summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen.
pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student
tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings
wordcount: 5.6k
a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.
You never did go pro.
Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development.
The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:
What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?
How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun?
You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago.
Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide.
You see it differently.
Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest.
You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent.
You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence.
Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.
What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time?
Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown.
He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care.
He isn't a villain-in-training.
None of them are.
It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children.
So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents.
You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet.
After all, you never did go pro.
And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.
He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it.
It was the beginning of the end, then.
His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class?
Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.
It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes.
Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:
Endeavor's wing.
There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now.
Very different.
Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."
"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"
"Oh, ho, no way!"
Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again.
"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"
"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."
It is you.
You look... good.
Happy.
You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time.
For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.
It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto.
"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"
Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.
Shoto is on the move.
The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.
Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero.
Shoto Todoroki.
He looks... good.
Really good.
He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.
For a second, you're seventeen again.
It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.
They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.
There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.
"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever."
You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk.
Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher.
"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"
"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember.
"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"
"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.
Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing.
"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"
There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle.
You're using him as a teaching moment.
Shoto's smile is soft.
You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."
"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"
Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute.
You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all.
He hangs back.
He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto.
...It's kinda cute.
Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was.
Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds.
And he deserves to be happy.
Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.
You hang back.
Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.
"Hey."
"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."
"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."
His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."
You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.
Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."
"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."
"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are... good."
Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose.
And the underdog in question can read a room.
This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.
"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"
You jump.
How long has he even been there?
"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.
"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"
"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."
Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.
"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"
"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."
Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."
"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."
There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions.
It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment.
"Would you like to—"
"Are you free—"
Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.
"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"
You make yourself available.
Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.
Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell.
From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.
"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?"
"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy."
"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.
"Father was the one who suggested it."
"...That old dog."
Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"
The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.
Shoto winces.
"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.
"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."
Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.
"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.
Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya.
"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."
"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"
"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"
"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."
"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?"
"She wants me to call her after—"
"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"
Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.
"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."
Shoto lets out a long breath.
Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"
"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"
It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."
Easier said than done.
You never did go pro.
Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates.
You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.
He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful.
Fuyumi's contribution.
You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.
The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back.
It feels like you've been lit on fire.
You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine.
Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables.
The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.
You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you.
For a second, you're seventeen again.
Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A.
You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks.
A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass.
He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy.
"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."
Graduation day was the last time you saw him.
Until this morning, that is.
You smile into your drink.
"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.
His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.
"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."
Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."
He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."
The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."
You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.
He notices.
Shoto's face feels hot.
He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school.
Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.
Now, less so.
It's adorable.
Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home.
While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it.
Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.
His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you.
His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss.
But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen.
The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you.
It's sweet.
Really sweet.
The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit.
"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.
His hand settles there.
Your stomach does a flip.
You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure.
Keep it together.
He isn't seventeen.
He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years.
...Right?
Green light.
His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment.
The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park.
It makes your chest ache.
Shoto swallows thickly.
Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.
He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.
What if you don't want to kiss him?
When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?
Why does he feel like he's going to die?
"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly.
"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."
You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."
"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."
"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"
Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."
"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"
"I'm not being weird—"
"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.
"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."
His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest.
It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?
Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now.
"You don't need to be."
Shoto's breath catches at that.
So, he makes his move.
His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment.
Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.
Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone.
He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful.
The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.
Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together.
Then, his eyes stick to your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face.
You never did go pro.
But, Shoto did.
It shows.
Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—
His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory.
It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.
And then you whimper.
It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching.
You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.
He needs to slow down.
He is not having sex with you in his father's car.
That's shameless.
He needs to slow down.
He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up.
Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him.
You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.
It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that?
He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect.
"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."
A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person.
"Are you serious?"
"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.
"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"
Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face.
"Are you free this weekend?"
"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."
"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"
"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."
Shoto scoffs.
Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:
"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."
Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.
Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend.
summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen.
pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student
tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings
wordcount: 5.6k
a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.
You never did go pro.
Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development.
The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:
What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?
How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun?
You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago.
Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide.
You see it differently.
Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest.
You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent.
You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence.
Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.
What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time?
Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown.
He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care.
He isn't a villain-in-training.
None of them are.
It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children.
So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents.
You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet.
After all, you never did go pro.
And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.
He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it.
It was the beginning of the end, then.
His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class?
Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.
It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes.
Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:
Endeavor's wing.
There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now.
Very different.
Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."
"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"
"Oh, ho, no way!"
Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again.
"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"
"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."
It is you.
You look... good.
Happy.
You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time.
For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.
It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto.
"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"
Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.
Shoto is on the move.
The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.
Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero.
Shoto Todoroki.
He looks... good.
Really good.
He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.
For a second, you're seventeen again.
It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.
They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.
There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.
"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever."
You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk.
Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher.
"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"
"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember.
"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"
"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.
Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing.
"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"
There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle.
You're using him as a teaching moment.
Shoto's smile is soft.
You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."
"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"
Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute.
You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all.
He hangs back.
He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto.
...It's kinda cute.
Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was.
Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds.
And he deserves to be happy.
Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.
You hang back.
Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.
"Hey."
"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."
"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."
His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."
You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.
Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."
"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."
"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are... good."
Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose.
And the underdog in question can read a room.
This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.
"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"
You jump.
How long has he even been there?
"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.
"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"
"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."
Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.
"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"
"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."
Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."
"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."
There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions.
It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment.
"Would you like to—"
"Are you free—"
Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.
"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"
You make yourself available.
Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.
Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell.
From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.
"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?"
"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy."
"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.
"Father was the one who suggested it."
"...That old dog."
Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"
The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.
Shoto winces.
"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.
"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."
Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.
"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.
Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya.
"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."
"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"
"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"
"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."
"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?"
"She wants me to call her after—"
"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"
Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.
"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."
Shoto lets out a long breath.
Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"
"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"
It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."
Easier said than done.
You never did go pro.
Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates.
You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.
He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful.
Fuyumi's contribution.
You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.
The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back.
It feels like you've been lit on fire.
You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine.
Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables.
The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.
You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you.
For a second, you're seventeen again.
Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A.
You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks.
A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass.
He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy.
"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."
Graduation day was the last time you saw him.
Until this morning, that is.
You smile into your drink.
"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.
His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.
"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."
Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."
He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."
The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."
You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.
He notices.
Shoto's face feels hot.
He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school.
Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.
Now, less so.
It's adorable.
Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home.
While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it.
Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.
His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you.
His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss.
But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen.
The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you.
It's sweet.
Really sweet.
The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit.
"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.
His hand settles there.
Your stomach does a flip.
You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure.
Keep it together.
He isn't seventeen.
He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years.
...Right?
Green light.
His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment.
The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park.
It makes your chest ache.
Shoto swallows thickly.
Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.
He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.
What if you don't want to kiss him?
When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?
Why does he feel like he's going to die?
"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly.
"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."
You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."
"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."
"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"
Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."
"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"
"I'm not being weird—"
"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.
"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."
His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest.
It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?
Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now.
"You don't need to be."
Shoto's breath catches at that.
So, he makes his move.
His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment.
Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.
Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone.
He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful.
The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.
Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together.
Then, his eyes stick to your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face.
You never did go pro.
But, Shoto did.
It shows.
Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—
His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory.
It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.
And then you whimper.
It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching.
You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.
He needs to slow down.
He is not having sex with you in his father's car.
That's shameless.
He needs to slow down.
He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up.
Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him.
You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.
It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that?
He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect.
"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."
A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person.
"Are you serious?"
"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.
"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"
Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face.
"Are you free this weekend?"
"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."
"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"
"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."
Shoto scoffs.
Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:
"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."
Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.
Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend.
Summary: Dating a women’s studies major has turned Sukuna into the frat house’s most feared feminist. Now the frat boys can’t make a sexist comment without getting a lecture, while you sit back and watch.
A/n: just fun lil thing i thought of :)
The frat house was unusually quiet, no music, no party, no sports discussions.
This was because Ryomen Sukuna was standing in the living room with his arms crossed, looking genuinely disappointed.
“Did you just call her a bitch?”
Satoru Gojo, halfway through stealing someone’s energy drink from the fridge, blinked. “What?”
“You called that girl a bitch.”
“She literally stole my hoodie after our hookup,” he shrugged him off.
Sukuna pointed at him. “And? Speak like a man. Have some respect.”
“No, seriously.” Sukuna continued. “You don’t get to call women bitches because you’re annoyed.”
Satoru stared. “Who are you?”
“My girlfriend says that’s misogynistic.”
“Your girlfriend also made you stop saying ‘females.’”
“And she was right, it’s disrespectful. Some shit incels say.”
The entire frat house collectively recoiled.
Across the room, you sat on the couch, sipping an iced coffee and watching the chaos unfold. A smile on your face, because god were you enjoying this.
This was better than reality TV.
Satoru pointed at you. “YOU DID THIS.”
You raised your coffee in acknowledgment.“Damn right.”
———————————————————————————————
The frat party was loud enough to shake the walls. Music blasted through the speakers.
Drinking games to your left, a fist fight to your right; and you were just observing from the kitchen.
And in the middle of it all, Toji was sprawled across the couch with a beer in hand.
His girlfriend was standing nearby talking to some friends when Toji waved his empty can in the air. “Hey.”
She glanced over. “Yeah?”
“Grab me another beer.”
A few people looked over.
She frowned. “What?”
“You heard me.” Toji pointed toward the kitchen. “Get me another beer.”
Before she could argue, another voice cut through the room.
“No.”
Toji closed his eyes. “…God.”
Across the room, Sukuna was already walking over.
You perked up immediately, ready for your boyfriend to set Toji straight.
Sukuna stopped directly in front of Toji. “Hell no.”
Toji looked exhausted. “No what?”
“No disrespecting your girl in front of me.”
A few people turned their attention to the potential altercation.
Toji rubbed his forehead. “I asked her to get me a beer.”
“You ordered her.”
“It’s not that serious, right baby?” He said, trying to save his ass.
Sukuna crossed his arms. “If you want a beer, use your legs, or ask nicely.”
Toji stared, “You cannot be real.”
His girlfriend was already trying not to laugh.
Sukuna pointed toward the kitchen, “Go get your own drink.”
“Or what?”
The entire room collectively leaned forward.
Sukuna grinned. “Or I’ll disrespect your face by punching it.”
You giggled. Only Sukuna could point out misogyny while trying to solve the issue with violence.
A guy standing nearby immediately whispered, “That’s the most Sukuna version of feminism I’ve ever heard.”
Toji looked around the room. Nobody was helping him. Not even a little, most probably in fear of Sukuna.
Finally, Toji sighed. “Fine.”
Sukuna nodded. “Good choice.”
Toji turned toward his girlfriend. “Sorry.”
She raised an eyebrow, suddenly she had more confidence than before. “Sorry for what?”
Toji was clearly embarrassed now, “Sorry for talking to you like that.”
“Thank you.”
Sukuna gave an approving nod. “There. Growth.”
“Shut it,” he said staring down Sukuna. “You know what? I’m getting my own beer.”
As Toji disappeared into the kitchen, the room broke into applause.
