes hearing you say it.

“God, I’m so in love with you. Let’s go.”

Hours pass and people come and go around you guys. He loves it here you notice. You make a mental reminder to check up on the website for new exhibits to take him to. 

While reading the plaque next a painting, he's underneath a light that casts down a glow on him that makes him look holy. He looks peaceful and sacred. Butterflies fill your stomach and the need to get closer to him comes over you in a powerful wave.

Grabbing his arm, you pull him close, resting your head on his bicep. He notices you snake you hand under the hem of his shirt and rub his stomach softly. 

He knows you too well, all of your tells are seared into his brain. He notices the way you shift on your feet and gently squeeze your thighs together. What seals it all is the gentle, lingering kisses you’re leaving on his arm.

He quickly tugs your arm and leads you to a dimly lit hallway and pulls you into a deep and heated kiss that travels from your lips to your neck. 

Your breathing becomes labored, and a quiet moan slips from your mouth.

“You need me, don't you baby?” He whispers.

“Yes, please, yes.”  

He takes that and runs with it, “Let’s go home. As much as I love seeing you in this dress, I’ve been dying to take it off of you all fucking day.”

“But the exhibits.” You try to reason, even though you know what you really want.

At this point he’s been half hard all day, wanting to touch and ravage you from the second you stepped foot out of the bathroom. The exhibits are not his priority right now, you are. You always are. 

He leads your hand down to the front of his pants, you bite your lip and press your palm into it. 

He groans softly, and slowly slides his hand up your thigh and into your panties. He rubs your folds and dips in quickly. Wet, so so wet. You watch him bring his fingers to his lips and suck, groaning again at your taste.

“I need you so bad baby, I know you need me too. We’ll come back another time, but right now I just need to get you home.”

Yeah, he likes seeing the new exhibits at the museum, but he loves seeing you naked even more. You are the most beautiful, priceless piece of art he’s ever laid his eyes on.

---

When you guys reach the door to your home, he’s already unzipping your dress while you unbuckle his pants. Pushing you into the entry while shutting the door with his foot, he kisses you so passionately you forget how to breathe. 

His lips are soft and fit yours like a puzzle. You guys stumble down the hallway and into the bedroom. He lifts you up and on the bed, encasing you under his arms.

You grab his face and bring his lips to yours once more, the feeling of his tongue, the taste of him, makes you need more.

He rubs on your clit and you moan into his mouth, he smiles. He really, really loves that sound. 

You strip each other of your clothes, chest to chest. He rises and looks down on your blissed out form. Eyes hazy and blown out with lust. Picture perfect, he thinks. 

“God you are so gorgeous.”

You reach and stroke him and his head rolls back with a groan. “I think it’s you who is the gorgeous one.”

He blushes, he loves you. 

He takes his place between your thighs, inhaling your scent, taking a languid lick. “I’ve been waiting for this all day, you taste so, so good.”

He keeps up his actions and your fingers run through his hair while his pump into you while his tongue brings you to bliss.

Your moans fill his ears, he’s in heaven he thinks.

By the time you cum, he needs you more than ever. He finds his way up to kiss you, after his worships your sensitive nipples. He tastes like you. Your knees find their way pressed against your chest and he slowly rubs the tip of his painfully hard cock along your clit, right before he sinks into you slowly. 

You finally feel whole, he completes you. You love this feeling. 

---

When he cums, he cums inside. You wouldn't have it any other way. He loves watching it spill out of you, just for him to finger it back inside of your sensitive hole. What's left on his fingers, he sucks it off. He knows what’s coming, but it never fails to excite him. 

You reach up to his face and bring him close, opening your mouth. He slowly spits, letting the mixture of the both of your orgasms fall on your tongue. Your eyes roll back and fall close.

“Don’t swallow it yet.” He likes seeing the white substances on your tongue. He’s quick when he dives down to kiss you, tongues savoring the taste. 

It’s both of your favorite flavors.

---

You’re both cleaned up and tired. You’re occupied by the movie on the bedroom tv. The smell of your sex still fills the room, you smell like him and him you. You smell like each other, he loves it. He prefers for you to smell like him all the time. And god does he love when your scent lingers on him.

When he looks down on you, tucked into his side, he becomes overwhelmed. Completely devoured by the love and adoration he feels for you. The four words crawl back up his throat again, so he clears them out. 

He wants it to be perfect, but he can’t fight this feeling in his chest and the voice in his head that is telling him that the perfect time is now. That today is the day. It makes him want to cry and he feels it too. He’s anxious and he’s nervous, but not scared. Nor does he doubt this feeling, and would rather die before he gets the chance to second guess it. Because he knows, it’s you. It will always be you. 

Now is the time and his body acts on its own. Trusting completely in his heart, he moves.

“Baby,” he whispers, “Close your eyes for me, I have a surprise.”

You giggle and sit up with him and shut your eyes.

“No peaking okay love?”

“Okay.” 

He moves and goes into the closet on the tallest shelf where he knows you can’t reach and grabs the small velvet box that he’s had for three years. 

When he walks back out, your eyes are still closed and the both of you are still completely naked. Heads of hair disheveled. It’s funny, he thinks, having it play out this way. But, he wouldn't have it any other way either. 

“Don’t open them yet.”

“I promise they will stay closed.”

“Angel, sometimes when I look at you I get so overwhelmed. I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with all of it, so much that it terrifies me sometimes. I never would have thought to find the type of love that consumes you, let alone find love at all. But I did, and I found it with you. I knew that from the moment I met you, there wouldn't be a moment without you thereafter. All the love I thought I wasn’t capable of was being saved for you and words will never come close to explaining the gratitude I feel for you for accepting it. For accepting me.”

Your heart is racing a mile a minute and so is his, his eyes become glossy with tears, not afraid for you to see them. When he gets on one knee it feels like everything goes still.

“So, please baby,” A hand rubs your knee, as if a cue to open your eyes that are already wet. You’re already muttering a watery, “Yes, yes, yes!”

The four words finally escape him, free falling. 

“Will you marry me?”

---

EXTRA:::

You have your hand in the air, admiring your ring. It’s beautiful.

“How did you know my size?” You ask him.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I had to wake up in the middle of the night while you were dead asleep and measure your finger with a string.”

You turn to smother his face in kisses, which he relishes in of course.

He thinks back to this morning. You two woke up as an ordinary couple, but are going to sleep as fiancés.

He’s happy.

[bfbkg]

hellooo this is me reminding u to write about sleepy bkg leaving ur apartment at night and begging for more kisses 🫡🫡

GO HOME! (2.5k)

— bakugou katsuki x reader

your boyfriend doesn’t want to go home. cw: suggestive, swearing, pretty tame

“i can hear you not putting your shoes on!” you shout from your kitchen, refilling up your water bottle by your sink.

it’s nearing eleven pm on a weekday and you’re nearing the end of your bedtime routine. after finishing your final session of tussling in bed with your boyfriend, you sleepily got to showering and doing your skincare while bakugou was tasked to go back home.

you’re screwing your lid back onto your bottle, bag of popcorn under one arm as you step into your foyer. you find your boyfriend slumped in your chair for putting shoes on, doing exactly not that.

bakugou katsuki is in his thick grey socks, a random pair of black joggers he left at your flat and his oversized khaki hoodie. he looks handsome, always does, but this time he’s appearing a little disheveled. a flower wilting as the clouds begin hiding the sun.

you’re his precious sun with the energy to keep him happy and at peace, till he’s forcefully pulled from your grip.

his hoodie is unzipped, the right side awkwardly longer than the left from being dragged on in a tantrum. his white tee underneath is creased from yanking it over his head with a guttural sigh. he’s even got a water stain on it from hovering over you when you washed your face in the bathroom.

he’s got his head in his hands, legs spread with his travel duffle by his feet. he hasn’t even managed to grab his shoes off your neatly organised rack by your door.

you potter over to him, shaking your head softly with a sweet coo.

bakugou does not want to go home.

“baby. go,” you hum, dragging your slippered feet across your floor.

you tuck your body between his open legs, putting down your bottle and snacks to lightly tickle under his chin. you receive the harshest glare you’ve ever experienced from him, though it’s still miles below the ones he gives at work. 

calloused hands find the bare backs of your soft thighs and lightly, he squeezes.

“you fuckin’ hate me,” he huffs, but his pout comes through. all his features softening under your attention, minus the twist in his brows. “gettin’ rid of me like this.”

you don’t miss the hickies on his neck, two maroon bruises because all you’ve done together these past few days is kiss, cuddle, eat and have sex. since bakugou became your boyfriend, he often forgets about his own apartment. his home is much larger, much more luxurious with built in speakers in the ceilings and a double headed shower. but he always lingers in yours, though he never outstays his welcome. even now.

“i don’t want you to leave but you need to pack for your mission tomorrow,” you smile, taller than him as he sits.

he feels delirious when he stuffs his face in your cotton soft stomach. you smell freshly showered, clean, cosy and like home. bakugou feels like his heart has been stabbed with a fork. he already misses you and you’re right in front of him.

it’s like he’s fighting the devil on his shoulder, to just stay over again tonight and get up early tomorrow. he can grab his shit from home and go straight there. he knows that plan will throw his whole day off tomorrow. also you hate waking up early.

he blinks at you slowly, like a cat that loves what he sees.

for you, it’s easy to get hot from his touch alone and that stare makes you nudge in closer to him. you want to sit on his lap, kiss down his neck again, despite being all over him an hour ago.

“you want me to piss off so you can watch love island,” he breathes, looking up at you with the sweetest ruby puppy dog eyes. there’s a scratchy tone to his voice, sleepiness clearly taking over though he fights it to spend a second longer with you.

you know for a fact you’re the only person in this universe that has seen katsuki like this. that thought alone makes you want to call up his job and say he can’t come in tomorrow. say he’s sick so you can cuddle his big head in your lap. who would you even call? the hero commission? his sidekicks? he is his own boss.

“i do have a load of episodes to catch up on since you’ve been here,” you say sweetly and he eyes your snacks, then your water bottle placed on the shelf beside him.

he’s a grumpy baby in a twenty seven year old, muscled man’s body. he scrunches his nose at the mention of that show. he hates all reality tv, so he says, even though he ends up asking you for details throughout every episode.

“just say you hate me,” he grunts, tilting his head up for a kiss.

you don’t give in just yet.

“i love you but you’ve gotta go. you’ll be even grumpier without sleep in the morning,” you smile.

he rolls his eyes. ever the dramatic one. “yeah, yeah. i get it. love you too.”

you stand there for a few moments. his grip on your thighs getting tighter, his chin in your stomach. he rubs his cheek against your palm, his stubble prickling against you with every move.

“you need to put your shoes on—,”

“you look so pretty like this,” he murmurs, even biting down on his bottom lip.

you narrow your eyes at him. you know exactly what he’s doing and it usually has a hundred percent success ratio.

he pulls off you, keeping his hands on your thighs to look down your body. stupidly, it causes you to look down at yourself too.

your soft pastel pink  boy shorts because you get hot at night. your comfy low cut navy strappy top, that has seen better days but you have no need to replace yet. your nipples poke through the fabric and you don’t miss bakugou’s gaze wafting over them with his tongue poking his cheek.

he looks as if he’s about to moan or take a bite out of you. you can’t tell yet. you don’t mind either.

“katsuki, stop it. you were supposed to leave an hour ago,” you look to your clock beside your front door. “an hour and a half ago.”

bakugou grits his teeth then relaxes by kissing the strip of your stomach between your vest and shorts. he releases the quietest whine.

“i wanna stay here with you.”

even though he’s being dramatic, you’ll see him in less than a week, every word releases tingles down your spine.

you press a kiss to his lips, to which he eagerly pushes back. his hands sneak up to your waist holding you with purpose. it’s only a peck but everything he’s feeling is translated through.

“you’re killin’ me,” he says onto your lips.

“it’s not me, baby. you have the world to save tomorrow. you can make love to your girlfriend when you get back,” you say tenderly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“i’m givin’ you a good fuckin’ when i see you again.”

“you always do,” you shrug playfully and bakugou chuckles, shaking his head in resignation.

“fuck. fuck my life,” he grunts to himself, pulling his slides off your shoe rack and shoving them onto his feet.

“it feels like you’re obsessed with me, kats,” you giggle to yourself, stepping back so he has space to stand up and sling his duffle over his shoulder.

he raises one eyebrow, a huffy laugh releasing from his throat.

“hm? you think?” he takes his hand through his hair, a light pink blush on his cheeks from your attention. “‘course i fuckin’ am. i’m comin’ right back to get you when i’m done.”

you lift up on your tiptoes, hands on his pectorals, “if you say so.”

“i do say so. i am sayin’ that,” he mumbles, hands finding your ass to lift you with ease.

you wrap your legs around his waist so he doesn’t have to bend to kiss you.

“next thursday, okay?” he kisses the corner of your lips, feeling your cheeks rise. “and still text me. i’ll have my phone on me in the evenings.”

you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs.

“yes, dynamight sir,” you drawl, but you lean in to peck him, a noisy kiss that has him chasing after you. he moans softly.

“another.” he whispers.

with your arms wrapped around his neck, you give his bottom lip a nibble, one that causes an exasperated groan. then you slot your lips over his, pushing your tongue into his mouth to tangle against his. it’s long, wet and pulses throughout your body.

you push your chest against his as if you’re trying to merge into one, bakugou’s fingertips sinking into your ass cheeks.

it’s you that pulls away, landing two kisses on his lips for good measure.

“baby, no.” he complains.

since you’re the only one with self control here, you tap his shoulder.

“put me down now. you’ve got to go.” you say controlled and bakugou throws his head back in annoyance, “need you wide awake on the field so you don’t get hurt. i don’t wanna see a scratch on your pretty face when you come back.”

that gets him putting you down, your feet finding the floor. since getting with you, he’s much more mindful of his recklessness and getting hurt. bakugou doesn’t want to scare or upset you. you’ve become his beacon of light, his conscience and answer.

“my pretty face?” he grips the handle to his bag, a smirk rising. he’s still taking in his last few seconds.

you nod, “yes. come home safe to me.”

“i always do. don’t have to doubt me, princess.”

the pet name gets you rolling your eyes to hide how it makes your stomach do flips. he undoes both your door locks and slowly opens it with his shoulder like it weighs a tonne.

as if it’s becoming real all of a sudden, you throw yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a cuddle under his hoodie. you feel complete once you stuff your cheek between his pectorals and you squeeze him tight as thick arms cradle you in. katsuki’s always warm and toasty, a tall standing mattress for you to fall asleep on.

despite you urging him to leave, it doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t ache.

“i’ll miss you,” you say, eyes squeezed shut.

you’re just as dramatic as him, you just hide it better. you’ll see him next week.

“i’ll miss you. gonna think about you when i’m on the camp site shittin’ in the woods.”

your laugh makes bakugou’s chest swell.

“you’re so annoying.”

he shrugs.

with all the power he’s ever possessed in one single time, bakugou lets you untangle from him.

“i’m gonna go now.” he looks down your empty corridor, “i could stay over tonight and leave in the mornin’—.”

“you’re not waking me up at three.”

he turns to you with a frown.

“fine. another kiss, to wish me well,” he demands.

that you can do.

a smush of your lips, you gripping his tee as his hand cups your chin.

“another. for good luck.”

you huff playfully but still you give him another kiss. one that has you opening your mouth and letting him slot his tongue in between. it goes on longer than you mean, with you dragging him closer and his hands land back on your hips.

it’s when he groans without realising, a hardening bump in his waistband pressing against your stomach.

“go now!” you say, pushing him off you and bakugou drags a palm down his face.

“fuck,” he breathes, shaking the horny off his body. not the time. “i’ll see you next week. lock the door behind me. all of them.”

“i always do!”

he flickers down your body, one step into the corridor. 

bakugou bites down on his bottom lip, “i love you. can’t wait to see you again.”

you awe, gripping the door and peeking out, “i love you too. i’ll keep you updated. even send you some selfies.”

bakugou nods rapidly, “please. i won’t be able to reply quickly but i will.”

“okay, i’ll see you later.”

he’s about to step away, he swears he is though he looks back at you peeping at him.

“one last kiss then i’m outta your sight,” he promises.

you eagerly pull out from behind the door, “last one! then you have to go!”

“yeah, yeah, yeah—,” he’s rough in the way you love, placing a palm flat on your back to pull you into him. you practically fall into his arms but quickly you’re up on your tiptoes.

it’s a kiss with the energy that it could be the last one you ever have. a hero going off on a mission and leaving his beautiful girl back home. though this isn’t one of his high risk ones, heck he’s going on his own because he’s so capable. yet still the day he returns feels like forever away.

you practically eat each other's faces, unable to stay appropriate down to your last moments together. you twist to the left as he goes right, holding the back of his head so he stays close. he’s not shy to push his cock into you, letting you know all the ways he will miss you.

it’s loud and messy. it’s trying to remember every inch of him so you can recall it in your nights alone. it’s bakugou groping every part of you he can get his hands on so he can mark you as his.

your blonde sucks on your tongue and you don’t mean to palm him but he ruts into you at the contact. you moan as pleasure sparks beneath your skin, the length of him growing cupped in your palm. you’re wondering if there’s time for another session even though he was meant to leave two hours ago.

the kiss only ends because you’re both breathless, using your last breaths to connect with the other. there’s giggles from you and three extra pecks before you force yourself to step away, using your front door as a shield from your riled up boyfriend.

you watch as he adjusts himself, rolls back his shoulders in a stretch and tries to screw his head on straight.

“goodbye now. for real, kats.”

he nods sharply, stretching his jaw side to side. “bye baby. i’m hard now.”

“that’s your own fault for begging for more kisses,” you grin.

he pouts, “how couldn’t i when you look like—,”

“bye katsuki. my tv is calling me!”

“fuck,” he groans, holding onto his bag strap and throwing his head back, “bye princess.”

comments n reblogs are appreciated. part 2 comments are deleted.

[bfbkg]

Um I’m obsessed with morning sex bkg so him coming to your place after like an 18 hour patrol in the morning and being so horny and sweaty and needy and just 😫 putting u through the mattress is so perfect

BIG REACTION.

bakugou loves getting a reaction out of you.

what’s coming up: smut, fluff, annoying bkg, established relationship, teasing, p in v, touching your clit, protected sex

this was written when i was taking requests. i am not now. it has been a WHILE since i have written smut.

“where’s the key i made you?”

one of the first things bakugou learnt about you, very early on in your relationship is that you are not a morning person. when he suggested a morning hike, you screwed up your face and refused. maybe an afternoon one? when he would sleep over and play his four am morning alarm loud enough to wake you both up, that was enough for you to consider breaking up with him.

but now you open your front door, complete in your pyjamas which consists of an oversized tshirt with his face on it and the capitalised lettering of DYNAMIGHT right underneath. it’s old merchandise he sold a few years back that you insist is your comfiest tee. you’re barefooted, no slippers which is proof he dragged you from your bed all disjointed and your bonnet lays atop your head lopsided. incredibly cute. but aside from his own snarling face looking back at him, he’s got your pretty face twisted in one too.

“it’s six am, kats.” you huff, opening the door wider to let him stomp in, head to toe in his hero gear.

he’s careful not to track any mud or dirt when he steps onto your doormat. he’s quick to take off his uniform, his dirty armour and multiple layers, all while you stand with your arms crossed, staring at him with sleep in your eyes and creases all over your cheeks. you’re having a halfhearted strop.

it’s at this point he decides what he wants.

“i fuckin’ know. i just did an eighteen hour.” he replies, looking to your pouted lips to how your t-shirt rides up with your crossed arms. you’re always so soft when you’re sleepy. “i left my keys at the agency. i forgot to pick them up.”

he wonders if you’re wearing panties.

bakugou pulls off his black kevlar long sleeve, leaving him in his twaron black tank top. then he sniffs, looks to the hem of your tee, “you wearin’ panties under that?”

you roll your eyes, tutting loud and annoyed. “no ‘good morning baby.’ no, ‘you look so beautiful this morning. sorry for waking you up.’ you’re asking if i have panties on. i should kick you out on the street.”

bakugou’s smirk grows, he can deal with you pissy in the morning. in fact, this is exactly how he wants you. looking at him like he’s dirt on the bottom of your shoe, ready to slap him across his face for being crude.

he’s missed you. he wants you.

you eye his golden biceps. muscled and juicy in his tight thick tank. the bulletproof material hugs his pectorals, every ab and points his nipples. you ignore your name tattooed in cursive on his collarbone, the first and last letters peeking out of either side of his left strap. there’s leftover black eye makeup under his eyebrow and sweet sweat all over his body that makes him look similar to a glazed doughnut. he pull off his trousers last, leaving him in these black shorts he wears underneath. you can see his thighs tense as he lands back on both feet, his stupid thigh tattoo being revealed for a split second before hiding beneath the fabric.

bakugou should be exhausted after working for eighteen hours straight, he usually is. but fuck, if you don’t give him a new lease of life.

“good morning my sweet baby,” he coos, almost mockingly, just enough syrup laced in the words to keep you looking at him, albeit still frowning. he steps in closer to you, fingers gripping your chin, “been thinkin’ about you.”

you look up, head tilted in his grasp expectantly. he should be kissing you, right smack on your lips as a hello, maybe even an apology for waking you up.

instead, you follow his ruby pupils as they flicker over your face. lastly, staring at your lips. not kissing them. you hate how easily your body reacts to his proximity after how long he’s been yours, after him being so annoying.

your heart races when you can feel the heat of his body beaming onto your shorter one. you relax at the touch of his hand, any second now and you’re about to lean into his palm. you hate how even the sweaty smell of working on the streets, lingers loudly and warms you from the centre out. you’re one big reactive nerve for your boyfriend, ready to jump and rub up on him like a cat in heat.

“sorry for wakin’ you from your beauty sleep, princess,” he bends in closer to you, his pretty face right in yours. plucked eyebrows, shaven face, a streak of dirt on his cheek. then he smirks, slow and sexy, “is that enough for you?”

at that, you yank out of his grip, slapping his hand off your face. “why are you being so annoying?” you whine, spinning around to go back to your bedroom. “don’t follow me!”

bakugou’s always been good with following rules but he’s choosing not to today. he bounces after you, right on your tail as you push open the door to your bedroom.

your crumpled white bedsheets, one side lifted over from where you were laying before. there’s a box of condoms on the side of your bed he claimed, left from the last time he was around.

“nuh-uh, i meant it. sorry for wakin’ you. i know you hate mornin’s,” he brushes his lips against your ear when he speaks, his hands finding your waist and he’s not surprised by how you lean into him.

“you need to go shower, stinky,” you mumble with a pout.

despite everything, you’re a fool for his attention.

“i will, i will,” he mumbles, slowly pushing you back onto your bed.

you fall back with ease, head on your pillow and bakugou climbs over on top of you. he’s got one of his knees between yours, hands on either side of your shoulders.

you adjust your hips to wrap your legs around his waist and ignoring his own face on your tee, he looks between your legs.

“ah, so you do have panties on,” he grins, hooking his finger on the fabric at your hip and pinging it to your skin.

you slap his hand, still in a mood, “ouch, idiot. obviously, i do.”

your fiery glare serves as loving warmth and heat at bakugou’s crotch. your eyebrows are furrowed yet your legs tighten around his waist. your fingers fiddle with his clothes, adjusting his tank making sure the straps are equal. you’re fighting against him with that cute little pout. bakugou likes when you’re about to snap, he hardly gets you like this.

“y’gonna let me take ‘em off, beautiful?” he plays, rubbing his thumbs over the fabric of them, your pubic hair peeping out the top.

you pinch his bronzed side, “no. say sorry and greet me properly.”

bakugou grunts a laugh, both hands finding your hips and pulling you to his crotch. he notices how you inhale at the feel of his thickness, blink a few extra times.

“i’m not sorry for wakin’ you up. i wanted to see you,” bakugou knows the rules. happy life, happy wife. agree with everything your girlfriend says. but he’s in the mood to push, play with you a little.

you stifle a yawn beneath your palm at the same time birds chime outside. the morning sun is peeping out below your curtains and in this moment, you’re both levelled with how quiet it is.

“say sorry for forgetting your keys and making me climb out of bed to get you.”

“but then i wouldn’t have you and your little attitude lookin’ like you wanna bite me.”

you flick his forehead, your voice in need of some water this early, “so this is an attempt to seduce me? annoying me out of my panties?”

bakugou shakes his head with a grin, his hair thick with the grime of the day. “i don’t needa seduce you anymore. i bet i could slide right in. i bet you want me to.”

you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. you refuse to touch him but your legs stay put.

“not true. we aren’t kids in a playground. you don’t have to be mean because you have a crush on me.”

“more than a crush. i love you,” he breathes, ducking into your neck to lay a few kisses down. he kisses a trail up to your jaw, lightly biting down on your skin. the angle pushes his cock between your legs and you fight the urge to grind up into him.

“you haven’t even kissed me hello,” you whine, gritting your teeth. “you’ve been mean to me.”

he lays a kiss to the corner of your lips. “is that all my baby wants? just a kiss?”

he’s got you all softened, he knows it. your eyes turn down at the edges, your lips keep twitching every time his face gets closer, your arms wrap around his neck to keep him close.

you nod slowly, “i’ve been telling you.”

“yeah? sorry, baby. it’s been a long day, f’me,” bakugou grins against your lips before slotting his over yours.

he focuses on your bottom lip. sucking your flesh until it’s tender, feeling all your limbs tighten around him and your hips rub against his cock. you’re so reactive when you’re sleepy, like your body is just acting on need and instinct.

once he gets a long sweet moan out of you, complete with a cute, “kats,” bakugou tilts his head to slink his tongue into your mouth. it’s wet, messy and slow. he works you like you’re a puzzle to unwind, to get you as relaxed as possible so he can fuck you back to sleep. you let him take control, all the fight slowly spilling out of your body.

it’s you that’s needy now, his plan all coming together.

he licks around your mouth. sucks on your tongue in order to draw a few more moans from you. you twitch beneath him, fingers grabbing at his tank top.

“kats, please,” you whine, spit connecting your lips to his.

bakugou kisses it away. he rumbles against you, gives you a grind against your core in return. it gets your back arching, a gasp pulled out of your throat.

“what, baby?” he grunts, so sure his arousal has taken over his face. “say it to me.”

“take off my panties. let me feel you,” you say loud and clear, never shy about your needs. bakugou’s always loved that about you, especially in the early days when he could never spit the words out.

bakugou works quickly, lifting your hips to grab your comfy floral panties. he pulls them up off your legs and he wants to stare at you, needy and ready for him but he’s distracted by something, “might need you to take off the tee too. don’t wanna be lookin’ at my face when i’m lovin’ you.”

you look down at his crumpled face, mid cursing in his hero uniform on your tee. “don’t wanna. it’s cold.” you pull up the fabric, resting it all on your breasts to reveal your stomach. “there.”

bakugou grunts, shoving the fabric under your chin. your breasts rise and fall with every breath and he doesn’t miss the goosebumps that prickle around your nipples, “there we go. i’ll keep you warm.”

you roll your eyes, a smile about to break, “get naked, hero. then i can go back to sleep.”

bakugou chuckles under his breath, unable to take his eyes off your face. the curve of a smile appearing and the squint of your eyes. he’s gonna treat you good, now and forever after.

bakugou pulls off his tank with the skill of a model in a perfume advertisement, sexy and purposeful, giving you enough time to skim down his body.

immediately, your hand flies to a spot just below his armpit, “you have a bruise! where were your sidekicks? did you take them?”

bakugou is quick to shush you, “wasn’t from patrol. was sparrin’ with them.”

“oh,” you whisper, resting your hand over the purplish spot, bakugou adjusts to shuffle out of his shorts and underwear in one go. “they need to go easier on you.”

then you look between his legs. you hope he doesn’t go easy on you.

“no the fuck they don’t. i let them have this one. they didn’t get ninety nine percent of their shots.” he replies, taking his cock in his hand before you can.

bakugou has a gorgeous cock, one you speak about when you’ve had too many cocktails and beg for when he walks out the shower with a towel low on his waist. you’re about to start, pulling him to you by your legs at the sight of his scarred hand looking somewhat small when he gives himself a few pumps.

“okay, honourable senpai. you’re so kind letting your protégés hit you for a confidence boost.”

bakugou smirks, just like he knows how to rile you up, you know how to him. “you sure you wanna talk like this now?”

you smile, ignoring him, “get a condom, you’re already leaking.”

you brush your thumb over his head, swiping his pre and sticking it in your mouth.

“fuck,” bakugou gulps, stretching to grab one from his bedside table. “you win, whatever.”

“yay me.”

it’s exactly what you both wanted. bakugou stuffs a pillow under your back, grips your hips and slides completely into you.

you’re a little tight this morning with no foreplay but it’s a stretch you welcome. bakugou’s already panting, stumbles of swears and even a “get it to-fuckin’-gether,” to himself when you accidentally clench around him.

“h-hold on, baby,” you say, eyes closed as you find the best spot.

he feels so good inside you, thick and hugging, so close to prodding your favourite parts.

“you good?” he flicks his gaze away from where you join to your face, lips parted.

“hm, yeah. there we go,” you only needed a few seconds. “move. move, kats.”

bakugou begins his thrusts short and controlled, testing the waters before he can really go how he wants. you feel incredible, amazing, wet and warm and like the love of his life.

he’s already given you his soul, but during sex is when he offers you more and more.

“i love you. fuckin’ love you so much,” he stutters through pants. every thrust louder with a pat pat pat. “been thinkin’ about you all day. comin’ to you. seein’ your lil face.”

you’re listening to every word but you can’t manage to reply to each comment. “faster, baby. harder.”

you can really smell him now. the smell of the day now becoming sweaty sex. your eyes roll back into your head, your clit pulses in need.

bakugou listens like you’re his north star guiding him home. he plants his knees into your mattress and thrusts. harder, controlled yet always careful of you.