His girlfriend laughed and shook her head.
Then she turned to Sukuna. “Thanks.”
Sukuna shrugged. “Don’t thank me.”
He pointed across the room toward you. “Thank her.”
Everyone looked.
You were sitting comfortably on a stool in the kitchen; chin in hand, eating chips like you’d been watching a sporting event.
You gave a little wave.
“Kuna’s a women’s studies soldier ,” she said proudly. “I teach him everything I know.”
———————————————————————————————
The fraternity and sorority had gathered in one room to brainstorm ideas for a charity fundraiser. People were throwing out suggestions.
Raffles. Bake sales. Auctions.
Then Satoru snapped his fingers. “I got it.”
Immediately, you looked concerned, because he never had good ideas.
“We do a joint event with the sorority.” Satoru grinned. “The girls wear maid outfits and serve drinks.”
The room erupted into approval.
“That’s genius.”
“People would love that.”
“Easy money.”
Across the room, Sukuna slowly lowered the energy drink from his hand.
“Interesting.”
“NO,” Gojo yelled. “Let me have this one good idea,” he groans.
Sukuna stood. “Let me understand… the women wear maid costumes.”
“Yeah.”
“And serve drinks.”
“Yeah.”
“And what are the men doing?”
Toji shrugged. “We could do some strength challenge.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. Lifting something heavy.” Several people nodded.
“Classic.” Sukuna stared. Then looked at you, looking for approval to go on a rant.
Sukuna turned back to the room. “The women get assigned a service role. The men get assigned a strength role.”
More silence.
“Based on gender.”
The room collectively sighed.
Sukuna pointed dramatically. “Why.”
Satoru finally spoke. “Because that’s what people want.”
Sukuna gasped.
You smiled proudly at your boyfriend, waiting for him to call out their blatant sexism.
“PEOPLE EXPECT IT?”
“Yeah?”
“So we’re just reinforcing traditional gender roles for profit now?”
The room erupted.
“IT’S A CHARITY EVENT.”
“YOU’RE MAKING IT SOUND EVIL.”
Sukuna ignored them. “Misogyny is evil.” He pointed toward the sorority members.
“Why are they the ones serving drinks?”
One of the sorority girls raised her hand. “Honestly, I don’t want to wear a maid costume.”
“THANK YOU.” Sukuna was fully activated.
You were delighted to see how this was playing out.
“Explain to me,” Sukuna continued, “why the men can’t wear maid costumes and serve drinks.”
The room went dead silent, and you almost spit out your drink.
Toji blinked.
Satoru blinked.
The sorority sisters were stunned. “What?”
“The men.” Sukuna spread his arms.
“No.”
“Why not?”
The room burst into laughter.
“If serving drinks is easy money, then congratulations.” He slapped the table.
“The fraternity is serving drinks.”
The sorority girls immediately started cheering.
“YES.”
“MAKE THEM DO IT.”
Toji looked horrified. “Absolutely not, I’m not wearing a maid outfit.”
Sukuna leaned forward. “Fragile, typical response from men. Toxic masculinity, machismo, societal expectations.” He says pointing a finger at different men around the room.
You had your face in your hands, trying to hide your laughter. You had to show support for your boyfriend, but couldn’t handle him naming every term he could think of.
Sukuna pointed around the room. “If the costumes aren’t degrading, wear them.”
Silence.
The sorority girls were having the time of their lives. One of them pulled out her phone. “I’m ordering maid costumes right now.”
The fraternity erupted in panic.
“STOP HER.”
“WE CAN STILL NEGOTIATE.”
——-
Two weeks later, the fundraiser ended up being the most successful event in frat history.
Mostly because nobody could resist paying money to watch a group of deeply embarrassed frat bros serve spiked lemonade in maid outfits.
Toji looked dead inside.
Satoru refused to make eye contact with anyone.
Meanwhile Sukuna carried a tray through the crowd completely unbothered.
His maid outfit fit surprisingly well, as he served you a drink.
Across the lawn, Satoru was being forced to say “Welcome home, master” for a twenty-dollar donation.
The sorority was making a fortune.
Sukuna took one look at the donation total and smiled. “Look how good we’ve done so far,” he said enthusiastically.
“I’m so proud of you,” you said before leaning in for a kiss.
“By the way, I think you should bring home this costume when you’re done here,” you said; snapping the thigh high sock on Sukuna’s thigh.
Synopsis: Your kingdom is well know for it's success, second only to the realm of the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna. You father insists that you choose a suitor, before he chooses one for you. When you've narrowed it down to two, you ask them to come to your palace and explain why they're worthy. The King of Curses, is surprisingly good at groveling.
FYI'S: One shot!, Heian!era Sukuna, Trueform!Sukuna, Reader is a very spoiled princess and will get her way 100% of the time, Sukuna grovels (omg), TW: Naoya Zenin, brat!reader because what else would I write
WC: 2.5K
Your kingdom is famed throughout the lands. Your imports and exports are some of the most valuable amongst these developed lands. Men and women, supposed “royals” of other nations grovel at your feet. They beg for alliances in the hopes that they may claim what’s yours is there’s. They do not seek your solace for the wellbeing of their people- they seek it for their greed. The hunger and thirst for anything to make them different from the sniveling bastards they are.
You will always know the truth besides. And you resent them for it. A king who cannot protect his own people is no king at all. There is only one realm that remains ahead of yours in terms of developments. The realm of the Cursed King, Ryomen Sukuna. A four-armed, two-faced, beast of a man who rules his kingdom with the precise judgements only he could. You’ve seen “men” cower at the mere mention of his name.
You like watching them squirm when talks of trade with the king are discussed. You wish for your name to one day shake fear into the hearts of mortals. Your father and him have maintained a good rapport over the last few years, making him a common topic. Though, he rarely leaves his realm unless absolutely necessary. And now, the famed lord, seeks a wife.
In recent times your father has begun to pressure you to find a husband. You have no interest in marriage, but you understand it is a necessary alliance for the continuation of your prosperous kingdom. You seek one thing and one thing only: obedience. You have no time for a man who believes you will bow to him. If you are to be his queen, he should bow before you.
He should kiss each spot your holy foot shall touch. He should know when to push and when to give in to your desires. That is the only acceptable partner befitting a woman of your impeccable breeding and majestic nature. You will only accept the best of the best among men- no, among Gods, because that is the power it takes to sway a Goddess like yourself.
Three months ago, you indulged your father in allowing him to announce your interest in betrothal. Though, the interest is fleeting at best. Sooner or later you were going to have to enter into one of these contracts, at least this one will be your choice. During these three months, your time has been monopolized by these so called “suitors.” Few have lived up to your standards, and most that do show their true colors after one meeting alone with you.
It also doesn’t help their chances that you happen to be quite close friends with all of your maids. They procure delicate information that you cannot, without calling unnecessary attention to yourself. Most of these pathetic men forget that their maids can, in fact, hear them. It is a sad day for them, yet a glorious one for you, that this remains the truth.
Despite your disinterest in marriage, one shocking suitor caught your eye quickly. The revered, and feared, King of Curses, has stepped foot in your palace. Your father held a ball soon after the announcement so that suitors may present themselves to you. What you never expected was seeing the Ryomen Sukuna walk through the doors. You thought surely he would only be there in show of your father’s alliances. That is until he walks straight to the dais, and bows in presentation.
You stand, returning a courtesy. He stands, crimson irises meeting yours. You search them for the usual playcation you see in suitors. You find none behind his eyes. You smile, impressed.
“You already have my father’s allegiance. You’ve had it for what? Three, four years? Marrying his daughter will not grant you more favor.” He nods thoughtfully.
“It is not your father’s favor I seek. In fact, I believe my courting you only serves to make him disfavor me.” You turn, finding your father’s face as neutral as he can make it.
Though, you can see the anger simmering beneath his calm. Though your father engages with Sukuna in trade, he does not care much for the beast before you. He can only see past his otherworldly figure for his own gain. Your father chooses not to comment, while Sukuna stands before you. His eyes tell you there will be a talk once he is otherwise occupied.
“That very well may be true. So why, Sukuna, do you wish to vie for my hand, despite my father’s disapproval.” Sukuna looks to your father, but he has walled himself off. Sukuna smirks at your tenacious nature.
“From the moment you pushed to be included in all kingdom dealings, I know you were a force to be reckoned with. I should only wish to provide the reckoning.” You nod thoughtfully, taking his answer into account.
“Might I suggest you peruse our refreshments?” You sweep an arm out gesturing to the wide assortment of food and drink. “Though, you will find our assortment devoid of human meat for your consumption.” You tease. The rumors of his cannibalistic nature have been spread across nearly every realm. He doesn’t blanch or falter at the accusation. He only turns his head, surveying the refreshment table.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,” He turns back to you, flashing a smile that’s all sharp canines. “Though, if there are any lords or ladies you don’t care for, do let me know.”
A sharp laugh escapes you. You hurriedly stifle it with your hand. He simply bows once more, before descending on the refreshment table. The way the crowd parts for him sends a shiver up your spine. His brashness doesn’t scare you, no, it excites you. You re-take your throne as more people come to sell themselves to you. The rest of the night passes in much the same manner, though no one else manages to make you laugh like Sukuna did.
Before you can take your respite, your father calls you into his study. It is empty save for you and him. He invites you to sit in the chair beside him. You begrudgingly take the seat, though your feet ache and your body begs to be bathed. What’s one more night of coddling your father’s ego.
“You mustn’t entertain lord Sukuna. He is a foul, dangerous, mutant, creature! He is not a man, and he is most certainly not a creature worthy of your love.” He exclaims. Internally you roll your eyes. He is seething in feelings of inferiority.
“May I speak freely, father? I wouldn’t want to upset your delicate temper so late at night.”
“You may do so, so long as you mind yourself and remember your place.” You give him your most polite smile.
“My first of many points is that marriage is not about love. It is an economic proposition, and we serve to gain plenty from a union like this. Second, I actually find Lord Sukuna amusing. I should wish for some happiness in this union. Third, you use him for your gain now. This is only another gain. So, in the event he proposes, you want me to decline a marriage proposal from a leviathan of a man, solely because of your wounded pride? Not only that, the collective strength of our kingdoms would make us unstoppable.” He blanches at your blatant disrespect.
“This is still my kingdom. You are still my daughter and I can do with you what I wish. I am generously giving you the chance to choose who you wed, do not squander this opportunity.” You nod, keeping your comment to yourself. You find it quite funny how he tells you not to squander the opportunity, yet he wishes for you to cast away the favor of the strongest king these lands have ever seen.
For a moment he looks at you regretfully. Your father is a kind man, and he tries his best to rule the same way. For whatever reason, Sukuna seems to make him forget himself.
“Forgive me, daughter. I only wish for you to make a truthful decision. I do not want you to marry someone because of the power they bring, I wish for you to marry someone you love.” You fight back the urge to roll your eyes at your fathers flowery words. What he means is he wishes for you to marry anyone, but Sukuna.