“oh fuck,” you moan, slapping your hands onto his back to pull him in closer to you. his thrusts are strong, every single one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “fuck, fuck, fuck, kats. oh, i love you. love this so much.”

you’re rambling, unable to think straight and the harder bakugou goes, your headboard begins to rattle against the wall.

you both couldn’t care less.

it’s a bundle of moans, body parts that have no beginning or end. your bonnet is falling off your head, some of bakugou’s left over eye makeup has smudged into a sweaty substance by his eyebrow. it gets too much when he pushes your knees by your temples, getting you into a mating press.

you sneak your pointer and middle fingers between your legs to rub on your clit. you do swift circles, already lubricated by your own come.

every thrust has you inching further up the bed to the point, bakugou stops thrusting for a second to pull you to the centre of the bed.

“pillow. under your head baby,” he reminds you and as soon as you move to grab it, he’s back to those sweet skilful thrusts.

one hand on your clit, another flat on his clenched abdomen.

“you’re so—,” you start, losing yourself as a spark of electricity shakes down your legs. your dam is about to break any second now. “so beautiful.”

bakugou huffs, sweat beads bumbling on his forehead. your breasts jiggle with every motion, your hand falling on his chest with every shake.

“thank you, baby. you’re everythin’ to me. you know that.”

you nod, eyes lazed, “i do. i know.” then your mouth gapes open and you release a long mewl. you grab at his side, back arching as your hand speeds up on your clit. “i’m gonna come. i’m gonna come, baby.”

bakugou keeps up his pace, ignoring the tightness of his lower stomach. you’re always first. “i’ll look after you. come on, baby.”

you fall apart loudly. incoherent mumbles where bakugou can only make out wisps of his name and a screech from the back of your throat that makes him grin. your body jolts up and down your bed throughout it all, your toes going numb as your legs stiffen in the air. the pleasure is immense, a stream of rushing waves slapping against rocks. you want to tell him to slow down but he knows without you saying.

bakugou does slow down and the second he does, he spills into the condom with a grunt deep enough to make you come again. it comes from the pit of his stomach, all the exhaustion and stress of the day falling off his shoulders and into this bed with you.

bakugou pulls the condom off, ties it and throws it in your bin across the room. then does he finally, lay beside you in bed.

“thanks for that. needed it,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder.

both of you lay with your eyes closed, too sweaty to touch the other so you just brush your fingertips against his.

“you’re welcome,” you giggle before turning into a downturned smile, “we need to shower—.”

bakugou pulls up the duvet over your bodies, mentally resigned, “no, we can do that when we wake up and change the sheets.”

“but—,”

“you’re about to fall asleep. let yourself,” he whispers, adjusting your tee down your body and spooning you from behind. he kisses the top of your head, “goodnight, baby.”

“it’s the morning.”

“i said goodnight.”

bakugou looks for your snappy reply back but you’re already gone, fast asleep with a palm under your head.

comments and reblogs are appreciated. no part 2 comments, thanks!

[indiewritesxoxo]

sukuna grinding his cock up into you in the middle of a frat party, lazily rolling his hips up to hit that sweet spot and keeping your back pressed against your chest as he murmured in your ear, "you gonna moan?"

shaking your head no to stop yourself from whimpering at the weight of his forearm wrapped possessively around your waist while drunk frat bros passed you by, chatting about stupid shit and gawking at sorority girls and totally clueless to the way you were getting ruthlessly stretched out around your situationship's thick cock.

"y-you wish," you quietly insisted, biting down on the bottom of your lip just for him to laugh at you, your skirt flipped up as your lace thong started to chaff against the inside of your thigh.

"i do," he hummed, his teeth grazing against the inside of your throat. "want them to know who's fucking you like this."

"no thanks," you huffed at him, trying your hardest to keep a straight face when he was intent to keep you squirming on his lap. no one else needed to know what you shared. which you were sure should just be sex. no matter what either of you said in the heat of the moment. "m'not yours."

"do you want to be?"

[nanamiskentos]

not to rain on anyone's parade but i miss when jujutsu kaisen x reader fics were actually well-characterised and not just slapping onomatopoeia and synonyms for cock together and calling it a day 🥲

[tays-writing]

!nerdjo x reader | part 5

Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar

part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here!

cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X

If you like listening to music while reading, I recommend this!

-

You woke up the next morning with a dull pounding in your skull and your mouth painfully dry. For one merciful second, your mind was blissfully blank. Then the memories crashed over you all at once.

The dimly lit hallway.

Satoru’s tall frame pressed back against the wall.

The broken whimper that escaped his lips when your mouth found his neck.

Your own lips still felt faintly swollen, as if you could still taste the warmth of his skin—sweet, soft, and addictive. Between your thighs, a traitorous heat lingered at the mere recollection of his hardness pressing against you.

The memory refused to leave you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his flushed face—lips swollen, eyes wide with shock and something dangerously close to desperate want. 

But it was the scent that haunted you the most. He smelled so good—deliciously masculine, soft, and unmistakably him. And now, as you lay in bed, the faint trace of his cologne still clung to your skin, inextricably entwined with your favorite vanilla fragrance.

By the time you dragged yourself to the small breakfast counter in your dorm, guilt twisted sharply in your stomach making it impossible to eat. The jealousy that had fueled your drunken courage the night before now felt pathetic and ugly in the daylight.

The chat with Satoru had been open for nearly thirty minutes. The cursor blinked mockingly at the end of another half-written message you’d already deleted twice.

Hey, about last night…

Delete.

I’m really sorry. I’ll finish the project, you won’t have to see me anymore.

Delete.

Satoru, I need to tell you something important. I know about your channel. I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I just—

You stopped. 

How the hell were you supposed to explain this without sounding like a complete stalker? Hey! I’ve been getting off to your videos while pretending I didn’t know it was you and then I basically attacked your neck cause the real thing was too much to resist?

You groaned, burying your face in your arms on the counter. He hadn’t texted you either. But what were you expecting him to do anyway? After what you’d done, he was probably avoiding you cause he thought you were insane. 

“Fuck” you muttered.

By the afternoon, the guilt had become unbearable. You still hadn’t texted him, instead, you forced yourself to open the shared document for the chemistry project. You tried to work for a while, adding a few clumsy notes and sources, but every sentence felt forced and meaningless. 

Shoko texted asking how you were feeling. You replied with a vague “hungover af, but alive” and quickly ignored her follow-up asking if you’d talked to “pretty eyes” yet. 

Eventually you gave up on the document, flopping onto your bed, grabbing your phone to try and write an apology one last time.

Hey. About last night… I’m really sorry. I was way too drunk and I shouldn’t have done that. Can we still work on the project? I promise I’ll keep things professional.

You didn’t send that one either. Professional. As if you hadn’t left hickeys on his neck and felt him hard against your stomach while he whimpered into your mouth.

You realized then that you were terrified of the silence between you. If you sent that message, you would be forcing him to acknowledge what happened, and you weren’t sure you could handle his rejection—or worse, his pity. You just couldn’t do it. 

You were just about to lock your phone when a notification banner slid down from the top of the screen.

⤷ blues.g uploaded a new video!                2 min ago

You knew you were a hypocrite. A massive one. You’d spent the entire day feeling guilty, writing fifty different apologies, and yet, here you were—thumb pressing on the notification before your brain could talk you out of it 

There was no title. Just a short description: from last night. 

The video started abruptly.

The camera was propped up on the sink, slightly crooked, as if he had thrown it there in a rush. Steam already filled the bathroom. Satoru stepped straight into the shower, fully naked, and the water crashed down on him immediately. His face was out of frame, but the water ran down his abs and over his impossibly hard cock.

He didn’t tease. There was none of his usual slow, shy build-up.

This was pure desperation.

His large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock and he started stroking immediately — fast, rough, almost punishing. The wet, obscene sounds of his fist flying over slick skin were loud even over the running water.

“Fuck…” he groaned, voice already wrecked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His hand moved frantically, squeezing tight, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive head every time he stroked upward. Precum mixed with the water, making everything look deliciously slippery.

“I accepted that—fuck—invitation cause I knew you were going to be there…” he panted as hips jerking forward into his fist. “I hate these things but I just wanted to see you.”

His strokes became even faster, almost angry.

“I was trying to make up my mind to send you a text….something I would never do anyway —ahh—fuck—but then you show up in front of me looking like the prettiest fucking angel I’ve ever seen in my life and I completely forgot how to function”

His voice cracked beautifully as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. A broken whimper escaped him, high and needy.

“I know you were drunk… I know it didn’t mean anything to you. You weren’t thinking straight, but I… fuck—”

He was breathing hard now, almost sobbing between words. He fucked his fist harder, hips snapping forward desperately. Water ran down his toned abs and over his throbbing length as he squeezed tighter.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. That vanilla is like a fucking drug. I can still smell it on my skin. You smelled so fucking good.” he whispered the last word as he leaned his forearm against the tiled wall for support “Your lips were so soft and wet… you tasted like alcohol and sweetness and I— ahh— I got so fucking hard it hurt. I came in my pants like a desperate loser. I couldn’t even move. Just sat there on the floor with your lipstick on my neck and my pants ruined like a pathetic puppy.”

A particularly filthy moan tore out of him. The camera caught everything: the way his heavy cock throbbed in his hand, the way his abs clenched, the way his knees almost buckled.

“I’m so fucking pathetic for you…” he whimpered, voice hoarse and trembling. “And I know it was nothing to you, but to me— fuck, to me it was everything. I wanted to beg you to keep going. I wanted you to push me down, sit on my face, use my cock however you wanted. I would’ve let you ride me right there in that hallway”

He let out a ragged, shuddering breath, his head dropping. 

“I wanted to cry after you left. I sat on the floor with cum in my pants and still got hard again ten minutes later just thinking about your tits pressed against me” He let out another filthy, desperate moan “—fuck—I wanted to grab them so fucking bad, wanted to bury my face between them and suck on them—ahh— please… even if you regret it, even if I’m just a mistake, use me. I don’t care how pathetic I sound.  I’ll whimper and beg and cum all over myself every time you want. Just— fuck— just let me have something.”

He was stroking so fast now the motion was almost blurry. His balls were drawn up tight, cock swollen and dark.

“I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum— fuck—!”

A loud, broken cry ripped out of him as thick, powerful ropes of cum shot against the shower wall. He kept stroking through it, moaning shamelessly, body jerking with every spurt. There was so much that even with the water running, it dripped down the tiles in messy streaks.

He stayed there for a long moment afterward, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the tile, water cascading over his trembling figure.

Then, almost like he suddenly remembered the camera existed, he reached out with a wet, shaky hand and stopped the recording.

You sat there in silence for a second, heart hammering against your ribs. 

The screen went black, leaving you staring at your own reflection. Your breath was shallow, your heart still racing, and the air around you felt thick with the heavy, lingering presence of Satoru’s confession.

He’s talking about me.

The realization slammed into you with dizzying force.

You’d spent the whole day torturing yourself, convinced you’d crossed an unforgivable line by watching his content and then kissing him. Meanwhile, Satoru had an entire secret porn channel dedicated to jerking off and whimpering for you. 

And last night, after what happened at the party, he had run straight home and broken down in the shower once again because of you.

The irony hit so hard you almost laughed, except the sound came out as a shaky exhale. For a long moment you just sat there, chest heaving, panties soaked and thighs pressed together.

Suddenly, all the guilt transformed into something hot and sharp in your chest.

Power.

This shy, sweet boy who blushed when you looked at him had been secretly obsessed with you. Filming himself falling apart for you. Begging the camera for you.

And now you knew.

A part of you wanted to close the app, to preserve the sanctity of what you’d just witnessed, but the need to see how the world reacted to your boy was too strong to ignore. You tapped it.

You read through them, a wave of possessiveness washing over you, layering itself onto that newfound sense of power.

You didn’t need to watch any more. You had seen enough. The adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin had shifted into something else entirely, no longer fueled by the video itself, but by the idea already taking shape in your mind.

Without another thought, you opened your messages and typed:

Cho. I need a favor.

—

The hallway outside room 127 smelled faintly of instant ramen and laundry detergent. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood outside Satoru's door, your fist hovering in the air for a split second before you finally knocked.

The lock clicked.

Satoru looked exhausted. His white hair was a mess, as though he'd been dragging his hands through it for hours. Dark shadows sat beneath his eyes, and an oversized black hoodie swallowed his frame. His blue eyes widened when they landed on you.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

He swallowed, then stepped aside without a word.

The apartment was quiet. The small living room was neat enough to look recently cleaned, yet something about it still felt lived in—a mug abandoned on the table, the white hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of coffee still hanging in the air. 

Satoru hovered awkwardly by the kitchen counter.

“You can... sit.”

You lowered yourself onto one end of the couch.

He remained standing for another second before sitting on the chair opposite you, hands resting on his knees, unable to meet your eyes for more than a moment.

“Do you want anything? Water? Tea...?”

You shook your head.

“No.”

Silence settled between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was suffocating.

Satoru’s knee bounced almost imperceptibly. His fingers twisted together before he forced them apart again. 

Every few seconds, he'd glance at you, only to look away the instant your eyes met.

You reached into your pocket without saying a word.

Unlocked your phone.

Opened the video.

Then, leaning forward, you placed it face-up on the coffee table between you and gently slid it across until it stopped in front of him.

He frowned, then looked down. The moment he recognized what was on the screen, every trace of color vanished from his face. 

The video replayed from where you’d left it paused.

The shower. His voice. His hand.

Slowly—almost fearfully—his gaze lifted to yours. His expression was pure panic.

You held his eyes for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Were you filming yourself while thinking about me, Satoru?”

the song that started playing in my head after the ending

1- I'm sorry

2- bro is so famous he got 248 likes in like 10 minutes

3- that ""smau"" took SO long to make. I hated every second of it. it doesn't make ANY SENSE but I needed to do it.

4- actually I'm not sorry

Reblogs are sooo appreciated part 6 here ! masterlist

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taglists are full. Thank you!! :)

[aotdump]

@tays-writing THIS IS ART OMFG

[mrsblaileen]

Accidentally calling Sukuna “daddy” and doubling down on it when he questions you. nsfw 18+ mdni.

──── ୨୧ ────

It had slipped out before you can think better of it. In the throes of pleasure, struck by the heat of it and with drool beginning to dribble out from the corner of your parted lips you’d said it - “daddy”.

Before you could even consider how odd it really was, how jarring and out of place it might have sounded to someone so removed from the modern age as Sukuna. But with him moving above you, all rippling skin and thick firm muscle, that lewd honorific was all you could think to utter - to cry out in a strangled moan when he sunk back inside so deep that a sizzle of little stars danced in your vision.

“Daddy?” He echoes the word with a flourishing scoff, though it’s not judgement that laces his tone, to your dulled surprise you find that it’s interest.

“Well you’re -hn-…” you begin to reply, only to swallow down another choked moan when his hips roll in a particularly well placed thrust, “you’re gonna take care of me aren’t you?”

“How archaic,” he replies plainly, and though he offers nothing further you can tell by his sudden silence that the great cogs of his mind are turning.

Typically he would be teasing you, cruel taunts snuck between deceptively sweet little slips of praise. Not that you can find it in yourself to really concern yourself with his lack of banter, or with what he’s thinking about. Not with the way each steady pump is knocking all sense of coherency loose from your brain, adding a fine layer of dreamy fuzz over your vision.

His movement snares your attention as he shifts suddenly above you, his lower half dropping low enough that he can begin to grind between your spread legs. The spatter of hair at his base tickles at your over sensitive clit while the tip of him continues to kiss incessantly somewhere tight and silky - deep enough that a pleasant little ache blooms to life low in your gut.

His knuckles dig into the mattress either side of your head, muscles leaping in his thick forearms, and you groan unashamedly at the sudden closeness of him. You all but melt into the new layer of contact, head tossed sideward until your lips graze his skin, frantic breaths puffing hot and humid over the delicate skin of his wrist.

“Oh ffffu-huh-…oh fuck, ‘kuna…” you moan, shaking your head, lips parted in a mindless sort of awe.

All you can feel is the firm smack of his hips as he works you into the mattress. The sensation is stunning, all consuming, enough to send your legs into a trembling wobble on each downward pump, each thrust winding that little coil in your belly ever tighter.

“No,” He grunts from above you, “not ‘kuna.”

He lifts the last word into a pitched lilt - high and a little breathless in a pointed mockery of you.

“It’s daddy now, isn’t it?”

The sheer sound of his voice, that dirty word growled in his silky rumble is enough to send your eyes rolling skyward. You moan - weak, unashamed, and you hear him chuckle lowly in reply.

“What’s the matter?” He coos, though there’s nothing soothing about the hungry edge his voice has taken on, “you wanted me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

You nod wildly, struggling to lift your lids to blink up at him - a task which suddenly feels herculean with the way his attention is scrambling your already pleasure drunk brain.

“Go on,” he purrs, slow thrusts turned suddenly lethal - firm slaps of his hips tight and wet against your own. Your thighs are trembling now beneath the weight of his assault, wracked with the sheer force of each thrust, “call for me again, pet.”

And you do. You cry for him - spineless and pitiful and all manners of desperate, with tears beginning to dribble hot and glittering over your flushed cheeks.

[bigtrashland]

⋆˚࿔. sukuna rubbing his cock on your face MDNI

gulps first time in a while writing smut, please don’t hate…

“You’re doing so well. Fuck, keep your tongue out juuust like that.” Sukuna purred, looking down at you. You were planted on your knees, both hands placed innocently in your lap, gaze locked onto crimson eyes.

For the past hour, he had been teaching you how to give a good blowjob. You were totally fucked out, completely forgotten how you ended up in this situation—especially with a man who had a reputation for having girls running out of the room, bursting into tears.

But you didn’t care about that, and besides, you were getting the hang of it. At first, you didn’t even know what to do with your hands or mouth when his dick was right in front of your face. You wouldn’t admit it, but it scared you. Not because of anything bad, but because of how big it was.

It was as big as your face; it was at least eight inches or more, and you’ve never seen a cock this big- well, at least face to face. You may or may not have watched a bunch of videos of guys jerking off on Twitter, but seeing it in real life. You couldn’t deny that it made you nervous.

Sukuna bit his lip while a tattooed hand gripped your hair tightly; the other hand held the base of his cock, slapping the tip against your flattened tongue. His abs flexed at the sight. Your pupils were blown with lust, and drool was dripping down the side of your chin. You looked like a slut.

What made Sukuna even more turned on by this whole situation was that you were the shy, nerdy girl in his class, and when you first asked him to teach you how to give a blowjob, for the first time in his life, he was stunned.

No one would've thought you would ask something along those lines. But you wanted to learn, plus you also wanted to try it out for the first time. But with the way Sukuna was groaning your name like he was getting the best dick sucking of his life. It seems you may not need this teaching.

"Let's see how pretty you look with my cock on your face. Hm?" You nodded rapidly as your tongue slid back into your mouth. Sukuna smirked, watching as you closed your eyes when he dragged his cock around your face.

“Enjoying this?” You murmured, peeking one eye open to stare up at the pink-haired man. He shrugged, moving his length to the side of your nose.

“I don’t know, am I?” He teased, flashing pearly white teeth. The same grin you always saw when he was being egotistical—you tried your hardest not to roll your eyes.

“Seems like it…”

Sukuna doesn’t respond. Instead, He placed his hand flat around his cock while the other hand that was gripping your hair moved slowly down to your neck, holding onto it tightly. Not enough to cut your airway, but enough where you felt the rough pressure in his grip.

“Shh and be a good girl.” He began to thrust into his hand. It was slow in the beginning, his gaze heavily locked on you. As if he was admiring the way his cock looked, rubbing against your skin.

Sukuna couldn’t deny that this was the kinkiest shit he’s ever done with a girl. All the other times he had fucked someone, it was either too vanilla or the girls wouldn’t be into the stuff he was into. They’d either decline or think he was weird.

But now that he’s thinking about it, he may have found the one for him. Who knew the nerdy girl could be as kinky as he is?

You were completely cock drunk again—mind hazy, your thoughts tangled until they barely made sense anymore. Eyes fluttering shut, your mouth gapped open as you withdrew your tongue, slurping and licking the side of Sukuna's length that was right in front of your mouth.

His massive hand roamed all across your face as he continued to thrust faster against your face. His Eyebrows furrowed—lifting up- while his plump lips parted slightly.

You hollowed your cheeks, and the feeling alone could’ve made Sukuna cum in an instant. You whined against his cock, moving a hand up the front of his leg; the tip of your nails dug into his skin, making him hiss.

It was so messy. Spit all over your face, your hair sticking against the side of your cheek. The sound of him groaning, you slurping all over his dick and your muffled whimpers filled the room. It looked and sounded like something straight out of a porn film, or the kind of scene you’d only expect in a feverish dream.

“Who knew you were such a slut for cock.” He murmured, his voice raspy and filled with lust. You opened your eyes at his degradation. Peering through your lashes, your eyes caught onto his. You didn’t feel any sense of shame. If anything, you felt more turned on.

Without thinking, you moved your hand between your thighs, pushing your panties to the side, not long before you begin to rub slow circles around your clit, the sensation immediately made you whimper against him.

“Fuck, you're so hot,” Sukuna rasped, quickly moving his length from your face—which makes you whine in protest. Holy shit, you were cock drunk for him.

“Hey! Wha… What are you doing?” You questioned, as an eyebrow raised, flopping down both hands on your lap.

He chuckled at your neediness, pumping himself right in your face. Pre-cum spilled out from his pink tip, and you couldn’t help but want to clean up all the salty-sweet slick.

“You look pretty with my cock on your face.” His teeth sank into his swollen bottom lip. “Now I want to see how good you look with my cum on it.”

[an9els]

mdni 18+

nerd!satoru had made a promise to himself. no sex until after graduation. books first, then maybe girls. he’d seen firsthand what happened when his friends gave into temptation— straight A’s turning into academic probation, priorities shifting, everything going south all because of a pretty face and a wet mouth. he wasn’t about to go out sad like that. pussy could wait. finals couldn’t.

which is why he’s more than confused as to how he ended up in such a compromising situation.

you, hovering over his bare lap, his flannel shirt unbuttoned revealing his toned chest, your clothes scattered somewhere on the floor. you reached between your legs, fingers curling around his length, steadying it with a soft grip while positioning the mushroomy tip right at your entrance, sliding it along your folds. satoru gulped,

“..you said just the tip, right?”

you leaned forward to peck his lips, reassuring him with your sweet smile, “just the tip, ‘toru. promise. we can stop whenever you want.”

he shook his head before he could even fully think about it. how could he say no to you? technically, it wasn’t losing his virginity if it was only the tip! just a little, and then he could go straight back to studying and pretend none of this shit ever happened. simple.

your free hand held onto his shoulder, anchoring yourself as you slowly sank down, making sure to not go too far. a hiss from satoru made you look up, his brows were scrunched together, lip trapped in between his teeth as his eyes focused in on where you both connected. his hands flew up to your hips, helping you slightly bounce.

“shitttt, y/n, you’re so wet, oh my- is that normal?”

he was referring to the persistent squelching noises coming from in between your legs, your juices running down satoru’s length. your cheeks burned at his question, growing self-conscious all of a sudden, you bury your face in his neck.

“yeah. i mean, it’s just… i’m really turned on. sorry.”

you tried to slow your movements, now hyper-aware of the wetness in between your legs, not wanting to make too much noise. he let out a groan at the loss of friction, his grip on your hips tightened as he held you in place, his hips jutting up to fuck you instead.

“no- no it’s hot, you’re hot, don’t hide, let me see you pretty.”

you removed your face from his neck to look at him. his cheeks were flushed. sweat building on his hairline. his glasses slightly fogged up from the heat between you two. why was this virgin nerd getting you so worked up just with his tip??

“‘toru, can we- can we maybe go a bit further? it’ll feel a lot better.”

he didn’t even process your question before he was bottoming out, pulling your hips flush against his, head kissing your cervix. you clenched around him moaning at the sudden fullness—

“oh my- fuck, feel s’ full… how are you this big?”

he groaned at the question, feeling how your pussy squeezed around him, you were so warm, so wet, and so tight.

he got it now. he understood.

grades could wait. pussy couldn’t.

[ouist]

࿁ 𑄹 ˙ . Frat! Sukuna fucking you in your childhood bedroom . . .

゛cw : 18+, afab!fem!reader, mentions of pink/cutesy things, frat au, readers parents are in the house, breeding kink. ་༘ ࿐

Sukuna’s big on respect. For all the loudmouthed, chaotic, frat-boy bullshit Ryomen Sukuna pulls every other day of the week, he treats your parents like royalty. He’s the guy who reaches the top shelf for your mom, clears his plate and asks for seconds with a charming grin, and spends his Saturdays helping your dad patch the drywall or weed the yard. They made you. His girl. The only person in the world who actually commands his attention. In his mind, he owes them an unpayable debt for just letting you exist.

But then there’s also a flip side. The edge of him that doesn't give a fuck about decorum.

Like right now. In your childhood bedroom—clean white walls, soft pink curtains framing the windows, shelves lined with plushies and those weirdly detailed anime figurines you collect that he secretly finds hilarious.

It’s completely your fault. You couldn’t just sit still and watch the movie; you had to keep shifting, pressing your tits against his arm, driving him out of his mind. So now you’re on top.

His heavy, tattooed hands are locked onto your hips, physically lifting and slamming you down onto his dick, anchoring you while your parents are literally in the next room over.

“This shit get you off, baby?” he whispers, his voice a gravelly rasp. He’s grinning, watching your eyes roll back, your walls squeezing him so tight it’s turning him feral. “Getting absolutely ruined while your mom and dad are right through that wall?”

“Shut—fuck—shut up, ‘Kuna,” you gasp out, hands gripping his shoulders for dear life as he hitches his hips up, driving his curved and leaky tip straight to the hilt, burying it into the deepest part of you. “They’ll hear you.”

“Let ‘em hear,” he chuckles, a cocky, breathless sound as he guides your rhythm, forcing you to bounce like a rabbit in heat. “They’re gonna find out anyway when we graduate, get hitched, and I keep you pregnant every nine months. I’m putting at least six kids in you. Gonna have you stuffed full of my cum every single night.”

The dirty promise of it sends a violent shudder straight down your spine, your thighs trembling as the friction pushes you over the edge. The tight coil in your lower stomach snaps. You completely lose control, a hot, dripping wave of pleasure washing through you as you come all over him.

Sukuna groans, his grip on your waist tightening until it bruises, his entire body going rigid as he pumps his seed into the condom. You hear a a frustrated hiss from under you. He hates the latex barrier, in fact, you’re sure he’s already craving the day he can cum inside of your pretty pussy for real.

© Ouist ༉‧₊˚ — Thank you for reading!

[pillsatoru]

A girl such as yourself — popular, confident, & a total party animal — should be with any boy other than your private tutor. Yet, you found yourself head over heels for satoru gojo, whom you had hired last second to help your astrophysics grade come back up after prioritizing parties and shopping sprees over it. 

You couldn’t help but admire him from time to time. tracing his side profile in your head before doodling it down in the margins of your notebook — the one he had personally bought for you after an accidental coffee spill that ruined your previous one. Not like you had any important notes listed on there to begin with. But that was when something sparked between the two of you, at least, on your end. 

& you definitely couldn’t help but let your feelings for him grow despite each other's social status. 

His white hair mirrored the snow that poured down on the December evening. You waited patiently in the library, silently stalking his figure as it made its way inside the building. Today would mark your last studying session, making your heart feel a tad bit heavy. 

A smile crept up to your face once the doors opened after a minute or so. Quickly patting down your skirt that was above your see through tights, the smile faded when you saw who he had entered with. 

Utahime, a classmate you knew was in your astrophysics class as well. She was majoring in something you knew you couldn’t even be able to understand. point being, she was highly intelligent just like satoru was. 

And they looked incredible together. 

Why has the pairing never clicked to you?

Earlier this week, you recalled jealousy rising in you when utahime interrupted your little rambling with satoru so she could ask for a pen. & it definitely wasn't the first time you've felt possessive over your tutor.satoru smiled at her, laughing at whatever she had said. What made matters worse was when his hand reached up to her raven black hair to pick out fallen snowflakes. 

You felt like throwing up.

Of course he liked her. Everything made sense now. Every small wave given to each other in the hallway, every time they’ve partnered up together in class for a project before you came along.

Why would he waste his time with a wannabe sorority girl who needed extra support for a class deemed easy for both him and utahime? why would he ever consider going out with you of all people. If you were to be in high school, you’d definitely poke fun at him. Hell, you still did before actually getting to know him. He only tolerated you because you paid him for his service at the end of the day. Right?

Your eyesight began to get blurry, forcing you to blink rapidly. satoru said goodbye to utahime, approaching where you sat. He adjusted his glasses that had gotten foggy, pulling out a chair.

“wearing a skirt in this weather?” he commented. “at least you actually put on tights this time. Getting smarter I see.” you stayed quiet, just nodding, flipping your textbook to the assigned page. Satoru's playful smirk flickered at the lack of response. “everything alright?” 

“Yeah. Can we just start?” 

you never just started studying. satoru would have to deal with your usual gossiping first, then watch as you showed pictures of all the new clothes you had gotten over the weekend. “Is everything okay..?” 

you wanted to yell that no, not everything was okay. That your feelings were eating you alive and that you just wanted to oh so desperately smash your lips onto his until he forgot every algebraic formula. 

“I just had a long day.” you simply said.

satoru stared intently, knowing that it was more than just a ‘long day.’ he reached over to close the book, moving you by your chin to look at him. if it were to be any other day, the butterflies in your stomach would be freaking out. but they were still. 

he had a thing for touching you in ways that were beyond ‘friendly.’ Now you wondered if what you thought were reserved actions for just you were also used on her. 