“I will explore all possible options father.” He nods before returning to his books, effectively dismissing you. Unbeknownst to him, you have very little interest in love. What you hunger for is reverence, for you would rather be respected than loved.
Now, even three months later, you have not made a decision about who you will marry. Though, after lots of urging from your father, you have narrowed it down to two options. Naoya Zenin of the Zenin clan, a rather prominent family in the world of Jujutsu Sorcerers.
As royals, your family has been rewarded with knowledge of other, lesser known powers. The Zenin clan has impressive cursed techniques as well as combat abilities. You don’t much care for Naoya, but he is a weak man. One you can bend to your will if need be. He believes you to be naive and cloying. He does not know how wrong he is, but he may very well learn.
Learning of Jujutsu sorcery is how you learned the reason for Sukuna’s title “King of Curses.” He is no longer human, but a curse himself. This only serves to make you more interested in him. A King of Curses, bowing at your feet, sounds rather appealing, no?
Today, the two men stand before you, ready to declare once and for all why they deserve you. They’ve both come dressed in their finest garments. You admire the details of each as they bow, kneeling before you.
“Naoya Zenin,” Your father pauses for dramatic effect, “Rise before this dais, and tell us why you believe you are the most deserving of my daughter’s hand in marriage.” Naoya stands, expression smug.
“No one will ever be truly deserving of the princess’s hand, but I believe I can serve her best. She will be safe in my lands, needing and wanting for nothing as servants feed, bathe, and clothe her. She will rule by my side, and if danger shall ever threaten her, I will give my kingdom if I must, to protect her.”
He rambles more about how much he will love and cherish you. Undoubtedly, he expects you to sit on your throne like his porcelain doll. Sukuna scoffs throughout Naoya’s speech. You sit back in your throne, bored by Naoya’s constant "reassurances" about your role in his life as a vessel for heirs. You straighten, refocusing your attention as Sukuna stands to speak.
“You have endlessly drawn my attention from the moment you barged into the war chamber, demanding that room be made for you. Despite my best efforts, I could not remove you from my thoughts. You would find me in daylight, but most torturously in sleep. Where I could dream you were mine, and wake to an empty bed. I do not wish to mold you to fit into my life, I wish to make room for you to remain as you are. The only difference being your proximity to my side.” Before Sukuna can continue, Naoya interrupts.
“Excuse my intrusion, but I do not wish to mold her in any way. I wish for her to allow me to exist in her beauty. I wish nothing more than to protect her, even if it costs me my life, I would do it for her. I would die for her. A thousand times over if it meant she got to live.” Naoya bows after his declaration. Sukuna doesn’t hesitate in his response.
“Yes, but would you live for her? Death is a coward's sanctuary. You get to go in peace while she must remain here and deal with the fallout. She must endure the grief of losing a partner and ruling a kingdom. I would not wish this fate upon you, ever. Would you give her everything you have until her dying breath, and build statues in her honor? Would you worship her? Would you decimate a kingdom, should they wrong her in any way? Would you dedicate your heart and soul to her happiness? I will not tell you what I would do, but I will show you if you chose me to wed.” Sukuna finishes smoothly, ending up on one knee with his head bowed.
You took care to note the fact that Sukuna addressed you directly, while Naoya’s only interest was in your father. Naoya follows suit by getting down on one knee and bowing. You only entertained others because of your father’s wishes. In the end, you’re glad you did. Today was an interesting show of character, and you couldn’t be happier to humiliate a man in the way you’re about too.
“I’ve made my decision.” You stand, walking down the steps of the dais. You come to stand in front of Naoya.
“Rise,” And he does, “You are a poor excuse for a man and an even worse excuse for a ruler. You do not rule your kingdom, you exploit it, and one day your kingdom will fall due to your negligence. Maybe, I will take pity on your citizens and dethrone you as the Queen of Curses. I plan to be benevolent, but make no mistake of my malicious nature should a situation arise that calls for it.” You smile politely.
Naoya fumes from where he stands. The only reason he doesn’t threaten you is because of the power you’re about to come into.
“Rise.” Sukuna stands at your command, a wide grin splitting his face.
“I expect you will keep every one of your extraordinary promises made before me today?” One of his hands reaches for yours, bending down to kiss it.
“Every single one, my Queen.”
“Rather impatient you are.” You quirk an eyebrow, teasing the giant man in front of you. He basks under your attention.
“Oh my, did I not mention you were dismissed Naoya? Allow me to tell you properly. Get out.” He marches towards the door, slamming in out the way out. You turn to your father, one hand engulfed in Sukuna’s giant one.
“Though I did not originally approve of this choice, you have proven yourself to be wholly dedicated to my daughter’s well-being. Your kingdom’s prevalence as well as your affections for my daughter are more than I as a father, and a king, could ask for.” Your father bows in respect for Sukuna.
“Fret not, she will be well cared for.” Though this is true, he does not yet know the madness he’s in for.
A/N: I had so much fun with this, I can't wait to write more of Heian!era Sukuna. Also, did you catch my AOT references in there? hehe
Additional Info
COMPLETE ✅
NOT PROOFREAD
This story is completely my work do not copy it, feed it into AI, repost or anything of the sort without my explicit say so.
He’s the type of guy to not realize the severity of his crush on you until something jealous rage inducing happens. You’re talking to him, the Miyas, and Aran about this guy asking you out on a date and he’s irrationally angry about it. He starts grilling you about the fact that none of them knew you were thinking about dating anyone. You, rightfully irritated, tell him you have every right to do what you want. He has no jurisdiction over you. He grumbles silently the rest of the time you’re talking about this other guy.
Even though the two of you have been friends since middle school, your conversations for the rest of the week are short and jilted. You don’t know what his problem is, but you do know it’s not your job to fix it. He’s a grown ass man, thus he should know how to communicate any issues with you properly.
The date goes horribly wrong, and the guy is 100% a total creep. Suna is sad for you, but also smugly satisfied that that random guy disappointed you, because it should’ve been him this whole time. He tries to go back to normal, but you’re still pissed at him. He’s basically been giving you the silent treatment for a week straight. He’s not excused just because you’re having a bad day. He knows this, but he was hoping he wouldn’t have to confront the reason he reacted the way he did.
It comes in the form of an argument, when you won’t let him in your apartment. He says he’s trying to make it up to you, but you call bullshit. Eventually, he just blurts out that he was jealous. He doesn’t know how to act when people try to take what’s his. You scoff, but secretly, you’ve felt the same way for a long time. Both of you were just too stupid to realize this wasn’t just your ordinary childhood best friends scenario. You relent, and let him in your apartment so you can tease him more about his little crush on you. You tell him how you feel and he beams like a happy little puppy.
When you start dating now much changes, you just kiss now. The two of you getting together is a surprise to no one, but the two of you. No matter who you tell, your parents, the Miyas, Aran, Kita, hell everyone from your Inzariaki days, they all knew this would happen one day. You two were the only ones late to the party.
Suna’s the type of boyfriend to act all nonchalant in public, but the second the two of you are alone he’s pouting about how you didn’t pay enough attention to him. As if he’s not the one pretending to be endlessly chill about everything all the time.
Suna’s the type to spam your phone no matter the time of day or what you’re doing. In class? Doesn’t care. Busy studying? He knows and he will 100% press that “notify anyway” button. Every single time, no matter how unserious his request is.
Suna’s the type to stalk your location and show up unexpectedly. You learn to deal with it because he can’t go more than 12 hours without seeing you before his insides start to eat themselves alive.
He’s eternally clingy no matter how many times he denies it. He’s the one blowing up your phone, showing up wherever you are, and making you late to places when he clings to you in bed because he doesn’t want you to leave him. He’s a fucking loser. But he’s your loser so that makes it okay.
Suna’s the type to bride you to skip plans by slowly trailing kisses down your sternum to his favorite place.
Suna’s the type to use the power of his tongue against you, and you fall for it every time. He’ll kiss you dizzy before he makes his descent underneath the covers. He pulls your panties to the side, making quick work of the pulsing nub at the apex of your thighs. It doesn’t take him long before he’s got your back arching off the bed.
It’s safe to say lots of plans get rescheduled so he can finish the mess he started.
Suna’s the type to pretend he’s unaffected by how pretty you are. No matter what you wear he nearly creaming in his pants every time. Don’t let it be a short skirt that hugs your curves just right, or a tight top that hugs your tits just right and your tummy slips out every once in a while. He’s laser focused on that fucking sliver of skin the whole night and he can’t wait to get you home and see the masterpiece underneath.
He loves seeing you confident in your body and your style. There’s nothing that makes him prouder or harder. He’s seen you struggle with your body image nearly your whole life, but when you grow up into adulthood and embrace your every curve or roll? He’s fucking salivating just hearing about the love your have for yourself now.
Suna’s extremely easy for his girlfriend.
Additional Info!
You would know by the fact that I have yet to write about him, but I LOVEEEEEE me some Suna Rintarou. Bad.
This story contains mature content so please, minors do not interact
This story is completely my work do not copy it, feed it into AI, repost or anything of the sort without my explicit say so.
Hello. This is Shaira again. I'm re-opening commissions again. I don't want to do this again for I have not finished the previous commissions but I'm in a pinch right now and I'm really sorry.
Earlier this month I have announced hiatus to look for a job and I found one and on the way to being trained is costly. I have a found a place to temporarily stay and crash on a friend's temporarily for a few days but the landlady won't allow if I stay for more than a week and I don't want to trouble my friend. I found a place but it costs the last amount of my meager savings since leaving home last year in the first weeks of August.
I'm re-opening my commissions again to last for a month and be able to pay the rent until I get my training allowance. Thank you very much!
Fandoms that I will write for.
Love and Deepspace
Jujutsu Kaisen
Boku no Hero Academia
Blue Lock
Any fandoms that I know
Rates:
15$. Fixed rate. Any length or character and genre. Will always do noncon and dark themes.
You can send me a direct message on Tumblr or in ko-fi. Donations are also accepted. Thank you!
꒰ 𓈒 ׁ ︎ ︎ ✿ GOOD @ GOODBYES ! ㅅ `͈ 𓏼 )ა
first kiss 𝑤. ͏͏ sukuna ac. su2kuna ಎ
⎯⎯ ✉️ awky ⨍ reader 2.2k
the only shocking thing about ryomen sukuna was that he was a surprisingly good boyfriend. like, embarrassingly good to you.
he was still the occasional dickhead, obviously. but at least he nice about it. he always went at your pace, never pushed when you got shy or overwhelmed, never made you feel stupid for needing reassurance. hell, he even showed up with a bouquet of lilies for your first “official” date with him.
and the date itself wasn’t anything extravagant either. no fancy rooftop reservation, no over the top attempt to sweep you off your feet. just a quiet little restaurant tucked between buildings, warm lighting spilling across wooden tables while soft music played somewhere overhead.
simple. intimate. perfect for you.
a secluded booth in the corner, sukuna sitting across from you with an unfairly soft look in his eyes whenever you got shy and toyed with your food.
and you were doing fairly well. right up until the date ended that is.
because now here you were, heart hammering violently against your ribs, butterflies wrecking your stomach as you hurried, nearly ran, toward your apartment door, leaving behind one very confused sukuna standing a few steps away.
which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the smoothest way to end a date with your boyfriend.