“doll,” his personal favorite nickname to use on you. “its definitely more than that. talk to me. you’re always there for me when im upset, let me be here for you too.” 

it was true that you’d tentatively listen to satoru whenever he had a bad test or when his astronomy club was acting up. It's the least you could do in return. 

“There's nothing wrong.” 

satoru sighed, feeling himself grow frustrated at your inability to confess to what was eating you up. 

your eyes accidentally scanned the room, landing on a familiar red bow. utahime was sat at the computers, posture perfectly straight, clicking away at the keyboard. The look on your face was enough to make satoru turn around. before you could stop him, he figured out immediately what was going on. 

his eyes widened in realization. “hey..” he quietly said, reaching for your hands only for you to pull away. you felt embarrassed, knowing what was about to come. rejection. 

never in your life were you afraid of being rejected by a guy. you could have anyone you wanted, really. all the frat boys shamelessly flirted with you at parties. but you didn’t want them. 

satoru was internally panicking. overtime, his crush on you has doubled in size. no, tripled. he was crazy over you. you were the only thing his few friends would hear about every day whether it be the cute outfit you wore or how you mistook astronomy with astrology. 

“Do you like her?” your voice trembled, making satoru’s heart crack. He immediately shook his head. “no, no god no. utahime?” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “hell no.” 

you didn’t want to believe it just yet. “but the way you walked in with her-“

“We've been friends since childhood. I swear she’s like a sister to me. besides, she’s with shoko right now, they’re going out.”

oh.

you felt embarrassed. 

After a moment of silence, he spoke again “.. did the thought of me going out with her bother you?” he asked, hopeful. His blue eyes stared into yours, somehow making you feel more vulnerable. The library was the last place you’d want to confess to him in, but it really was the place that started it all anyways. 

“Yeah, it did. A lot, actually.” 

satoru fought back an excited smile. “why?” 

“because.. I like you.” 

there it was. the confirmation of the reciprocated love. satoru looked around the place, checking that no one was staring into your direction before placing his lips on yours. 

He was a sloppy kisser, of course. The lack of experience really showed but neither of you cared. Your eyes widened, shutting as you let yourself melt into him. His chair had scooted next to you, allowing him to wrap his arms around your.

“I like you too. so much.” 

⋮

“Fuck, is this what youve been dying to do to me?” satoru slammed your body down onto his aching cock, loving the yelp that came out of your bruised lips. His teeth sank down your neck, savoring you as best as he could. Your hips were giving out with every thrust you gave, requiring his assistance to continue riding him. “Satoru..!” You couldn't even finish your sentence without cringing at the wet noises that were unfortunately coming from your needy cunt. 

His hands kneaded at your ass, forcing you to keep up with the pace he had set. His glasses were missing from his face, now being set on the side table of his bedroom. “Can’t believe you were jealous over me.. Now y’know how I feel every time I see one of those stupid frat guys approach you.” 

“You’re too deep!” You gasped, shutting your eyes close, feeling hot ropes of seed shooting into your womb. “I know,” Satoru hugged you close, fucking his cum back into you. “I know baby, but you can take it.” 

Your clit brushed against his white pubes, tickling you in a way. “Y-you were jealous too..” You managed to ask. Your brows furrowed in pleasure, your stomach knotting in warning. 

Satoru moved the two of you, going from having you ride him to putting you in a mating press. “Yeah, I was.” He had you seeing stars when his cock reached areas you deemed unreachable. Who would've guessed this geek knew how to give a great fuck? Must’ve been all the hentai he’s consumed over the years. He just recently began to imagine the pretty girls in slutty outfits as you, making it easier for him to jerk off late at night. 

The bed wouldn't stop creaking. And you wouldn't stop moaning. 

Satoru groaned, thrusting in meanly, entranced with the way your tits bounced. “Wanted to walk over and fuck- did you get tighter huh? I wanted to punch all of them.” He hunched over to kiss your lips, swallowing every sound. 

You had grown tighter, because all he needed to do was deliver another drag of his cock to have you coming all over it. Satoru sighed, pecking you lightly now. “You’re mine.” 

[beaniesayshi]

second opinion

Your car breaks down right in front of his garage, and you’re already steeling yourself for the usual routine: a sky-high bill, too much time wasted, and a mechanic who barely looks up. Instead, you get Sukuna, who’s so offended by your previous mechanic's scams that he takes it upon himself to teach you enough to make sure it never happens again. Unfortunately for him, fixing your car is a breeze, but getting you out of his head? Not so much.

cw: mechanic!sukuna x f!reader, mostly sukuna pov, sukuna has a crush, yearning sukuna, pining sukuna, sukuna is bad at feelings, kinda slow burn

wc: 10.4k, one shot

notes: based on these two asks: first and second! thank you nonnie for the idea <3

main masterlist ◦ ao3 ◦ sukuna art by @/hunnismokah

It's barely past dawn, and as Sukuna drags the shutters up, the ungodly morning air hits him with a brisk, damp chill, cooling the coffee in his hand. He’s banking on a quiet hour to sort through the mess of inventory, maybe even enjoy the silence, before the first scheduled appointment pulls him away.

Down the road, maybe a hundred meters away, hazard lights blink through the gray mist. A hatchback sits stranded on the shoulder with its hood open. You’re there beside it, looking entirely defeated, with your shoulders hunched as you rub your arms against the biting chill that cuts straight through your jacket. You're pacing in small circles, your breath blooming in white puffs that vanish into the fog.

Taking a long sip of his coffee, Sukuna watches the scene for a beat. It’s obvious that this mess is about to become somebody's problem, and with how close you are to his driveway, that somebody's him. He lets out a resigned grunt, sets the mug aside, and starts the slow, reluctant walk down the slick, dark stretch of asphalt.

By the time he gets to you, you’re prodding at the battery terminal with pure confusion, clearly out of your depth. He stops by the driver’s side fender, his shadow stretching over the engine bay and swallowing up what little light the morning offers.

"Get in and try to crank it," he rumbles, his voice still rough from sleep.

You flinch slightly, nearly dropping your keys, as you turn to find the massive mechanic who’s just materialized out of the fog. Stumbling through a rushed, embarrassed explanation about how the dashboard lit up like a christmas tree before the steering went stiff, you slide behind the wheel, fingers trembling as you twist the key. The engine coughs out a pathetic, sluggish click-click-click before dying completely.

Sukuna leans over and scans the open engine bay with narrowed eyes. He brings his hand down to the alternator, then straightens and wipes a streak of grease off on his thigh.

"Alternator's shot," he diagnoses, pinning you with a flat stare through the windshield. “It stopped charging your battery while you were driving. That's why your steering went stiff, and all those warning lights came on. Battery's flat now."

He glances down the road toward his garage, jerks his chin in that direction, then flicks his gaze back to you, waiting. "Not fixing it out here. I can tow it in and take a look, if you want.”

You blink at him, hesitation suddenly tightening your chest. He's a huge, imposing stranger with eyes that seem to see right through you. You have no clue what his garage charges, and for all you know, he’ll tow your car a few meters and hand you a bill big enough to drain your entire savings account. Biting your lip hard, you look down the foggy road toward the distant city lights, debating whether freezing out here for your usual mechanic is worth it.

"Really?" you ask, your voice thin and cautious.

"You got a better plan?" Sukuna asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow. He doesn't look like he's got the patience for a long deliberation this early in the morning.

Your eyes flick from the dead dashboard to the shutters of his garage down the road again. Waiting for your own mechanic could mean hours out here, and you’re already running late. Shoulders sagging, you let out a shaky, resigned sigh and nod. "No, not really. Okay, yeah. Please tow it."

True to his word, ten minutes later your car is hooked up to his truck and rolled right onto his hydraulic lift. He works quietly, hooking up a diagnostic scanner and testing the voltage. You stand on the side, nervously watching him work through the tangle of wires and metal, while the smell of old coolant and burnt oil fills the air.

Finally, he wipes his hands on his coveralls. He glances up, meeting your gaze with a flat, unreadable look before speaking. "Alright. It's definitely the alternator. Parts and labor, you're looking at around two hundred, maybe two-fifty if the belt snapped when it seized up."

He braces himself for the usual routine: the hesitant sigh, the defensive wince, maybe a drawn-out complaint about how expensive car parts are these days. He’s seen it all before, a thousand times over.

None of that happens, though. You just blink at him, completely speechless, like he’s started speaking a foreign language.

"Are you..." You swallow hard, eyes darting between your car and the man in front of you. "Are you undercharging me out of pity? Did I really look that pathetic standing on the side of the road?"

Sukuna freezes, and the rag stops mid-wipe against his palm. He stares at you, his brow knitting into a dumbfounded, deep scowl, entirely derailed by the accusation. "What? No. That's the price of the part and half an hour of my time. I don't do pity discounts.”

"Seriously?" A breathless, half-disbelieving laugh escapes you, as your hand comes up to press against your forehead while you try to make sense of the numbers. "My mechanic charges me a small fortune every time I bring this thing in. Like... last year I paid almost three hundred for an oil change, so I figured something that actually stopped the car from running would be..." You trail off, your eyes wandering up to the underside of a different car on the lift. "Honestly, I have no idea. Just… more."

Disbelief hardens his stare, and a sharp, sudden outrage flares in his chest at whoever’s been fleecing you, quickly followed by a heavy wave of disappointment. He can't quite believe you’d just hand over a small fortune for basic maintenance without so much as a second thought.

"An oil change," he repeats in a low rasp. "He charges you three hundred dollars for an oil change?"

"Well... yeah? And..." Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you wince as your sneakers squeak against the slick concrete. Your hand waves uselessly in the air when you’re trying to remember the items from the invoices you received. "Some other things? He always says there are other things."

Silence settles over the garage, broken only by the steady drip of fluid into a drainage pan nearby, each drop echoing like a ticking clock.

Sukuna tosses the rag aside, leans against the workbench and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes narrow, studying you with a look that grows more troubled by the second, like you’re some puzzle that refuses to make sense.

"You know what those other things were?"

You frown, your shoulders pulling in slightly under the weight of his intense stare. "Not really."

That stare doesn’t budge, flat and unblinking, and it makes you want to sink straight into the concrete floor.

"And you paid anyway."

It's not a question, but a flat statement, paired with a slow, disappointed shake of his head that twists your stomach.

Heat crawls up your neck, embarrassment prickling across your skin. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself defensively, trying to salvage a scrap of dignity. “He’s a mechanic, so like… why wouldn’t I trust him about… mechanic stuff?”

"So you just pay whatever he puts on the invoice?"

After a beat of hesitation, your eyes flick toward the garage exit before you force yourself to meet his gaze again. "I mean..."

The irritation in him doesn’t fade; if anything, it settles in deeper. The more you talk, the clearer it gets that this wasn’t just one bad invoice. It’s a pattern.

"How long you been taking your car to this guy?"

A startled blink, caught off guard by the rapid-fire questioning. "A few years?"

A muscle jumps in his cheek as his jaw flexes. "Christ." His arms drop, one hand coming up to rest flat against the workbench behind him. "You don't know anything about cars, do you?"

You open your mouth, ready to stammer out some flimsy defense, but he cuts you off with a sharp, impatient wave.

"No, don't answer that." He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a long moment. "I already know." When he lowers his hand, his expression darkens. "And he knows it too. That's the problem." He takes a slow step toward you, his towering height making the small garage feel instantly crowded. "He knows you don't know what you're looking at. He knows you won’t question the invoice. He knows you’ll just nod, pull out your card, and pay whatever number he pulls out of thin air."

His words hit with bruising accuracy, uncomfortable in their honesty. Swallowing hard, you feel the bitter reality of years of being scammed settle like a stone in your stomach. Sukuna clicks his tongue, the sharp, dismissive sound echoing off the concrete walls.

"And he's been taking advantage of it, overcharging the hell out of you.” He shakes his head again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "It's disgusting."

—

The last clink of metal fades, giving way to the low, steady purr of your car’s engine. Sukuna lingers, listening to the alternator hum, his attention fixed on the sound until he’s sure everything is running just right. Only then does he cut the ignition and shut the hood.

At the sink, he scrubs at the thickest layer of grease on his hands and forearms, while each pass of the soap gives him a moment to stew. The whole time he’d been working on your hatchback, the audacity of your last mechanic kept simmering in the back of his mind, needling at his sense of professionalism and refusing to let go.

He dries his hands on a clean rag, then heads back to where you’re waiting by the office door. The invoice comes off the clipboard, and he holds it out to you along with your keys.

"Alright, you're good to go," he rumbles, his voice level and calm. "It was just the alternator. Parts and labor came out to two hundred, exactly like I said."

You take the keys and the paper, relief washing over you as your eyes land on the total. Exactly what he quoted. No hidden fees, no sneaky line items, no surprise charges, nothing lurking in the fine print.

Sukuna stands there, his large hands settling loosely on his hips. His gaze flicks from your face to the paperwork in your hands, brow furrowing slightly as he hesitates. Then, the words slip out before he can stop them.

“If you want, you can bring your old receipts by sometime. Dig 'em out of your glovebox or whatever." He clears his throat, the sudden offer surprising even him as it leaves his mouth. This isn’t something he does. He doesn’t take work home, and he sure as hell doesn’t do clerical charity for strangers. Still, he pushes through the awkwardness, keeping his tone flat and businesslike. "I’ll look through 'em and write down what you actually should have been paying for that basic stuff. That way you have a baseline reference sheet next time you go back to your guy, and you'll know if he's trying to pull a fast one."

There's no pressure behind his words. He leaves it entirely up to you, offering a casual favor simply because he despises seeing someone get taken advantage of.

You blink at him, completely caught off guard. You look up to his face, and gratitude cuts through your usual wall of caution.

"Really?" you ask, a soft smile breaking across your face. "You'd actually do that?"

Sukuna gives a short, dismissive shrug, shifting his weight like he’s trying to play down the gesture. "Takes me ten minutes. It's no big deal."

"Thank you. Seriously, that’s... incredibly nice of you," you say, genuinely touched by the gesture. You fold the invoice carefully, tucking it into your purse. "What day would work best for you? I don't want to interrupt your business."

Sukuna rubs the back of his neck, eyes drifting toward the calendar tacked to the garage wall as he does the math in his head. "Day after tomorrow," he decides, looking back down at you. "I usually wrap up around six. Come by then. The shop's quiet after hours."

"Six on Wednesday. Perfect," you nod, your smile widening slightly. "Thank you again. I really appreciate you fixing the car so fast, and for... well, everything else. I'll see you Wednesday."

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice dropping a fraction softer as he nods back. "See you then. Drive safe."

He stands in the open bay, watching as your hatchback backs out of the driveway and pulls into the morning traffic. Only when your taillights disappear down the street does he finally let out a low breath, turning back to his tools and wondering what possessed him to volunteer his free time to look at old paperwork.

——

Just like he promised, the shop is mostly quiet when you pull up to the garage on Wednesday. With the bay doors rolled halfway down, the usual street noise is muffled, leaving only the clink of a wrench against metal to let you know he’s still inside.