“oi.”
you froze with your hand on your purse, about to reach for your keys, head snapping up at his voice as he made his way toward you, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
you turned your head slowly, eyes trailing up his tall frame, though looking at him only made things worse; his pink, coral strands faintly glowing under the streetlight, tan skin catching the light, black markings accentuating the sharpness of his features.
yeah. you didn’t stand a chance.
“. . . what?”
he scoffed. “what?” he mimicked under his breath, head tilting slightly, eyes sharp and fixed on you. “you forgetting something?”
your brain only buffered, eyes darting between his face and everything else: left, right, anywhere but him. “no..?” — humming under your breath as you dug through your purse.
lip gloss.
receipt.
wires.
a sonny angel, for some reason . . ?
everything but your keys.
normally, you weren’t this awkward. you just weren’t used to this. dates with people you actually found attractive. emotionally. intellectually. physically. romantically. sexually—
“you regret comin’ out with me?”
oh . . .
for a second you almost forgot he was there. well not really. sure, you tuned him out but you could definitely feel him. you could never really ignore ryomen sukuna; the sound of his breathing, the shift of his weight, his presence pressing against your senses, it was all there.
“what?” you blurted, finally looking at him in the eye.
sukuna leaned against the wall beside your door, pink hair shifting against his forehead, his expression unreadable, save for the faint amusement in his eyes.
“you heard me.”
your brows knitted together, mouth opening, then closing, before finally speaking: “no…”, your voice coming out a soft whisper.
his slitted eyebrow only cocked up at you, a faint laugh escaping his throat. “no?” the single word rolled off his tongue slowly, thick with amusement as he watched you, heat crawling higher up your neck under his stare, your movements growing clumsier the longer he looked at you.
“you’ve been diggin’ through that bag for, what, five minutes now. plus you nearly jumped outta a moving vehicle.” he continued lazily, pushing himself off the wall beside your door. “it makes a man wonder.”
“i’m not doing anything,” you said, quieter now, finally meeting his eyes for half a second before looking away again. “you’re the one who keeps staring me down.”
“mm,” he hummed, “so, lookin’ at you’s the issue.” his eyes flickering over your face once more, slow and unhurried. “that right?”
well, yes, that was part of the problem. but it wasn’t thee problem. because the actual problem was much worse. the actual problem was that you liked sukuna. like. like-liked. and he liked you too.
“well, no! i just—” what an insufferable man. “i really liked going out with you,” voice going a mile a minute before taking a deep breath, lacing your fingers together in front of you, fidgeting under his gaze. “i loved it.. actually.. i’m not trying to run from you or anything.”
“just nervous.”
“nervous?” he repeats after you, the word foreign on his tongue, “that’s what we’re callin’ it? you’re just embarrassed ‘cause you’ve got it bad for your boyfriend.”
your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, heat flooding your face all at once. “what?! no! don’t put words in my mouth.” you blurt, your hand flying up to shove his chest with a dull thud.
sukuna only lets out a low laugh before his hand comes up quickly to close around your wrist mid motion; his grip gentle but firm, holding you there as his other hand stays buried in his pocket. barely trying.
“so… you gonna say bye properly now?”
you gulp, your hand relaxing in his soft grip. “well… how do you want me to say bye?”
sukuna doesn’t answer, instead, he gently lowers your hand between you, scarlet eyes locking onto your softer, pliant eyes.
“your call.”
and the space between you two seems to freeze, soft silence of the night stretching between the two of you. easy on his end, unbearable on yours.
“w—well…” your eyes flick between his for a second before betraying you entirely, dipping down to his lips without meaning to. “i—” you huff. your throat feels dry, yet it feels unreasonable. sukuna wouldn’t judge you, you hope.
“i wanna kiss you… goodbye...”
“platonically,” you added after a moment.
. . .
his brows lifted slowly.
“you wanna kiss me. platonically?”
“um.” your voice came out smaller than intended. “yes.”
“yeah? and i’m sure those pretty little eyes of yours are lookin’ at me real platonically too.”
“that too.”
silence.
then sukuna hummed low in his throat, all amusement, already taking a step back.
“ah. got it.” he turned slightly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. “well, in that case— have a nice night.”
your eyes widened immediately. “wait—”
he kept walking.
not far. just enough to be annoying.
“sukunaaa,” you whined, hurrying after him before your fingers caught around his forearm, dragging him back to your doorstep. “not like that.”
a soft huff escapes him, his mouth quirking upwards, canines softly refracting the dim light — not quite a smile, but rather satisfaction. “hm?” he glanced down at your hand on his arm. “so now it’s not like that?”
your grip tightens for a second before you realize it and quickly loosen your hand, heat rushing straight to your face. “i—no, i mean—just—don’t pretend you don’t know what i mean…”
his gaze flicks over your face for a second, slow and unreadable, before he scoffs “you’re the one makin’ it complicated.”
“shut up,” you mutter instantly, but there’s no real bite to it, just embarrassment as you finally tug him a little closer.
his hand comes up, settling near your jaw, thumb resting against your warm cheek. your fingers catch lightly at the front of his shirt as you rise onto your toes.
before you could overthink, your lips meet his.
it’s quick. chaste. shy even.
his eyes flutter shut a moment after, his free hand coming out of his pocket to steady you by the waist, warm and heavy, yet restrained, seeping through your clothes.
he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, letting you mold against him. he tilted his head, lips pressing gently against yours; warm, and embarrassingly sweet.
you pull off his lips slowly, a hesitant look in your eyes, your breath catching lightly as you settle back down flat on your feet, hands still gripping the fabric of his shirt.
your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it. did he like it? did he think you were a bad kisser? to be fair, you didn’t kiss many people. or often. but what if—
“hell,” he mutters, like he didn’t expect that, “you even kiss cute. kinda sweet.”
you pant, “what does that even mean?”
his gaze flicks back to your mouth and the slight furrow of your eyebrows.
the way your fingers still cling lightly to his shirt, the shy warmth clinging to your skin, even that stupid little clip tucked into your hair.
a quiet exhale leaves him through his nose, almost a laugh.
he lets out a soft laugh, leaning down slightly to your height. “i’m annoying?”
you only nod, biting down on the plush of your lip before looking away again, suddenly very interested in anything but him.
except before you could give an actual rebuttal, his lips meet yours deeper this time, no longer testing the waters. still gentle, but an unspoken certainty lingering in the way he kissed you. his mouth warm against yours, moving slow and unhurried, giving you all the time in the world to keep up, hell, even backout if you wanted to, the space between you disappearing.
his hand shifts from your waist up to your jaw, cradling your face and simply holding you in place for the moment. his other arm staying firm at your side, keeping you close without pulling too hard, steadying your wobbly steps against him.
you swallow down a gasp before your eyes slip shut, your nose bumping lightly against his, the angle a little awkward, a little clumsy, yet perfectly you.
it only makes him breathe out something softer against your mouth, amused, as if it’s exactly what he expected from you.
the kiss deepens for a few more seconds — slow, and warm — until it didn’t feel like teasing anymore. just a need held taut beneath careful restraint.
then he pulls back just slightly, just enough for air, his thumb still lingering at your cheek, in no rush to let you go.
“okay . . . was that . . a good goodbye?” you murmur, breathless, still a little dazed as you finally force yourself to step back.
he lets out a low “hm” under his breath, his thumb dragging lightly against your cheek. “yeah. it was good.”
“s’pose i can let you go now.” removing his hands from your sides, drawing a small, inward pout from you.
your hands went back to your purse, fingers already digging through it again—until sukuna stopped you.
“here.”
you pause.
and there they were.
your keys, dangling right in front of your face from his fingers with a soft jingle, cute, colorful keychains swinging in the quiet night air. you gasp before snatching them immediately.
“you bastard! you saw me looking for them!”
he lets out a soft huff of laughter, not even trying to defend himself. “you dropped them while you were busy runnin’ from me,” he hums, shifting his weight back against the brick wall beside him, a faint, sly smirk settling in on that stupidly handsome face of his, “when i asked if you forgot somethin’, you said no.”
you scoff before rolling your eyes, “well! i thought you were talking about saying bye?!”
his gaze flicks over you, steady and thoroughly amused. “two things can be true at once.”
you make a small sound of frustration and snatch the keys tighter in your hand, glaring up at him through your lashes anyway.
“…thanks,” you mutter.
“…go on,” he murmurs, voice low. “before i change my mind and keep you right here.”
and you knew he wasn’t joking. that man was about one breath from devouring you right then and there.
you turn quickly, fumbling with the lock, the soft jingle of your keys echoing in the stillness, his presence still radiating from behind you. his gaze dropped briefly to your hands . . .
“you alright?”
“yes.”
“you’ve missed your keyhole three times now.”
“i know!” you shoot back immediately.
the door unlocked with a soft click, warm light spilling out into the hallway.
“ okay . . . ” you hummed.
“okay,” he repeated, looking down at you expectantly, waiting for you to head inside.
but instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.
a low, rough laugh rumbled out of him before his arms circled around you instantly, strong biceps trapping your head against his chest. his scent, a deep, clean mix of cologne, so distinctly him, filling up your senses and making your head feel all dizzy.
despite his rough exterior, sukuna was soft, surprisingly so. maybe it was the steady weight of his chest against your body, or maybe it was the quiet way he held you that made it hard to think. either way.
you liked it.
you pulled away first with a small cough and an awkward straightening of your clothes, cheeks warm enough to burn through metal.
“okay! um— bye, sukuna,” you blurted awkwardly, already backing toward your apartment door.
except your shoulder clipped the doorframe on the way in.
“fuck—”
you fumbled with the handle in a panic before practically stumbling inside. “bye! goodnight!”
and then, you’re gone.
the door shutting a little too hard behind you, a muffled “ow!” coming from behind the door.
outside, sukuna exhales through his nose, shaking his head as the corner of his mouth curled upward.
Sukuna graduated with his favorite girl on his arm six months ago. He never expected the bliss and peace that would ensue, but life’s been better than ever. He’s deeply in love with the girl of his dreams and he plans to propose once she graduates. He’s slowly but surely preparing the world for the opening of his ethical software engineering company. It’s crazy to feel so settled in life at the ripe age of twenty two.
He’s been told his whole life that he would never amount to much. No one ever expects the kid with the sharp tongue and even sharper fists to be a fucking genius, but somehow he’s done both. And he’s done so without stabbing people in the back. He’s lived by one rule his whole life, don’t fuck with mine and I won’t fuck with yours. That mindset has brought him fellowship beyond beliefs, early investors, and his future wife. Clearly, he’s doing something right.
He walks in the door, burger take-out in hand, ready to be greeted by his beautiful girlfriend. He finds you… not there? You’re always here around this time on Wednesdays. You have a schedule so he doesn’t get too antsy without you. Despite his many many attempts to get you to move in with him, you won’t. You say it’s because your apartment is closer to campus, which is technically true, but he suspects it’s because you like to be stubborn.
He backtracks, making the ten minute drive to your apartment. Once you get him hooked on a schedule, he’s going to stick to it. Wednesday without his Y/n time is essential. When he turns the lock in the door to your place, he spots you immediately at the dining room table.
“Hey baby.” He greets. You only return a glance in his direction. He already sensed something was off, but now he knows for sure. You never break your schedule unless something is bothering you. You are the most vicious creature of habit he’s ever met so for you to stray from the norm? Odd. Extremely fucking odd.
“I brought burgers for dinner. Got you the bacon avocado one you like.” Your face scrunches up, clearly not in the mood for it. It’s fine he can get you something else, but this silent treatment is concerning. He sets the bags down on the table, before coming up to you and placing a kiss on your forehead. You tense below him, where you’re hunched over your laptop like a hermit. He grabs your jaw gently, bringing you to face him.
“What’s wrong, brat?” You jerk your head back, brows furrowing in irritation.
“Get off me, Sukuna.” Now that is a sure fire way to know, you’re pissed. He scoffs, taking his seat at the table next to you. He takes his food out, digging into his burger, as he tries to think of why you’re so upset. After the Zen’in scandal you wrote that article on last year, you wrote a follow up commenting on the corruption of the school by their donors.
You cited several different incidents, mostly from the Zen’in family, that could’ve resulted in someone getting jail time that just magically disappeared. All with evidence and witness testimonies. They’re now under investigation, and due to both of those articles interest in you skyrocketed. You got an incredible paid internship opportunity that could lead to an actual job after you graduate.
So with that, on top of the school’s newspaper that you refuse to quit out of some misplaced pride, you’ve been pretty stressed. It doesn’t help that midterms are next week. If there’s one thing he doesn’t miss, it’s the sudden onslaught of work during midterms and exams. You’re in the seventh circle while he’s just been reviewing and signing papers all day. Suddenly, your chair scoots back and you sigh loudly.
“Could you chew any louder?” You roll your eyes, before you pick up your laptop and mess of papers, moving to the couch. You stretch and crack your back, before resuming your crouched position. One leg up on the couch, chin resting on your knee while the other stretches out under the coffee table. He knows that sit. That very specific way you sit when it’s that time of the month. He pulls out his phone, checking the period tracking app that he has synced to yours. Low and behold, it’s day two. The worst day.
You’re probably cramping and it’s only made worse by the fact that you probably haven’t eaten anything substantial all day. You also have the stress of homework, projects, and work assignments from two places. He mutters a quiet fuck under his breath. He’s just glad he didn’t do anything, because that would have been a much harder fix. His girl runs a strict fucking program. It keeps him on his toes.
He walks over to the couch shutting your laptop and organizes your notes wordlessly. You protest behind him, but one thing he’s got on you is height and strength. When he doesn’t want to be moved, he won’t be. He grabs you, throwing you over his shoulder like the stubborn woman you are. You beat on his back like King Kong, and curse him out the whole ten steps to the table.
“What are you doing?! I’m busy, I need to do my work, Sukuna.”
“One, It’s Ryo to you baby. And two, you need to eat. You’re on your period, angry, and stressed. It’s pissing me off.” He sits down next to you after his declaration, preparing to dig into his burger once more.
“I’ve worked through my period before, I’m fine. I ate earlier, so just let me work.” You stand from the table, heading back to your laptop and papers. He sighs, shaking his head. One day the both of you will out stubborn the other and die. Today is not that day. He pushes back from his chair, coming to stand in front of you. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in place. Your feeble attempts to claw at his arms go unnoticed.
“Fuck! Dude, let me go!” You wiggle and squirm, your voice rising as well as your irritation.
“I’m not your ‘dude’ and no. You need to eat, take some pain meds, and relax.” You roll your eyes. He persists.
“Ryomen, I’m not fucking joking. Put. Me. Down. I will fucking slit your wrists and watch you bleed out. Then maybe you’ll know how I feel.” You glare daggers up at him, hoping maybe one withering look will make him cower. Unfortunately, he is unperturbed.
“Oh no, I'm so scared.” He states in a mocking tone. “You need to rest.” The mocking sends you over the edge in a way you didn’t know possible. You turn your head slightly, biting deep into his bicep. He yelps in pain. His arms only loosen a fraction, but you take your opportunity and run with it.
You slip out from his grasp and plant yourself on the other side of the couch. He stands firm, once he’s confirmed you didn’t draw blood. You have before, so it’s an honest concern.
“I will chase you around this apartment.” You squint, almost challenging him.
“Leave me alone!” You dart left, opting to go behind the couch instead of in front. He doesn’t expect it, but he follows in behind you.
The two of you reach a stalemate around the table, vying for leverage.
“Let’s make a deal.” You squint at him, skeptical.
“What?”
“If you make it to your laptop, I’ll leave you alone and let you work. If I catch you, you do what I say for the rest of the day.” He attempts to bargain with a terrorist. He should’ve known it wouldn’t work.
“That’s a shit deal and you and I both know it!” You shake your head at him, plotting your escape to your laptop.
You fake left, before darting right, effectively leaving him stunned. He expected you to go left and take the shorter route, but you successfully read his exact thought. Fuck. He never should’ve agreed to be your trainer, and now he’s paying for his crazy leg day yesterday.
He catches you around the waist right before you reach the laptop, hoisting you into the air.
“SUKUNA LET ME GO!” He shakes his head, laying you on the couch, before flopping down on top of you. World’s most talkative weighted blanket.
“Nuh uh, you lost.”
“I never agreed to that fuck wad. I don’t have time for this, I have so much shit to do.” You reach helplessly for your laptop. He grabs both your arms, tucking them in and under himself so you can’t move.
“They can wait one day. Ask for an extension. You’re a good student, I'm sure they won’t mind.” You shake your head vigorously.
“No, I can’t!”
“Well, the only way you’re getting up from here is if you eat and rest so I guess we’re stuck here.” Big ole crocodile tears well up in your eyes. You fight and kick to get him off of you, but none of it works. To some, this may seem toxic, but he knows you need it. He knows you inside and out, and if no one makes you take care of yourself when you’re stressed, you won’t do it.
After the tears dry up, you settle into indifference. Ten more minutes go by before he feels your body slacken under him. He gives it another minute, before he starts talking to you.
“Are you hungry?” You nod reluctantly.
“And you’ll let me take care of you today?” With a deep sigh, you nod yes again. He pushes up on both arms, stepping off of the couch. You look longingly at your laptop. He grabs your chin, bringing your face in close to his.
“Ah ah ah, you just promised. Don’t make me fight you again.” You roll your eyes, before you jerk away from him again. You side step him to make your way to the kitchen table. You may have agreed, but you won’t make it easy.
You sit there bored, while he reheats your food. He places it in front of you, your favorite condiment and a cold drink in tow.
You reluctantly take a bite, before realizing your hunger. You scarf the burger and fries down, washing it down with your favorite drink. He watches, amused at the way he knew exactly what you needed. He slides two pain pills over to you, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere. You take them, finishing off your drink.
He throws all the trash away, and rinses your dish before placing it in the sink to be washed later.
“C’mon.” He tilts his head, ushering you to the bathroom. You shake your head, continuing your streak of difficulty.
“Carry me.” He sighs, but does it anyway much to your amusement. He plops you down on the toilet, before he starts to run a bath for you. He leaves for a brief second, but emerges with a giant t-shirt of his, a pair of your designated period underwear, and tampon.
He stands you up, kissing you deeply before undressing you. Like he’s been longing for a kiss from you the whole day. He turns the water off before gesturing for you to get in. He grabs your exfoliating cloth and lathers it up with your bar soap, before reaching towards you. You grab his wrist, attempting to wrestle the cloth away from him.
“I can wash myself.” You scoff.
“I know that, but I want to take care of you. So give me the damn rag, and let me work.” You shake your head.
“I’m gonna be bleeding in the water. You don’t think it’s weird you’ll be swishing around in my period water?” He drops his head to his chest, exhausted with you.
“I would stick my tongue in your asshole if you’d let me, so no I don’t think it’s weird.” You stare at him agape.
“You’re so fucking weird.” Though you look at him aghast, the idea kinda turns you on. Not that you would admit that, but you’re so fucking horny right now and his proximity mixed with his actions are driving you insane. He once joked about having period sex, and now you think about it every time that time of the month rolls around. Maybe one day you’ll have the courage to ask. Today is not that day though.
“Fine. Do whatever you want, weirdo.” And so he does. He gets more groceries and snacks delivered to your apartment so you’ll be set for the time being. He does everything. He bathes you, lotions you up after, dresses you, and tucks you under your covers with a cold compress, while he unpacks the groceries and does the dishes. When he comes back to your room, you being half asleep, he has a fruit tray, water, and more pills in hand. It takes all your might not to cry.
“I got everything set up for a movie night. ‘M gonna go change real quick.” He sets the tray next to you, and when he comes back, he’s clad in red plaid pajama pants, and a threadbare cotton t-shirt. He shouldn’t be so fucking intoxicating in plain clothes. He gets under the covers, settling in bed behind you. You last all of fifteen seconds, before you turn around to face him. Without a word, you pull him down to you for a heated, passionate kiss.
“What’s that for?” He looks puzzled.
“Thanks for taking care of me.” You place a small chaste kiss on his lips. He smiles wide. The one he saves for you everyday. Big, unapologetically happy, and best of all, real.
“I like that I can be here to take care of you.” He kisses you once more, nuzzling nose to nose after.
“For the record, I don’t need you to. But, I’m glad that you made me take a break.”
“I know you don’t need me, but you want me. And you allowed me to relieve some stress today. That’s what matters.” Your bottom lip quivers slightly, but you suck up any emotions you were going to spill.
“I love you, Ryo.” He sighs deeply, relieved.
“I love you too, Princess. Now turn around and watch the rat cook.” You shake your head, disappointed in his dismissal of one of the greatest chefs of the century. You turn back around, facing the projector screen in your room.
“His name is Remy, by the way. Don’t disrespect him” He shakes his head, chuffing a laugh into your scalp.
He loves you and all your oddities.
Fin.
HELLO!!! Writing for my favorite crazy couple once again. I just know he would be able to read his partner like a picture book. He knows ALL of your tells and he is determined to do whatever he knows necessary to make you feel better. He is bad at apologizing though so when he fucks up he just has to go all out and pray to whatever diety will listen.
synopsis: clark bending you over the counter, fingering you underneath your clothes just to give you a quick orgasm and a good start to your day.
cw: porn and no plot, fingering (f!receiving), little bit of dry humping, squirting, clark jizzes his pants <3
wc: 966
a/n: guess who just finished the longest semester ever??? finally, i have time to dedicate myself to writing superman porn ☺️
It starts off as a normal morning, just you and Clark rushing around the kitchen, trying to clean everything up after breakfast before you each go to work.
You've got a bit of time to spare, and Clark just wants to have a little moment of peace with you. You've both been so busy, and he misses you.
So while you're wiping the kitchen counter down, he hugs you from behind, just placing little kisses on your nape.