Pushing open the side door, you’re greeted by the soft chime of the bell overhead. Sukuna appears from the back a moment later, dragging a clean rag over his forearms. His crimson eyes catch yours before flicking down to the stack of papers in your hand and the box tucked securely under your arm.

"You actually found 'em," he rumbles, a faint quirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before his expression smooths back into that usual, unreadable mask.

"Every single one I could find." Stepping up to the high counter that separates the office from the shop floor, you set the invoices down and nudge the box toward him, careful not to jostle what’s inside. "And I brought this. As a thank you."

Sukuna glances down at the cardboard box but doesn’t reach for it. He folds his arms across his chest, and his brow instantly furrows into a stubborn, defensive scowl.

"I don't need cake," he snaps, voice blunt and dismissive. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than accepting a gift. "I fixed the alternator, you paid the invoice. We're even. You don't owe me anything."

"It's not cake. It’s an apple pie. And it’s homemade," you counter softly. Before he can get another word in, you reach out and pop the lid open, letting the sweet scent of baked apples and cinnamon spill into the grimy, oil-scented room. You shoot him a small, stubborn look that dares him to refuse. "And you're taking it."

For a split second, Sukuna freezes, his eyes darting from the warm pie back up to your face, looking completely out of his depth. The tension drains from his broad shoulders, and he lets out a low, grudging grunt, realizing he’s being difficult for no good reason.

"Fine," he mutters, reaching over. He grabs the box and carries it to the small, cluttered desk in the corner, sweeping aside a stack of part catalogs to clear a spot. Pausing, he peeks into the box again, then nudges a metal stool toward the desk for you with his boot. "Sit down. Let me wash up."

While he heads over to the sink to scrub the grit from his hands, you pull the pie out of the box. Only as you glance around the cluttered office does the realization hit you. You look down at the pie, still warm in its baking dish, then at your empty hands.

When Sukuna walks back in, drying his hands on a paper towel, he finds you perched on the stool, mortification written all over your face.

"Um," you manage, cheeks burning with embarrassment that creeps up. "I just realized... I forgot plates. And forks. I was so focused on getting the pie out of the oven and not showing up late that I didn't even think about it."

Sukuna stops, staring at your flushed face, and a slow, amused smirk tugs at his lips. He opens a filing cabinet, rummages through a plastic bin in the top drawer, and pulls out two plastic forks he clearly hoarded from a takeout order.

"Don't worry about it," he says, dragging a second stool over and settling in beside you. One fork is pressed into your hand, while he plunges his own straight into the pie, breaking off a steaming chunk. "We can eat it out of the dish. Problem solved."

A relieved laugh slips out as you take a bite for yourself. The pie is actually good—better than you hoped and the relief from that is almost dizzying. Watching this massive, intimidating mechanic quietly savor a dessert you’ve made in his own garage fills you with a sudden, unexpected warmth.

A few bites in, Sukuna reaches for the stack of invoices you brought along. He fishes a battered yellow highlighter from the drawer, uncapping it with his teeth, and drags the first sheet closer. Instantly, his whole demeanor sharpens, focus narrowing as he scans the lines of text.

"Two hundred for an air filter?" he mutters, jaw clenching so fast you can almost hear his teeth grind. Flipping the page back a little too sharply, he scans the top of the sheet, eyes narrowing. "When was this?"

"Last… three months, I think?" you offer, leaning in to peer over his elbow, the edge of his sleeve brushing your arm.

"Three months ago," he confirms, voice dropping into a dangerously low, tight register. The highlighter clicks against the paper, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. "I looked at your air filter on Monday when I was checking the belt. There is absolutely no way a filter looks that bad after ninety days of city driving. He didn't even change it. He just wrote it down and charged you for the part."

Your fork stalls halfway to your mouth. Staring at the highlighted line, you feel disbelief crash over you, cold and sharp, prickling along your skin.

"Wait... what? He just... left the old one in there?" You shrink down on your stool, while both embarrassment and genuine offense burn in your chest. "I actually remember sitting in his waiting room for an hour because he said he had to go fetch the specific part from the back warehouse."

Sukuna lets out a sharp, cynical grunt that cuts through the room and makes you wince. "Yeah. He was probably back there taking a nap on your dime." He flips to the next invoice and scoffs loudly. "A hundred and fifty for a 'diagnostic fee'? Your car doesn't even have a complex computer system. You plug the reader in, it takes two minutes. He's padding the numbers because he knows you’re not gonna question it.”

You blink, eyes glued to the number on the page, the math slowly ticking through your head. "Two minutes... for a hundred and fifty...?"

He’s working himself up again, but his eyes keep flicking to you, making sure you’re following every step of his explanation on why it's a scam. He breaks down the mechanics in plain English, laying out the real labor time versus what was billed, and you find yourself keeping pace with him, asking about parts, checkup schedules, and why on earth a single fluid could ever cost that much.

Sukuna’s highlighter hovers over a line, pausing as he takes in the questions you’re firing back at him. Whatever assumption he had about you being gullible is gone now. He sees you're not stupid or careless, just someone who did what anyone would: you trusted a professional because you didn’t have the background to know better. The way you’re sitting here, eagerly learning, determined to protect yourself, earns a flicker of respect in his eyes.

"You're tracking this fine," he says, irritation melting away into something unexpectedly gentle. "You just needed someone to actually layout the baseline for you."

"Yeah," you murmur, smiling a little self-consciously. "Nobody ever really explained it before."

Any trace of your nervousness has vanished. Settled into his office, you absentmindedly swing your legs beneath the stool, taking another bite. Eating straight from the baking tin, you instinctively leave the best pieces of crust for him. It’s a small, polite habit that doesn’t go unnoticed, and Sukuna finds it oddly endearing.

Powdered sugar dusts your thumb as you hold the dish steady while digging your fork in again, and without thinking, you lick it off while scanning an invoice. The gesture is so unselfconscious, so normal, but it catches his attention and draws his gaze to your face.

This close, he can’t help but notice the small things: the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you’re focused on the paperwork, the little smile that appears each time you taste the pie, how small you look perched beside him. For a moment, his mind just goes completely blank.

The realization hits him square in the chest—you’re beautiful. And you went out of your way to bake a pie for him.

All at once, the office starts to smell different. The sharp tang of oil and metal slips away, replaced by the sweetness of apple and cinnamon, and beneath it all, your perfume.

You point to a line on the invoice, but his attention drifts to your hand resting next to his on the desk. His own fingers are thick and calloused; yours look impossibly soft and small by comparison. The urge to see how your hand would feel in his is so distracting he nearly loses track of what you were saying.

For a moment, the usually unshakeable and confident mechanic is thrown completely off balance, his thoughts tangling so fast he almost forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. Somehow, he keeps his face neutral, handling the rest of the paperwork with a steady voice, but underneath, panic is already clawing at him. He has no clue how he’s supposed to get your number before you walk out that door.

Hesitation or tentativeness have never been his style. If he wants something, he takes it; if he likes someone, he just tells them. It’s always been that simple. But with you leaning over his desk, a crumb of crust clinging to the corner of your mouth, something unfamiliar creeps in and stiffens his limbs. It isn't shyness—he doesn’t have a shy bone in his body, and he certainly doesn't embarrass easily. Still, this strange, careful caution settles in his bones, making every movement feel intentional and new.

For once, he actually cares about the reaction he’s going to get, and that shift in the stakes makes his usual straightforwardness feel too rough, too heavy-handed for this. The thought that messing this up could mean never seeing you again roots him to the spot, every instinct to act suddenly tangled up in hesitation. His hands feel too big, his words too blunt, and the risk of screwing this up presses in until he feels almost clumsy.

Ideas tumble through his head, each one worse than the last, none of them good enough. Sliding his business card across the desk? Too impersonal, like he’s just angling for another job. Handing over his phone and asking you to put your number in? That’s too aggressive, too much like he’s trying to corner you in his own shop. Even making up some excuse about needing to text you a follow-up on the alternator warranty feels cheap, and the idea of playing a game just to get your number makes him feel ridiculous.

The whole thing leaves a sour taste in his mouth, every option making him feel more foolish than the last. Frustration builds until his jaw aches from how tightly he’s been clenching it, tension crawling up into his temples. He can’t remember the last time he was this stuck on something so simple.

At last, he forces his jaw to unclench, loosening his grip on the highlighter before setting it down. Glancing around the cramped office, something cuts straight through his frustration. Here you are, sitting in a garage after hours with a man twice your size you barely know, just because he offered to help. You trusted him enough to walk into his shop after closing, carrying a homemade pie as a thank-you that feels so genuine it almost hurts.

The last thing he wants, and the absolute last thing his pride will allow, is to make you feel like he used a professional angle just to corner you. If he pushes for your number now, after spending an hour showing you how vulnerable you’ve been to a scam, it’ll feel like an ambush. It’ll undo every bit of safety you felt sitting next to him and ruin any chance he might have had. The thought hits him like a splash of cold water, cooling his temper.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sukuna reaches past you for a pen resting on the clipboard. He pulls the top invoice toward him and scrawls his phone number across the margin of the page.

"Look," he rumbles, his voice steady and stripped of the chaos in his head, sliding the stack of paperwork back across the desk to you. "You're gonna have to find a new shop now or keep dealing with that idiot down the road. If he—or anyone else—hands you a quote and it feels even a little bit off, you text a photo of the invoice to that number." He taps his thick thumb against the handwritten digits on the page. "That's my personal cell. I’ll look at it and tell you if they’re trying to rip you off."

Blinking down at the paper, you’re completely oblivious to the war he just waged with himself. The gesture is so unexpectedly kind that warmth blooms in your chest and a soft smile tugs at your lips as you glance back up at him. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you any more than I already did."

"It's not a bother," he mutters, keeping his face carefully blank even as his pulse hammers a little harder against his ribs. "Just think of it as a backup plan. I can't stand watching people get scammed."

"That… actually makes me feel a lot better. I’ll make sure to save it," you murmur, glancing up to meet his unreadable gaze. The papers fold neatly beneath your fingers before you tuck them into your bag and rise from the stool. "Thank you. Seriously. For the alternator, the invoices, all the explanation and… for the company."

"Yeah," he mutters, his throat suddenly tight as he gives a single, gruff nod. "Don't sweat it."

Once your empty baking dish is tucked back into the box, you offer him one last warm smile that squeezes his chest uncomfortably tight. He pushes himself up to walk you to the door, the bell above your head chiming bright as you step out into the cool evening air.

"Goodnight, Sukuna."

"Goodnight," he calls back, standing entirely still as he watches you walk toward your car.

The warmth lingering in the office vanishes, leaving only a cold, hollow ache in its place. Through the glass, Sukuna watches your car start up, headlights slicing through the dusk as you ease out of the driveway and disappear around the corner. The instant your taillights blink out, frustration slams into him, heavy and relentless.

"Damn it," he barks into the empty shop, slamming his hand flat against the workbench.

Never in his life has he felt this powerless. Control is what he prides himself on—knowing exactly how a machine or a situation will play out because he’s the one steering it. But right now? He’s handed over his only leverage, left the whole gamble in your hands, and the lack of control is enough to make him want to tear his hair out.

He has no name saved in his phone, no confirmation. Nothing. He’s got no way to reach you, which means he’s stuck waiting, and everything now hangs on whether you decide to text. What if you lose that paper? What if the number gets buried in your purse and you forget about it until your car dies again months from now? What if you just think he was being polite and have no intention of ever using it?

The weight of not knowing gnaws at him, driving him to pace the shop floor, muttering curses under his breath for being so damn careful.

Two hours later, fresh from the shower, he sinks into the couch with a cold beer he hasn’t even opened yet. Usually, Sukuna finds the quiet of his apartment a relief after a day spent surrounded by noise, but tonight the silence feels heavy and irritating.

His phone lies face-up on the coffee table. By ten, he’s already picked it up and set it down more times than he cares to admit, each glance met with nothing but the glow of the lock screen and the relentless crawl of minutes. By eleven, frustration curdles into something uglier—doubt.

Doubt isn’t something he’s ever felt before, but alone in the dark, his mind starts tearing apart every second of that hour you spent in his office. The memory of your shoulder brushing his lingers. He can still hear your laugh when you realized you’d forgotten the plates, see how easily you followed his explanations, and how you smiled. He’d been so sure there was something there. He’d bet on it.

But as midnight approaches without a single vibration, his thoughts twist, turning defensive and sharp. Maybe he’d read the whole thing wrong. His brow knots as a heavy, sour thought appears and settles right in his gut. You didn’t feel a connection. You were just being polite, bringing an apple pie to thank a mechanic for doing his job. Sitting on that stool, chatting with him, you were just well-mannered, not interested. He’d blown it all out of proportion, let himself believe there was a spark when, to you, he was just the guy who fixed your alternator and handed out some advice.

—

Sukuna arrives at the shop in the worst mood humanly possible. Sleep barely touched him last night, and whatever patience he might have had for the rest of the world has been ground down to nothing.

Fingers curling around the cold iron handles, he wrenches the shutters up, and metal slams against the top of the frame so hard the glass windows in the office rattle. Not that he gives a damn. His jacket lands carelessly on the hook as he storms inside, and the paper coffee cup hits the workbench hard, sloshing the dark liquid over the plastic lid. It tastes like battery acid, but he drinks it anyway, needing the bitterness to match what’s inside of his chest.

He sets his personal phone right at the edge of the workbench, telling himself it’s just so it won’t get crushed in his pocket while he works. He knows that’s bullshit. Each time he reaches for a tool or crosses the bay for another socket, his gaze flicks back to the black screen, searching for a flicker of light that stubbornly refuses to appear.

Around nine, the shop's cell rings, echoing through the empty bay. Sukuna’s heart lurches, a ridiculous, frantic leap before his brain can rein it in—maybe you lost his number but found the shop’s online. The wrench clatters to the floor as he strides into the office, snatching the phone off the desk with a grip that’s just a little too tight.

“Ryomen’s Automotive," he grunts, his voice a rough, impatient gravel.

"Hey, man, just checking if you got those brake pads in for the pickup?"

Disappointment slams into him right beneath his ribs. His jaw locks, knuckles whitening around the mobile. "Yeah. They’re here. Come get 'em," he snaps, hanging up before the customer can get another word in.

Storming back into the bay, he grabs up his phone and shoves it deep into his pocket, as if that’ll keep the urge to check it all the time. The impact gun roars as he goes after a stubborn lug nut, the booming racket finally loud enough to drown out the chaos in his head. That’s it. He’s done checking. If you haven’t texted by now, you’re not going to. You probably tossed the paper, and he needs to get over it.

By one, Sukuna is elbow-deep in the greasy undercarriage of an old sedan, forearms streaked with black smears, his expression locked in a scowl so forbidding that even the delivery drivers have been giving him a wide berth all day.

He’s just reaching for a torque wrench when his phone vibrates on the workbench.

Bzzzt.