“You smell nice,” he says against your warm skin, inhaling the soft scent of your perfume. “Sweet.”
You hum softly, giving up on your task to lean back against him, just enjoying the moment.
But Clark can't hold back when it comes to you.
One of his hands slips down a little, moving from your stomach, lower, until his fingers graze the waistband of your pants.
“Clark,” you say quietly in warning, feeling your body grow hot at his touch. “We have to go.”
“We've got a while,” he murmurs as form of explanation, his fingers deftly undoing the button and the zipper on your pants.
“We'll be late for work,” you say weakly, warmth spreading between your thighs.
“We'll be fine,” he replies, grazing his teeth over your ear as his hand slips under your panties. His fingers slide over your cunt, gently parting your folds to press against your clit in neat little circles.
You let out a soft moan, hips pushing forward against his hand.
Clark's mouth trails down the side of your neck, kissing and sucking your skin, feeling himself getting harder and harder as you mewl and whine lowly.
His fingers move a little lower, prodding at your entrance, feeling your slick slowly starting to drip out.
“Oh, baby,” he groans lowly, his teeth lightly digging into your neck in a soft bite. “You feel so good.”
You moan, hands grabbing onto the counter, your hips pressing against his fingers. “Clark...fuck...”
“I know,” he says lowly, his voice rough, as he starts grinding his hips against your ass. He groans at the friction against his hard cock, and he can feel the front of his boxers already damp with precum.
You're making soft little sounds that go straight to his groin, his name falling from your lips in little gasps.
Gently, Clark eases you forward to bend over the counter, one hand on your hip, the other one sliding a finger into your wet pussy.
Your cunt welcomes him eagerly, walls warm and pulsing as his finger delves deep in and then curls, finding your g-spot with ease.
He gently pushes your foot with his to spread your legs farther apart, giving him more room.
With every breath he takes, he can smell your arousal, mixed with the scent of your body lotion and your shampoo. It makes him insane, makes him wish he could rip your pants off, sit you on this counter and eat you out like you deserve. But that'll lead to him fucking you, and then you'll both definitely be late to work.
You moan loud, thighs shaking as Clark adds a second finger into you, thrusting and curling them perfectly, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit.
A familiar heat spreads through your body, thick and intense as it fills your womb. It grows hotter as Clark fucks you with his fingers, pushing you towards the edge.
“Clark,” you gasp, but he already knows. He can feel your gummy walls squeezing his fingers tight, he can feel the way your body is shaking. He can hear your racing heart, can smell your juices dripping from you and gathering in your panties.
The thought of you being so close only spurs him on more. He rolls his hips against your ass, his cock twitching in his boxers as he grinds against you, the fabric sticky from his precum.
“I know, baby,” he grunts, the steady rhythm of his hips stuttering as a tight coil of heat grows taut in his lower abdomen. “Almost there.”
You're squealing now, your legs quivering and threatening to give out. But Clark holds you steady with one arm around your waist, keeping you in place.
The hot sensation in your womb builds and builds, like a balloon filling with air, until you're sure you can't take it anymore.
“Clark —” you try to warn him, but your brain is hazy with pleasure and your tongue isn't collaborating. “Fuck!”
The steady press of his fingers against that spongy spot in you, combined with the press of his palm against your clit, has you seeing stars. But it's also pushing you towards something more than just a regular orgasm.
You're mewling and whining, not able to find the words to warn him as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge until the heat is too much, until your body shudders and the tension in your womb snaps, and you come.
You moan his name loud enough that the entire building might've heard. A gush of your slick spills from you, soaking Clark's hands, making a mess of your panties and your work outfit, your juices drenching the fabric.
Clark moans as he feels you squirt on him, the feeling of it pushing him to his own orgasm. He comes with a rough groan, his hot cum spurting onto his boxers in thick, sticky ropes.
You're both breathing heavy, bodies slowly coming to, skin sticky with sweat.
Clark kisses the side of your neck gently as he withdraws his hand. “You okay?” he asks.
You nod softly, still breathless. “Yeah, I'm good.”
He hums. “You were right, we're gonna be late,” he says sheepishly. “We're gonna have to clean up before we head out. I wasn't counting on us making such a mess...”
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
Synopsis: Frat!jo thinks about the word every time you two fuck. He thinks about you a lot more than he should. You two are just supposed to be fuck buddies but he secretly wants it to become more. This time, you're fucking him so good he just can't help himself.
FYI'S: p in v, oral (f! receiving), degradation, femdom reader, mommy kink, bratty Gojo
WC: 6.4k
This one's for my butter bean
-------------------------------------------------
He’s been thinking about it ever since the two of you started your little situation. You’re kind of embarrassed to be seeing him, but you can’t help coming back for more. You’re also not dating, not officially anyway. There is however this unspoken agreement of neither of you going to other people when you’re needy. That the two of you provide something for the other that intoxicates you both. The first time the two of you fuck, he’s left drained and flabberghasted. It started a month ago at one of the various frat parties he attends. A seven minutes in heaven miracle that your bottle landed on him. Hoots and hollers emerge from the surrounding crowd, but you just roll your eyes. You know he’s notorious for sleeping around so it won’t be so terrible to spend a few minutes with him in a closet.
“You sure you can handle me?” He asks smugly. You roll your eyes again. In the span of a minute he’s already wildly irritating. His baggy jeans and t-shirt are completed with a backwards cap, damn near falling off his head. You brush past him and walk into the closet. He didn’t really expect you to, but he’s always down for a good time. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone into the closet with him. This will seriously ruin your reputation as the university’s cool girl.
“So what’s your name sweetness?” You glare at him from two feet away in this cramped closet. You lean back against the wall before responding with your name. He takes one step closer to you, his scent invading your nostrils. At least his scent is one of spicy musk, clearly from his cologne, and not just straight up musk. Most frat guys just straight up stink.
“That’s really pretty. I think it’d be even prettier if you came a little closer.” You start to smile, pushing away from the wall. The two of you are about a foot apart now.
“Do your little lines work on everyone?” You raise an eyebrow at him. He scoffs. He’s not used to people resisting his flattering words. Men and women alike fall at his feet no matter what he says.
“I don’t have lines, just straight charm baby.” You hum, nodding along with his ridiculousness. He steps closer to you, expecting you to cower. You hold your ground instead, paying no mind to his little intimidation tactics. You just smile to yourself, knowing you’re the one ride he won’t survive. You like to put men in their place, and this seems like the final boss. He walks around all cocky and irritating. Breaking hearts left and right. It delights you to finally be the match he isn’t prepared for.
You grab his shirt by the collar, pushing his back against the wall of the closet. He doesn’t expect it, and stumbles backwards, back hitting the wall. He braces his hands against the wall to keep him from falling.
“Shit-” He doesn’t get to finish whatever he was going to say. You pull him down to your mouth. Your lips move over his, taking control of the situation. When he finally regains his balance, he puts his hands on your hips. Grabbing at the fat there, he walks you back against your side of the closet. His attempts to take control of the make out session are quickly squashed. Your back is against the wall, but you grab his jaw and keep him where you want him. You bite his bottom lip, making him hiss in pain. It gives you the opening to slip your tongue in his mouth.
He pulls back, but you give chase, pulling him right back into it. He finally gives into it, just enjoying it. You’re a good kisser, and he enjoys it despite not having any control over it. You pull back, sucking in lungfuls of air. A string of saliva connecting your mouths.
“Fuck.” He says it breathily, still in total awe of you.
“I know right?” You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, knocking the hat off his head. His hand comes up, resting between your shoulder blades. The other rests just above the curve of your ass. You come off his mouth to kiss his jaw, and trail kisses down his neck. You pull down the collar of his t-shirt to suck a pretty little mark into his collarbone. He throws his head back, sighing at the feeling. You move up again sucking another hickey right over the pulse point on his neck. This time he groans, hands clenching on your hips, where they’ve migrated back to.
He’s usually the one dominating, so why does it feel so good to let someone else take over? He enjoys putting people in their place, making them bow to him. But you? He’s kissed you twice and he’s ready to let you do almost anything to him. You see him disassociating to the pleasure, but no no you can’t have that. You pull his hips flush against yours, hooking your finger in his belt loop. You lick a stripe up his neck before whispering seductively in his ear.
“Someone’s eager, huh?” You feel the growing bulge in his pants, pressed up against your thigh. He can’t remember the last time he got this hard this quickly. He scoffs, trying to play it off.
“Nah, everything’s functioning just right.” Both of his hands grab meaty purchases of your ass, hauling you against him. He leans down attempting to kiss you again, but your head rears back.
“That isn’t how this works, sweetness.” You mock his stupid nickname for you earlier.
“Everything always works out exactly how I want it.” He retorts. His pupils are blown wide, and he has that glossy, lustful look in his eyes.
“With everyone else, sure. But let me make one thing clear, Satoru Gojo, I’m in charge.” He rolls his eyes. Before he ever registers it, you’ve shoved him back against his side of the closet. You stand just a few feet apart, breathing heavily. Your eyes lock, gazes challenging one another. The closet door opens. For long minutes the two of you stand there, glaring at each other. You’re both determined for the other to concede first. It takes his frat brothers yelling at him to move for his gaze to finally break away from yours. Your eyes trail his back as he walks away from you. You smile to yourself knowing you had the fraternity president and captain of the football team, Satoru Gojo, nearly on his knees.
A few days pass, and you’re an everpresent thought in his mind. Not that he wants you to be. All the two of you did was kiss, so why are you so irritatingly stuck in his frontal. Maybe it's because he’s not used to being handled. Not that you handled him or anything, just the attempt was there. Maybe he just wants you to know that he’s the one in charge, not you, even though you made a pretty good attempt at telling him what to do. He totally didn’t like how you manhandled him. Not at all.
He looks for you at every party though. He fails to find you in them, because you only went with your friend as a favor. You don’t frequent frat parties, or any parties for that matter. You have fun, but not enough to justify going time after time. Obviously, the king of the frat doesn’t know this. He just expects who he wants to be there to show up. But you never do. That’s when he starts asking around. His friends. Then his friends ask your friends, and eventually it gets back to you that he’s looking for you. That he’s told just about everyone in your year on campus, that you almost came from kissing him. Because of course he couldn’t just ask about you. No, he had to spread a rumor so huge, the professors have started talking about it.
You show up at the frat house after your last class on Friday. Banging on the door, you’re not surprised when a different frat guy opens the door.
“Where’s that stupid fucker?” A scary looking guy with space buns points you in the direction of the stairs. The devil himself is floating down them like he has not a care in the world. You march over to him, seething with anger.
“Upstair. Now.” He scoffs, but he leads the way upstairs anyway. You slam the door behind you, anger evident in your every movement. You stand in front of him, arms crossed.
“Why the hell are you spreading rumors about me?”
“What ever do you mean, pretty lady?” His stupid crooked smirk pisses you off. What you wouldn’t give to tear down his bad boy demeanor.
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re telling everyone I almost came from making out with you in that closet. Lying on me to cover your own ass is pathetic.” Your annoyance only spurs him on.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You scoff.
“Really?” You poke a finger at his chest, nudging him back against his bed. He sinks to the mattress when his calves hit the back of it.
“Need me to jog your memory?” Your voice drops down into a sultry tone. He doesn’t answer, but he lets you crawl over him. You place sloppy wet kisses up his neck to his jaw. His hands tighten where they rest on your waist. You move up, hovering just above his mouth, centimeters from his.
“We were just like this,” you whisper to him, “and I had you shivering from my touch.” He’s shivering now. He doesn’t tighten his hands any further, because he doesn’t want to hurt you, but his whole body is tense. It feels like he’s lost feeling in his toes, as he shakes with anticipation. Your hand comes up to caress his cheek, your thumb resting on his plump bottom lip. He looks up at you with those crystal blue eyes. You wonder how he looks when he cries.
“And I had you just like this, before the closet door opened.” You pull away from him, hopping off of the bed entirely.
“So you tell me who was on the verge of coming from just kissing.” He sits up, still stunned from the way you’d completely flipped the situation.
“Ahem- well I um… how do you do that?” He scratches his head, confused.
“Do what?” You cross your arms, pushing your cleavage higher. His mouth waters at the sight.
“I feel like you put a curse on me or some shit. One minute I’m fine, the next you’re taking up all the air in the room. It’s fucking weird.” You shake your head laughing.
“Some men just like to be bossed around.” You shrug. He scoffs.
“Well I fucking don’t. I’m the dominating one.” He stands, getting close to you. He bends down, towering over you. He tries to intimidate you, but you just smile, showing teeth. You run your palm down his chest to his abs. He stays close to you, trying to seem unaffected. When your fingers begin playing with his belt buckle, he backs away from you.
“Holy fucking shit, what are you doing to me?” You laugh at his dramatics.
“What I do to every man who crosses my path. I give you a taste of what you really want, and it consumes you. You’re just not willing to swallow your pride long enough to admit what you want.” You pick your purse up off the ground, from where you dropped it. You fix yourself in his mirror, while he contemplates what that even means.
“If you figure out what it is that you want, you know how to find me. If you ask nicely I might just give it to you.” And with that final piece of wisdom, you leave, once again slamming the door behind you.
For minutes, maybe hours, he sits on his bed with his head in his hands. He’s always been the one in the driver's seat when it comes to everything. The idea of giving into anyone else’s will besides his own disturbs him. He’s always in control. Always. So why do you evoke a different feeling in him? One that allows him to give up control, even if just for the moment.
He spends the next week trying to convince himself he doesn’t want it, doesn’t want you. In reality, he doesn’t really know what he wants, but ever since you left his room he’s been thinking about what you said. He can’t help it. He doesn’t know what you want to do to him, but he does know he wants you. He sees you all the time, except it's not actually you. He keeps catching glimpses of people that maybe, kinda, sorta look like you and hoping that it actually is. Because in all actuality, he doesn’t know where to find you. You’re a campus recluse. You stay out of drama and underground. The fact that you were at his party in the first place is like finding a super rare pokemon card in a random garage. It drives him insane. He finally, finally finds you. You work at a comic book store in the mall, and Suguru invites him to come too.
What he doesn’t expect is that you and Suguru know each other. You populate a lot of the same circles, that being underground rock bands. It feels like a trap the way Suguru immediately disappears the second Satoru spots you.
“Y-you work here?” He sputters, coming closer to where you’re stocking shelves.
“Do you think I’m stocking shelves for free? Yes, Gojo, I work here.” He’s too shocked at the betrayal he’s feeling to be mad about your attitude.
“Do… do you know Suguru?” He asks another stupid question. You don’t say anything, just stare at him until he gets the hint.
“How the fuck didn’t I know that? So much for being my ‘best friend!” He yells to Suguru, who is scouring the stacks for a manga. You shake your head in laughter.
“I’ve been looking for you.” You nod, pretending to listen thoughtfully.
“It’s almost as if I knew that, and I asked Suguru to bring you here. I thought you would’ve known me through him, but it seems I was wrong.” Gojo crosses his arms. Pissed at the whole situation.
“So, Gojo, did you figure out what you wanted?”
“You.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He rubs a hand down his face. Holy fuck, how much more can he embarrass himself.
“I mean- well yes I do want you but-” The look you give him silences the words in his throat.
“You’ll follow my lead? My rules?” You raise an eyebrow, waiting to see how he’ll counter. He chews on the inside of his lip, contemplating for long moments.
“Fuck… okay, fine yes. Yes, I will.”
The smile you give him scares him shitless. You give him your phone number and arrange a time to meet. He’s nervous, that’s clear in every unsure text he sends you. Asking you how to dress, what to expect, how he needs to prepare. This is the first time he’s been unsure of anything, let alone sex. And now he is. It’s shocking to him, how quickly you’ve managed to encase him in your web. It doesn’t surprise you. It’s all in your technique.
He comes to your apartment a few days later, at your agreed time to meet. He’s painted on this overt mask of confidence, one you’ll have fun breaking down once you see it. He dressed casual, sweatpants and a hoodie to match. He didn’t feel like dressing up was appropriate, considering he came here to get undressed. You open the door, still in your pajamas. Wordlessly he follows you to your bedroom, taking in the dramatic decorating style of your apartment. Layers of drapes on your windows and lots of fluffy animal print pillows on your couches.
He closes the door behind the two of you. He stands there awkwardly staring at your room.
“I really only have one rule. I’m in control. Okay?” He nods. You beckon him towards you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down to you. You kiss him with the same bruising force as when you were in the closet together. Instinctively, his hands rest on your waist. As per his instinct, he tries to be the one in control. He pushes his mouth hard against yours, tongue dipping in to explore your mouth. You thread your fingers into the shaggier hair at the top of his head. You grab a fistful, pulling his mouth away from yours. When you see his eyes, they’re looking down at you lustfully. Pupils blown wide, mouth slightly parted.
“Satoru…” You murmur to him in a sing-songy voice. You kissed him once, once, and his dick is damn near at full attention. The way you say his name in that mocking tone makes him shiver, only making him harder.
“What?” You squint at him. You don’t like his tone, but you won’t get that deep into punishing him on the first fuck. Still, you make note of this for later.
“Tell me what you’re doing wrong right now?” He rolls his eyes. Infraction number two.
“I didn’t do anything.” He grips your hips tighter, eager to get back to it. He attempts to come back down to you, but you keep him held away from you.
“What’s my rule?” You see the way his irritation grows, when a scowl begins to form on his lips.
“You’re in control.” Though, he has every intention of trying to flip the situation. It won’t work, but he doesn’t know that yet.
“Right. So act like it. Calm down, or you’ll be walking out of here horny and blue-balled. Take a deep breath.” You release his hair. He doesn’t want to, but he listens and takes a deep breath, making a big show of it. It does help ease his nerves, when he bends down to meet your lips again. Begrudgingly, he follows your lead, letting it start slow.
He groans when you slip your tongue into his mouth, quickening the pace of things. He lets you in, before tentatively pushing his tongue against yours. He’s testing for your permission now. How… good of him. You let him in, his tongue mingling with yours. You angle your head, getting a better vantage point. His fingers flex on your hips when you grab him by the jaw, pulling him impossibly closer to you.
You pull away from him, satisfied when you see him giving chase. You slide your silk sleep shorts off, before you sit on your bed. You scoot back, until your back meets the pillows.
“If you can make me cum, I might just let you.” You spread your legs wide, revealing damp cotton panties. He smiles deviously. You’ve just stepped into his domain. You like the way he eyes you hungrily. He slips his hoodie off in one smooth motion, ever the show off. The white tee he has underneath slips off with it.
“I’d prefer you sit on my face, but this works too.” He cracks his fingers, before climbing onto the bed. He props himself up on his elbows, sliding your legs up and over his wide shoulders. He uses the tops of your thighs to pull you closer, right up to his face.
“And I can do this however I want?”
“Well, I don’t know how many ways there are to eat pussy, but sure. However you want Satoru.” He snickers.
He licks you through your panties first, savoring the taste. He uses his teeth to pull the fabric away from you, sucking it into his mouth, before hooking his fingers into the waistband. You lift your legs up allowing him to yank them over the curve of your ass and off. He slides them in his back pocket for later.
He starts off slow, spreading your lips to see your sweet pink center in earnest. He inhales deep, savoring it. His eyes close as if trying to store your scent for later. His tongue caresses your clit lightly, a barely there pressure. Suddenly the pressure increases. It makes you write, momentarily caught off guard by the feeling. It’s now that you see his “slow start” was a game.
He eats you out in earnest now. His lips devour you carnally. He licks and sucks at the sensitive bud of flesh, before dipping back down and shoving his long fat tongue in your puckering hole. Your back arches up off the bed, heels digging into his back. You can feel him smirk against you every time you moan, which is loud and often.
“Fuck- Satoru! Holy shit -ngh.” The tingling sensation starts in your toes, curling in the air. He shoves a finger in you, curling it right against that spot in you that makes you ache. His tongue sucks hard on your clit.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, give it to me.” He whispers against you. You try your best to hold out, you really do, but it’s just so good.
“Oh my fuck! Mnm, I’m cumming!” Your back arches off the bed, whole body tensing. He continues licking and sucking, curling his finger in you; fucking you through it. You push his head away as you come down from your high. You inhale hard, trying to catch your breath.
“So how’d I do boss?” You roll your eyes sitting up.
“Shut up.” You push at his chest, so that he’s lying flat on his back. He wastes no time slipping his sweatpants and boxers off. You straddle his hips.
“I mean, I’m just asking for advice. Should I use two fingers next time?” You roll your eyes, that arrogant smirk that you hate reappearing on his face.
“It’s gonna be real fun breaking you, pretty boy.” He flushes, eyes widening, before he tries to pretend to be cool again.
“Oh sure ah-” He doesn’t get to finish whatever awful comment he was going to spew. Your hand wraps around the base of him, sliding up and down to add friction.
“Hmm? What was that Satoru?” You quicken your pace momentarily, his head falling back against the pillows. You let up, just a little, so he can lift his head off the mattress.
“I was gonna say…” The words get caught in his throat as you lean down to spit on his prone cock. He swallows hard, envisioning you wrapping your lips about his angry red tip.
“Cat got your tongue?” You ask, saccharine sweet. You smile devilishly at the way his mouth gapes.
“Can you suck me off?” He asks nicely. You use your free hand to rest your pointer finger on your chin. You pretend to think really hard about it.
“Hmm, let me see. No.” He pouts. Cute.
“Why not? I’ve been following what you said. I made you cum. I’ll do it again!” He raises his voice as his frustration grows.
“Lower your tone, Satoru.” He grumbles an apology. Third and fourth infraction added to his sentence.
“You haven’t earned my mouth. You’re lucky you get this.” You speed up your face again. The action pulls a loud moan from his throat. When he hears himself his head snaps back to attention.
“But you said-”
“I know what I said. Doesn’t mean I can’t tease you before we get there.” He frowns.
“Your rules are incredibly skewed. It’s fucked up. Ngh-” His back arches, as you start to jerk him in earnest.