The sudden vibration catches him off guard, freezing him mid-reach. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all, letting the faint clicks of the cooling engine overhead fill the silence. It’s probably just spam, he tells himself. Or some useless data plan alert. Or a wrong number.

Peeling off his gloves, he slides a hand into his pocket, pulls out the phone, and swipes the screen awake. There’s a text from an unknown number—except the first line of the preview makes his chest seize up.

[You]: Hey! Sorry for the late text, I didn't want to bother you last night since it was way too late. Just wanted to send this so you have my contact too. Thanks again for looking through those invoices with me, the pie was a small price to pay for saving my bank account!

OH THANK FUCK.

Relief hits him in a bone-deep wave, draining the tension from his shoulders. He draws in a slow breath as he stares at the words glowing on the screen. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up and register the gap between his own spiraling and your ridiculously polite message. You were just being considerate, that’s all.

Clearing his throat, he uses a clean patch of his forearm to wipe the grease off his thumb before he even thinks about typing. Something clever would be good, something that proves he’s not rattled by any of this, but his fingers feel thick and awkward on the keys. Finally, he settles for something short that won’t give him away.

[Sukuna]: No worries. Pie was great, by the way. Just let me know if you get any more of those invoices.

He taps send, eyes glued to the delivery confirmation, then instantly adds the number to his contacts. Your name appears at the top of the chat, and for the first time all day, a smirk tugs at his mouth, breaking through the hard set of his jaw.

The phone disappears back into his pocket, and he turns to the sedan on the lift, with a jolt of energy running through him. As he grabs his wrench, the reality of the situation hits him from a completely different angle: you texted just to be polite and acknowledge the professional favor, and he just capped his own response by telling you to let him know if you get more invoices, boxing himself right back into being the helpful mechanic. Now what? How is he supposed to ask you out without trampling all over the boundaries you just so carefully respected?

By Friday night, that pitiful text thread on Sukuna’s phone has become a full-blown obsession. Sitting on a kitchen stool, he ignores the bowl of dinner going cold on the counter, his attention fixed on the glow of his screen. The chat is as embarrassingly short as it was the previous day: your polite thank-you, then his own awkward reply about the pie.

With a low, frustrated rumble in the empty apartment, he taps the empty text box. He’s never had to plan a conversation in his life, but suddenly, the weight of actually caring what you think drags every word through mud.

Hey, you free this weekend?

He glares at the five words. The line looks all wrong, like something a teenager would send on a dating app, hovering over his phone, waiting around for a girl he barely knows to throw him a bone. Sukuna is a grown man; he doesn't do vague, open-ended checking-in. And if you say no, or tell him you have plans, that’s it. Conversation over. No way to push back without looking like a desperate idiot.

Worse, you texted him because he'd offered to help with invoices, not because you'd expected him to use your number for anything else.

"Don't be a fucking asshole, Sukuna," he mutters.

With a heavy, irritated sigh, he holds down the backspace key until the box is wiped clean.

Saturday evening drags in after a brutal ten-hour shift, wrestling with stubborn leaf springs and rusted exhaust bolts. As he’s slumped on his couch with a cold beer in his hand, his muscles ache, but his mind is still stuck on the same loop. He pulls out his phone again and opens the chat. All he needs is an excuse—something car-related, since that’s the only ground you both actually somewhat share.

Let me know if that alternator’s making any noise.

His thumb freezes before he can hit send, and he scowls at the message, a sharp spike of professional irritation cutting through the haze. If the alternator was making noise, that would mean he’d screwed up the belt tension. He knows it’s perfect. He checked it twice before you left the bay. Asking about it now is basically calling his own work sloppy, and his pride won’t let him insult himself just to get a text back. With a shake of his head, he deletes the line and takes a long pull from his beer, trying to rework the phrasing, still clinging to the car angle but making it less about his own hands.

Make sure you check your oil this week.

He drags his hand over his face, catching himself immediately. If he sends that, he’s just barking orders at a customer who already admitted she doesn’t know a thing about cars. It sounds bossy, too gruff, and leaves you nothing to say except a flat agreement. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" 

He clears the text box again and tosses the phone face down onto the cushion beside him, ready to bang his head on the wall.

Monday night is the worst. The silence of the last few days feels like a personal insult. Standing by his kitchen window, looking out at the dark street, he’s completely fed up with his own uncharacteristic hesitation. He’s Sukuna. He doesn’t sit around overthinking a three-line message like some awkward kid. Enough. He’ll just give it to you straight, no games or professional excuses. He snatches the phone off the counter and types, fingers jabbing at the screen.

I'm heading to the diner by my shop for lunch tomorrow. Come with me.

He stares at the message, breathing heavier as his thumb hovers over the blue arrow. For a split second, he almost hits it. But then your reaction flashes through his mind—opening your phone and seeing a blunt lunch demand from the mechanic who fixed your car last week, suddenly wondering whether the man who seemed so put-together had been working an angle the whole time.

"No. That's fucking creepy."

He’s completely trapped by his own respect for you, stuck suffering the consequences of having zero organic reason to reach out. He can rebuild a transmission blindfolded, but figuring out how to move a text thread from professional advice to I want to see your face again without being an asshole? That breaks his brain entirely.

A low, bitter curse slips out as he clears the message. He throws the phone onto the kitchen table, furious that one person has managed to jam his gears so completely without even lifting a finger.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

By Tuesday afternoon, the frustration has cooled into a quiet, stubborn determination. Leaning against the workbench during a lull in the shop, he stares at your name in his contacts. One more try to find a middle ground that feels natural but actually gives him an opening.

Found another complaint about that shop online. Thought you’d wanna see it.

Sukuna deletes it before he even finishes the sentence, dragging his hand down his face. Thought you’d wanna see it. He sounds like he’s trying way too hard to find an excuse to talk to you. It’s not a lie, but he’d rather die than let you catch on.

"For fuck's sake."

By Wednesday afternoon, Sukuna’s completely done with himself, and he’s become absolutely insufferable to be around. Leaning against the tool board, he glares at the calendar pinned crookedly to the office wall, his thumb drumming a relentless rhythm against his thigh.

Every scenario he plays out in his head ends with him looking like an idiot. If he’s going to make a move, it has to be on his own terms, in his own space, where he actually knows what the hell he’s doing. Turning back to his tools, he forces himself not to spiral into another round of pointless drafts. Finally, his mind clears—he doesn’t need a smooth pickup line. He just needs a real, professional reason to get you back in the garage. Maintenance. That’s it.

I’m closing up the shop tomorrow around 6. If you wanna swing by, I can show you how to check your fluids and oil so you aren’t just guessing. No worries if you’re busy.

He stares at the message for a moment. There. Completely professional. Nobody in their right mind could mistake that for flirting. Another second passes. Perfectly reasonable text to send a customer.

With that, his thumb slams the send button, heart thudding stupidly against his ribs. The phone disappears deep into his pocket as he turns back to his tools, pulse racing, completely irritated by his own anticipation and already hooked on the slow, torturous wait for your reply.

Meanwhile, you’re at home, finally sinking into the couch after a long day, when your phone buzzes against the coffee table. His name flashes across the screen, and your heart gives a small, unexpected flutter. You read his invitation twice, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tap out your reply, keeping it light and trying to match his tone.

[You]: I'd love to! Need me to bring anything? (I promise I'll actually remember the plates this time if there's food involved!)

Down in the garage, Sukuna’s been organizing the same shelf of oil filters for the last four minutes, trying to distract himself, when his pocket finally vibrates. He freezes mid-reach. He deliberately finishes placing the last filter on the rack, forcing himself to move at a normal pace, refusing to look like a lunatic even to his own reflection. Only then does he step back, dig out his phone, and unlock the screen.

Reading your text, the tight, stubborn knot in his chest unravels all at once. Relief hits so fast it’s almost dizzying, and a rush of heat crawls up his neck. You didn't say no. You didn't find an excuse, you didn't think it was weird, and you explicitly said you'd love to come back. And that little joke about the plates instantly crumbles the remaining walls of his stubborn frustration.

A massive, genuinely victorious smirk spreads across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners as a low, rough chuckle rumbles out of his chest. Energy surges through him, ridiculous and electric, like he’s just rebuilt a blown engine in record time.

Then his gaze snags on that last sentence, and his thumb freezes over the keyboard.

Food. You’re asking about bringing food.

For you, it’s testing the waters for a little more time together. But to him, it's enough to send his thoughts careening straight off the rails of the maintenance lesson and into a chaotic spiral of logistics. Does he buy something? Does he tell you to bring something? If he says no, does that mean you’ll just learn how to check a dipstick and drive away immediately after? He doesn't want you to leave. He wants you back on that metal stool, right where he can see you.

Pacing a short line next to the workbench, he types out a response, frowning as he slams straight into a wall of overthinking that’s completely foreign to him: I’ll grab some burgers. No, that’s too much like a date. Don't worry about food. No, that sounds like he doesn't want to eat with you at all. Or worse, you’ll eat before you come, and he’ll miss his chance entirely.

Frustrated with his own hesitation, he deletes the drafts, grunts, and decides to handle it the only way he knows how: blunt and completely practical.

[Sukuna]: Just bring the car. I’ll order a pizza. Pepperoni alright?

He hits send, tossing the phone back onto the bench with a sharp exhale. The message is demanding, a little aggressive, and leaves zero room for negotiation. Still, it guarantees you're staying for dinner.

A wide grin splits his face as he spins around and surveys his empty shop, eyes scanning the bays with sudden, critical focus. Twenty-four hours. That’s all he’s got to make sure his office looks halfway respectable before you walk through the door.

—

Rolling into the gravel driveway with five minutes to spare, you idle near the entrance just as the side door swings open and Sukuna steps out into the cool evening air. He’s in a plain black tee stretched across his broad shoulders and dark grey sweatpants. The change catches your eye immediately because he looks ridiculously good out of his coveralls. You can’t help but wonder if the wardrobe swap was just a coincidence, or if he actually cared about making a good impression tonight.

He walks over to the front of your car, waving his hand to guide you forward. "Bring it straight into the second bay," he calls out.

Following his gesture, you shift into drive and ease the car forward into the bay. The engine clicks softly when you shut it off, and as you step out, Sukuna’s already at the front bumper, nodding at you.

“You’ve made it," he rumbles, stepping up to pop the latch and lift your hood into place with a practiced, heavy thud.

"Told you I would," you say, glancing over the open engine bay with curiosity. "So, where are we starting? Am I going to get entirely covered in grime?"

Sukuna lets out a low, amused huff, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and pivots toward the rolling tool cabinet. "Not if I can help it."

He reaches into a cardboard box on top of the cart and pulls out a pair of thin, black single-use gloves. His size is impossible to ignore when he steps in close, suddenly crowding the space, and hands them over.

"Put these on first," he instructs, his gaze locking onto yours for a heartbeat. "The alternator's fresh, but everything else under that hood isn’t. No reason for you to ruin your hands."

You take the gloves, smoothing the black rubber over your wrists before looking up at him with a playful smile, tilting your head. "Very thoughtful. I didn't think a tough mechanic like you cared about a little dirt."

"I don't care about it on me," Sukuna mutters. His eyes linger on your hands for a second before he jerks his gaze back down at the engine bay, clears his throat, and points into the tangled mess of metal and hoses. "Alright, come here. We’re skipping the basic fluid check—you’re smart enough to know how to read a dipstick. I want to show you more interesting stuff."

Stepping in close, you slide the gloves over your hands, your shoulder brushing his for just a second. It's barely a touch, but enough to make both of you hyper-aware of the space you share.

"See this belt right here?" Sukuna asks, leaning over the grille. His deep voice drops into a steady, confident cadence as he gets into his element. "This is your serpentine belt. In case someone tells you it’s about to snap, I'll show you how to check the tension yourself, and how to spot actual dry rot versus regular wear."

He tugs on his own gloves, then reaches down. He navigates the cramped space around the engine block with ease, and you find yourself briefly distracted by the contrast between the size of his hands, the precision of the movements, and how gentle they look as he grips the heavy rubber belt. Then, with a twist, he exposes the underside to the light.

"Get your hand in right here," he says, glancing sideways at you, his eyes dark and intense in the low light. "Feel the edge of the rubber. Tell me what you notice."

For the next hour, Sukuna guides you through a standard oil change, patiently talking you through each step. He doesn't do the work for you; he has you reach beneath the chassis with a socket wrench to feel the exact point of resistance on the oil pan drain plug, his hand covering yours to adjust the angle, explaining the difference between a secure seal and stripped threads.

When he shows you a spark plug, he holds the tiny ceramic piece beneath the shop light, pointing out the faint color differences that separate a healthy engine from one that's burning fuel too rich.

All the while, Sukuna stays at your shoulder, keeping you grounded. Each time your gloved fingers falter over a stubborn clamp or an unfamiliar valve, his hand is there, nudging your wrist or guiding it with a confidence that makes it impossible to feel foolish. He answers every question thoroughly without a hint of impatience, pleased with your curiosity. By the time you peel the gloves from your hands, the machinery that once felt so intimidating is just a puzzle you’ve learned how to solve, and the satisfaction settles deep in your chest.

A sudden chime of the office bell cuts through the quiet, shattering the spell. Sukuna pulls his hand back from the engine block, his head snapping toward the front door.

"Pizza's here,” he rasps.

He strips off the gloves, tossing them in the trash before heading to the glass door to pay the delivery guy. You follow suit, peeling yours off and grabbing the plates you stashed in your trunk earlier. Stepping into the dim office, you find Sukuna already setting the steaming pizza box dead center on his desk.

"Look at that," you tease softly, sliding the plates onto the desk. "Real plates this time."

Sukuna glances down at them, and a faint, genuinely amused smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Fancy," he mutters, eyes flicking up to catch yours for a split second before his hand moves to the cardboard lid. “Bringing the good stuff to a garage."

The moment he flips the lid open, the rich, savory scent of hot cheese and pepperoni floods the room, instantly smothering the stubborn trace of motor oil that still clings to the air. He slides a massive, steaming slice onto your plate before grabbing one for himself. "Eat up before it gets cold."

For the first twenty minutes, conversation just flows easily, and to his immense relief, not a single word about car parts comes up. You ask about the shop, how long he’s been running it, and whether he always wanted to be a mechanic. He tells you how he likes working with his hands, how machines make sense in a way people never do, because if something’s broken, there’s always a reason, and always a fix.

After a while, Sukuna starts tossing questions your way. One answer leads to another, and before long you're deep in a story about that trainwreck project at work and the latest chaos your friends managed to stir up over the weekend. He doesn’t interrupt, his crimson eyes fixed on your face, watching your eyes crinkle with laughter, how your hands sketch wild shapes in the air, and the tiny smile that sneaks out when you mention your friends.

Some part of him is convinced this should be awkward. Or, at the very least, harder than this. But it feels completely natural, and before he knows it, he’s talking more than he ever does. And that’s exactly when the invisible trap closes right back around his throat.

Ask her, his mind orders, the thought landing in his chest with a sudden, heavy thud. Eight words. Do you want to go out with me? Just say the damn words.