“You’d better remember your manners. I’ll make you come right now and kick you out. No pussy for you.” He reaches to grab your wrist, before thinking better of it.
“Fuck, I’m sorry!” Your pace eases to a stop. You lean in, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Was that so hard?”
“Incredibly.” You shake your head. Brat taming is a hard job. Seven infractions this far in are very unusual for the ones you typically go for. You decide to let it go in favor of teasing him in another way. You position yourself right over his aching cock. You sink down on him, pulling what can only be considered a whimper from his throat.
“Fuuuuuuck.” His hands grip your hips tight, holding you still. You squeeze him tight, his hips bucking up into you.
“Give me a minute, shit-” You move faster, despite his hands trying to keep you still.
“Oh oh- oh- fuck! Nghh- please slow down!” Your hand slides up his chest, resting at the base of his neck. You squeeze slightly, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. You continue riding him with abandon. His moans and whimpers only grow louder the closer he gets to his orgasm.
“Ngh- hah, ah- ah- ‘m so close. Don’t stop.” Right before he cums, you lift up off of him. His head immediately perks up, pissed at his current predicament.
“What the hell?! You said I could come.” He eyes you angrily, confused.
“I’m waiting for an apology.”
“Apologize for what? I’ve done exactly what you said.” You smile sardonically. You grab his jaw, perfectly manicured nails digging into his face.
“You have an attitude problem. So I want you to think, real hard. As hard as that tiny little pea brain jumbling around in your skull can. And tell me where you fucked up.” His bright blue eyes shift around for a second. You have a little mercy on him since this is his first time being submissive.
“I’ll give you one. Earlier you said ‘what’ but the correct response is always yes. Got it?” He nods, blinking rapidly. The wet sheen to his eyes excites you.
“Okay uh- I’m sorry for being rude and not listening on purpose.” You nod, sinking down on him once again. His eyes squeeze shut, trying to concentrate.
“I’m sorry for being annoying hah-” You slowly circle your hips, giving in to the way he fills you up.
“Fuck- I can’t remember anything else, but I’m sorry! I’ll listen from now on.” You smirk, happy at getting the exact reaction you wanted.
“You’ll be good?” He nods profusely. You lift your hips up, bringing them back down. His hands clench your hips so hard, there’s little half moons imprinted there.
“Say it.”
“I’ll be good!”
“You promise?”
“Yes, yes! I’ll be so fucking good; I’ll be the best.”
“Good boy.” His back arches. He shoots thick ropes of cum into you, painting your insides white. You rub circles in your clit. It doesn’t take much before you're right over the edge with him. He comes for long seconds, thrusting up into you every few seconds.
He releases your waist, his body going limp. You hop off of him, opting to clean yourself up. You slide your silk sleep shorts back on. He lies there for long minutes catching his breath.
“Someone likes being called a good boy.” He wipes a hand down his face.
“I do not.” You eye him skeptically.
“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You throw a towel at him so he can clean himself up. He finally stands up, wobbling ever so slightly.
“How was it?” He turns around looking a mess.
“I feel oddly drunk.” He chuckles, pulling his pants up.
“Mhm.” He finishes dressing himself. You see when he slides your panties in his back pocket, but you choose not to comment.
He leaves your bedroom and you follow behind as he makes his way to your front door. Right before he leaves you call to him.
“C’mere.” He turns around, bending down to meet your lips. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, biting down on the sensitive flesh. He leaves, the memory of what happened between you two still fresh on his mind.
Slowly, but surely he stops entertaining other women after that. He hasn’t had sex with anyone besides you since the first time. He doesn’t get the same rush from other people that he does with you. And ever since that night a certain urge takes over him every so often. A certain word that he’s never called anyone else before. He never imagined the thought would be on his mind. But it is. Every time. So far, he’s managed to keep that word at bay. He doesn’t know why, all of a sudden, it’s engraved in his brain. Carved out especially for you. That is until he fails a test and loses a game, all on the same day. He likes to pretend to be stupid in front of his so-called fans, but he’s actually incredibly intelligent. However, this time, physics evaded him and he got a D+ on his chapter test. The professor offered to let him retake it, which he appreciates, but now he’s in a shitty mood.
That mood transfers into his game later that afternoon. He’s consistently missing passes, getting fouled, and getting tackled. Usually, football is where he can turn his brain off and do what he needs to do. Instead, he’s overthinking every single movement, and he can’t get his head in the game. Eventually, the coach swaps him out which only worsens his mood. At the end of the game, he needs to cool off. He brushes off the calls of his teammates and heads straight for your apartment. The only place none of this has to matter. All he has to do is please you. He’s consistently good at that at least.
You, on the other hand, are getting worried. You’ve never had a problem with detaching yourself from boys, it’s easy, it’s all you do. But this one, for whatever reason, has stuck to you. He’s not usually the type you go for. You prefer the naturally submissive ones. Not the ones that fight you on every single front, like he does. But something about his stupid smile, and the dumb way he dresses, makes you oddly giddy. You’ve never felt like this about anyone, and the fact that this guy is the one you can’t stop thinking about annoys you. He annoys you. But you can’t bring yourself to end it just yet. You say it’s because he’s convenient, but if you think about it long enough, you know that’s not true.
Just when you want him out of your head, he appears in person. When you hear the knock at the door you know it’s him. When you open the door, he looks more pathetic than usual. Slumped against the doorframe, head hanging low, shoulders crouched. He looks on the verge of tears, and he just got here.
“Bad day?” You open the door, inviting him in. He nods solemnly, heading straight for your bedroom. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. Straight to business I guess. When you enter your room, he’s sitting at the foot of your bed, stripping from his threadbare t-shirt. When you step in front of him, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. He buries his face in your stomach, resting there. For long moments he breathes in your scent. You run your fingers through his already messy hair, scratching at his scalp. You bring your hand down to caress his face. He leans his head back, staring up at up with those pretty pale blue eyes. The side of his face nuzzles against your hand, as his hands continue to wander.
“What do you need?” You ask gently. You’d never go too hard on him if he’s already having a bad day.
“You. Just need you.” Your body curves down, meeting him where he is. He kisses you forcibly, like he’s trying to climb inside your skin and live there. You return your fingers to his hair, tugging just the way he likes. He sighs into your heated mouth, tongue darting out to meet yours. You pull back, stripping yourself of the big t-shirt and tiny sleep shorts you had on. The hungry way he eyes you, makes it exceedingly clear how much he wants you. He slides his shorts off, scooting further back on your bed. You climb on top of him, straddling his hips.
“Sit on my face.” You arch an eyebrow.
“Please. I just want to do something right today.” The inkling of vulnerability he’s given you makes you give in. You make your way up the mattress so that your hips are bracketing either side of his head. He tilts his head back making his nose drag along your slit. He inhales deep, before his pointer and middle finger spread you open. He takes one long lick, from hole to clit, savoring the taste. Your head falls back in pleasure. If there’s one thing he’s always done perfectly, it’s the way he eats you. His hands wrap around your thighs, pulling your aching center down to his mouth. Hovering isn’t allowed around here, and he makes that very clear.
He gets you close just with his mouth, his tongue dipping into your hole every so often. And when he wants you to gush all over him, he slides two fingers in, scissoring them. He practically splits you open and it sends you right over the edge every time. When you come down from the aftershocks of your orgasm, you look down to see that he’s still lapping at you. You lift up, sliding down until you straddle his hips once again.
“How do you want me?” The question throws him off. You usually don’t ask. He just goes along with whatever you want.
“You’re serious?”
“If you keep asking questions instead of answering mine, I won’t be.”
“Ride me, please.” You push him down, so he’s flat on his back. Before you sink down on him, you grab a condom out of your nightstand, sliding it down his length.
As you sink onto him, his hands dig into your hips, leaving little crescent moons behind.
“Fuuuckkkk, this is just what I needed.” You ignore his comment, rolling your eyes playfully. You ride him in a way that drives him mad. Sometimes you slam your hips down hard, over and over until he can’t take it. Right before he reaches that precipice, you slow down and grind in slow circles. His pelvic bone brushes against your clit ever so nicely in this position.
“Why must you torture me woman?” He looks up at you, pupils blown wide, absorbing every moment of this. He has that hazy look in his eyes that tells you he’d do whatever you wanted him to right now if it meant he got to cum.
“Because I like to do it.” He groans, his head falling back into the pillows. You repeat that same maddening cycle. He soon becomes frenzied beneath you. Even though he’s complaining, and begging you to give him mercy, you know this is what he needed. Somewhere where he can just exist without the weight of everything he feels obligated to do. Here he has no duties, he’s just Gojo. Gojo whimpering of course.
“Mmm, fucking please PLEASE! I need to ah- cum.” You pick up the pace.
“Yeah? How bad do you want it?”
“Please, I need it. I need you.” His hands have come back to where they usually are, deepening the crescents in the fat of your hips.
“Yeah? Beg me for it. Just a little.”
“Mhm, please, oh fuck! It’s good, you’re so good I just need m-more.”
“A little louder, Satoru.” A tear slips down the side of his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, back bowed off the bed.
“Please, mommy ngh-” It comes out barely above a whisper, but you hear it. You speed up your pace, letting him find release. More tears overflow his water line. It’s not the first time someone has called you that, but he sure is the least expected. Especially to do it without any prompting. The second he’s calmed down, he wipes furiously at his eyes. He rarely cries, but when those few treacherous tears do slip, he doesn’t let them sit there. You wonder why that is, and you want to ask, but that would be crossing a line. A major line.
You lift all the way off of him, sitting beside him. He lies there, unblinking. His body is clearly spent.
“So I’m mommy now, huh?” His entire face goes bright red. He gets up, discarding the full condom.
“No.” You come up behind him, sliding your arms under his. You slide your fingertips up and down his abs, making him shiver.
“So, what was that just now?”
“A lapse in judgement.”
“You seem to have a lot of those around me, Satoru.” He turns in your arms, face still blazing crimson.
“Look, I don’t know why I said it so can you just drop it?” You rest your chin on his chest, smiling up at him like the Cheshire cat. Or the devil. He hasn’t decided yet.
“But I liked it. You can’t deprive Mommy of that now can you.” He turns his face away from you.
“Please, stop it.”
“Please what?” He whips his face back to you. His brows furrowed deeply.
“You actually like it? You’re not like… weirded out?” You shake your head, keeping your devilish smile.
“You think you’re the first person to call me that?” Somehow his stark silver brows furrow deeper.
“Please don’t talk about other men with me.” You giggle.
“Who said it was just men?” At this his eyebrows raise.
“So you’re universally evil?” You pinch his ribs. He yelps it pain, even though that definitely didn’t hurt.
“Watch yourself. You’ll build up a month’s worth of punishments at this rate.” He just chuckles, before he pulls you to settle in bed with him. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that this is long beyond what either of you expected out of this. The fact that you’re both oddly attached. You leave the confusing day thoughts behind as you drift off into dreamland, your Mommy-loving boy nestled in behind you.
ellievsbear
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
dededos
andulkaphoto