You finish your slice and lean back a little on your stool, thumb brushing a stray crumb from your lower lip without thinking.

Do it now. She's sitting right here. She likes talking to you. Just open your stupid mouth and ask for a real date.

Sukuna shifts his weight on the metal stool as his large hand tightens around his napkin.

Don't be a coward. It's a question, not a marriage proposal.

He opens his mouth, but his throat locks up tight. He isn't actually afraid of hearing the word no—he has plenty of pride, but a rejection wouldn't break him. What paralyzes him is the fiercely protective boundary he’s drawn around you in his own head.

And then what? She realizes the mechanic who helped her has been working an angle the whole time?

He’s desperately trying not to abuse the trust he’s built with you. The sheer weight of wanting to keep this clean and respectable for your sake completely jams his gears.

"Hey," he blurts out anyway, his voice a little rough, cutting right through the middle of whatever you were saying.

You pause, blinking at him with curious eyes. "Hm?"

Sukuna freezes as his brain goes completely blank again under your direct gaze. His eyes drop to your mouth, staring at the soft curve of your lips in the dim light of the desk lamp, his mind scrambling for any kind of escape hatch.

For fuck's sake, Sukuna. You've started already. Just finish it.

Instead, his throat stays bone dry, jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps in his cheek. The words just refuse to come, and the surge of internal fury that follows nearly knocks him sideways.

“Never mind.”

You study him for a long moment, and a small, knowing look flickers in your eyes as you set your crust down on the plate.

"Well," you say softly, with a playful little tilt to your head. "I guess I officially know enough about drive belts now. At this rate, I won't have an excuse to bother you anymore."

The words hit like a bucket of ice water. The thought of you just fading back into the real world, never showing up at his garage again, triggers a raw, defensive panic that steamrolls right over his hesitation.

"You don't need car trouble to stop by," he quickly says.

It comes out too blunt, his voice rough and a little too sharp in the quiet room. He winces inside, bracing for you to pull away, but you just look at him, a soft, slow smile spreading across your face.

"You know," you murmur, your voice dropping into a gentle, teasing tone as you lean just a hair closer over the edge of the desk. "Most people just ask for a date."

Sukuna goes utterly still. The words hang in the air, and the silence that follows is so thick you can hear the faint, steady hum of the fluorescent bulb overhead. He doesn’t answer right away—he can’t. The gears in his brain lock up as he stares at you, completely stunned that you’ve just outmaneuvered him without even trying.

But then the sheer absurdity of it all hits him, and the tension in his chest snaps like a rubber band.

A low, rough chuckle shakes his chest, half frustration, half pure captivation. He drops the crumpled napkin onto the desk, and suddenly his eyes are burning with that hyper-confident heat he’s been holding back all week. The cautious, hesitant mechanic is gone in a blink.

"Yeah?" he rumbles, his voice dropping an octave.

Before you can blink, he closes the distance between the stools. That massive hand of his finds the back of your neck, thick fingers curling gently, thumb pressing into the warm skin along your jaw. His sheer size blocks out the rest of the office, casting you in his shadow as he leans down, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

His eyes drop to your mouth, and the intensity of his stare makes your breath catch.

"Been trying real hard to be polite all week," he mutters with a wicked smirk right against your lips, tracing a slow line along your jaw with his thumb. "But you're entirely right. I'm taking you out tomorrow night."

He pauses, giving you one last chance to pull away if you want to. When you don't move, matching his smirk with one of your own, he closes the last bit of space without a single shred of hesitation.

The moment his lips meet yours, a ragged breath escapes him, a sound so raw it sends a shiver tearing down your spine. He’s been starving for this all week, and the force of it knocks the air from both your lungs.

Sweet vanilla and tobacco from his perfume flood your senses, drowning out everything else. Sukuna tastes exactly like he smells: warm, intense, and utterly intoxicating. Any coherent thought vanishes beneath the rush of it. Your hands find the soft cotton of his shirt, fingers twisting the fabric at his chest and bunching it tight in your fists as you pull him closer. Every bit of hunger he pours into the kiss, you give right back.

Feeling you lean in and your hands on him, a low, gravelly groan rumbles from deep in his chest. His grip at the nape of your neck tightens, thick fingers slipping higher into your hair until they're tangled in the strands at the base of your skull, leaving no room for doubt about how badly he's wanted this. His other hand leaves the desk, sliding up to cup your face, calloused thumb sweeping hard over your cheekbone as he tilts your head back, searching for a better angle.

Slow, insistent pressure parts your lips, and his mouth moves over yours in a rhythm that makes your head spin. The heat pouring off him is overwhelming, swallowing up the entire office until there's nothing left but his lips and the rough drag of his hands against your skin.

Sukuna pulls back just a fraction, barely a breath of space between you, so you can both drag in ragged breaths. Eyes closed, his forehead drops against yours while his chest heaves. But staying away isn’t an option. He leans right back in, catching your lower lip between his, sucking on it with a slow pull that rips a quiet gasp from your throat.

That deep drag is followed by a series of quick, hot pecks—one to the corner of your mouth, another firm press at the center of your lips, and finally a lingering kiss that seals your mouths together all over again.

Every tiny, breathless break just makes him hungrier. He presses in deeper, tongue tracing the shape of your lips, completely taking over the pace. Your heart hammers stupidly against your ribs, your body turning to liquid on the metal stool, kept upright only by the iron grip of his hands. He’s kissing you like he wants to leave a permanent mark, making up for an entire week spent talking himself out of this.

Even when he finally tears his mouth away, he refuses to let you go. His breath comes in short, heavy rasps that tangle with your own, crimson eyes fluttering open to find you—dark, hooded, and completely blown wide as he stares at your swollen lips. His thumb sweeps over your lower lip, wiping the dampness away with a slow, heavy pressure that makes your chest ache.

For a moment, neither of you says a word. The office is silent except for the sound of both of you trying to catch your breath. His chest rises and falls close to yours, and you can feel the lingering warmth of him, the tension that hasn’t left either of your bodies.

A smirk slowly tugs at the corner of his mouth. He savors the silence every bit as much as the kiss itself.

“Text me your address,” he rumbles, his voice incredibly low and rough. His hand is still tangled in your hair, fingers threaded deep enough that when you instinctively try to lean back and get a better look at him, his grip tightens just enough to stop you. It isn’t rough, but it’s firm, keeping you exactly where he wants you as his fingers shift slightly against your scalp. “And be ready at seven.”

Blinking up at him through the haze of the kiss, you tilt your head as much as his grip allows, brows lifting as you study him. The corner of your mouth twitches, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

"Pretty sure that wasn't a question, Sukuna."

His smirk deepens as he looks down at you, completely unfazed by your tone. That arrogant confidence in his eyes is impossible to miss now, and somehow it only makes your stomach flip harder.

"Neither was taking you out tomorrow night," he murmurs.

You don’t bother answering. Instead, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt as you drag him down, crushing your lips into his. He chuckles deeply into the kiss as his hands slide from your face to your waist. Before you can think about what he's doing, he's pulling you off the stool and into his lap. Deepening the kiss, you bury your fingers in his hair, drawing a low groan from him that sends a shiver racing down your spine and straight between your legs.

notes:

> sukuna: somebody has been scamming this woman > sukuna: she baked me a pie > sukuna 5 minutes later: i need her phone number or i'm going to lose my fucking mind

sukuna. buddy. my man. my brother in christ.

[slllieeepyy]

riding older bf toji

tw: age gap (reader is early 20s, toji is early 40s)

mdni! 🔞

“such a good girl, baby. fuck..” toji murmured, his hands on your hips as you straddled his waist. “way too good for an old man like me…”

you’re currently naked in your boyfriends lap, your arms loosely wrapped around his neck as you took his length inside of you.

he’s so big, pulsing and making your walls burn in the best way possible. you’re whining, clenching tight around his dick as you slide up and sink back down.

he’s leaning back against the headboard, looking up at you with half lidded, lazy eyes.

you’re so close to him that you can see the grey hair in his stubble that he tries so hard to keep out of your sight. he doesn’t want you to see him aging like this while you stay young and lively and fun.

you’re growing more and more exhausted, but his big, calloused hands on your hips are helping to guide you up and down.

“mngh… t-toji.. m’tired.” you whine, your movements slowing. you both were on the cusp of your orgasms, but your thighs were aching and burning, and every time he pushed in fully, it practically knocked the wind out of you.

“i know, sweetheart.” he whispered lowly, his voice rough. one of his hands snaked up your spine, cradling the back of your head and pulling you down into a deep kiss. “keep going f’me. i know you can.” he whispered against your lips.

his hand that had been on your hip moved down to your ass, smacking it gently before squeezing at the soft flesh.

you yelped from the mixture of pain and pleasure, the feeling giving you enough energy to move your hips again with his guidance.

“too much…” you whine, but you continue to move at a steady pace, your head dropping to rest in his neck. the stubble on his jaw scratched against your temple as you moved.

“just like that baby.. you’re doing so good. just a little more.” he muttered, his voice becoming rougher as his orgasm grew closer.

you felt a warmth tingling in your lower stomach, making your toes curl. toji could practically sense that, his fingers moving down to slowly, yet firmly, play with your clit, making you jolt.

“m’gonna cum.. mmf- toji, k-keep doing that…” you whimpered, rocking your hips faster, pulling suppressed groans from his lips.

“cum for me, baby. you worked so hard my sweet girl.” his free hand gently held the back of your head, still buried in his neck.

his words tipped you over, and you came with a loud cry, squeezing impossibly tight around him.

he followed right after you (always making sure you finish first, of course), his sticky release filling you up.

the two of you just sat there for a few minutes, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your bare back, whispering to you about how good you were while you hid your face in his neck.

even though your boyfriend was getting older, and his stamina might not be what it used to be, all he could do was hope that you wouldn’t grow tired of him.

he knows someone like you, young, sweet, and gorgeous, could have anyone you’d like. he didn’t deserve you, and sometimes he questioned why you even loved him.

but moments like this, when he was holding you and making you feel good, toji fushiguro, a man who never felt deserving of anything, really felt like he could just be with someone for once.

||a/n: this got kinda sad at the end soz lol

anyway i’m replaying silent hill 2 rn and i just luv james so much poor baby

- vie 💤

[slllieeepyy]

i don’t even have like a thing for age gaps idk why i wrote this but it’s doing well!!

[tteokdoroki]

Okay okay I have to share a athlete!yuuji vision with you-

Imagine like ur part of a friend group in college and yuuji’s also in that group. Through others you know he lowkey likes you but you don’t want it to be awkward so nothing ever really happens (but you see the way he looks at you ughh)

One day you’re hanging out in your dorm room, just you and yuuji, and he shares how he’s been having a tough time, the team hasn’t been winning a lot, his mental health, etc etc. U think ‘fuck it’ and decide to go down on this man because you just want him to feel better and he deserves it, sucking him off the way he always dreamt of. Bro can’t believe it’s real and he’s so desperate for it- he ends up fucking you with deep, slow strokes in missionary but can’t help himself and fucks your brains out in prone bone.

Afterwards you’re not together because you two don’t want the friend group immediately finding out about it- it stays vague and the two of you think it’s best for the friendship not to continue fucking but y’all can’t get your hands off of each other in private. It’s such a messy desperate fwb situation- ughhh i need him

nomnomnom we are big fans of secret relationships here and big buff yuuji itadori yumyumyum

i think how it really starts is that he’d feel really guilty about the blowjob situation. sure he was sad, who doesn’t when their team isn’t performing to standard and they’re constantly losing? but he never expected to get that far with you just for being down. yuuji never thought his best friend would sink to her knees before him, wide eyed and tender when her touch and beg him to let her take his mind off things. make him feel better.

he remembers his nails leaving streaks in the couch’s fabric, his thighs tensing and taut in the muscle as you’d smoothed over them and tugged down his zipper with your teeth. “focus on me,” you’d said, palm rolling over his shaft in his jeans — barely contained and throbbing to life with every breath yuuji took.

itadori tried, he really had, eyes everywhere all over your face all at once — but the first delve of your tongue across his bright red tip shattered him completely because you’d moaned around him at the taste and the sound caused a pulse in his balls. your mouth is the warmest thing he’s ever been in, you soak him in saliva and rub his tip along the inner lining of his cheek and the whole time you look up yuuji like you’re proud of all he’s done. for holding out on the orgasm that’s about to break surface and for keeping faith in his team despite the rough start to the season.

you don’t mind when he gently moves your head, deft fingers massaging your scalp as he forces you down his length until you feel his precum cascade down your throat. each gag and swallow pulls a hiccuped whine from the centre of yuuji’s chest and he really can’t believe his luck with you. you’re so special, you’re the best, you even swallow when he cums too soon and thick white spills underneath your tongue — you kiss him then, with his seed on your lips like a pretty gloss

i think initially he heads to your dorm to apologise. his words rehearsed until they’re settled into every crevice of his brain and flowers in his hand nearly crushed from how tight he’s gripping them. girls like flowers. he thinks. you’re a girl. his friend who’s not his girlfriend. a pretty girl. all hope on him is lost.

once he’s in your dorm though, you’re changing to go to one of nobara’s games — half dressed and flitting around your room whilst yuuji tries to work himself up into the apology you deserve. but he can see down your bra, and down the curve of your waist and your thighs peek out the bottom of your mini skirt. you’re not even listening to how sorry he is for cumming down your throat after fucking it raw. for leaving welts across your tummy and marks on your neck. for using you to get over himself.

so big, muscular athletic yuuji says fuck it. pinning you against the wall, prying your lips open with his tongue when you gasp.

“what does it take to get you listen, hm? do i need to fuck you again to get it through your head?”

[bakugoubaby]

Someone slides up on pro hero Dynamite's live and asks what his skincare routine is.

"What's my skincare routine?" He pauses for a second and looks at you in your tiny pink lace slip dress putting dishes away. It has cute sakura flowers adorning your chest, holding it up nice and pretty.

"My girl sits on my face every morning n night, next question."

"Katsuki!"

[spiralmindz]

white kids get to have quirky racist phases black kids dont get to be kids

[spiralmindz]

black kids get their lives stolen from them if they defend themselves from white kids "going through a phase"

[bfbkg]

boyfriend bakugou…. being out with your and his friends… maybe at a bar. sitting on opposite sides of the room as you chat with your respective friends but when it’s time that you want a drink you go over to him wordlessly and tap his chest as he sits. he immediately knows what that means.

“d’you want me go up ‘nd get it?” he says to you, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket and pulls out his matte black card.

you swipe it from his fingers. “no it’s okay. wanna stretch my legs. do you want me to get you a drink?”

bakugou looks to his empty glass, “rum and coke, please.”

“no problem, beautiful,” you reply and bakugou huffs a laugh out his nose.

you return ten minutes later, two drinks in hand. when you stand in front of him, you spin around, “your card is in my back pocket.”

“long line?”

“not really.”

he taps your bum twice before slipping his hand into your jeans back pocket for his card. once he gets it you spin around and place his drink down.

“thanks!” you grin, then go back to join your friends on your table.