Jace|27|multifandom|đ§đŞSucked into the abyss that is DGM, ihaveblackwings is the blog for you. âIf I am worth anything later, I am worth something now. For wheat is wheat, even if people think itâs a grass in the beginning.â Van Gogh
five times bakugo katuski didnât know that eijiro kirishima was watching. and one time he did.
one.
eijiro knew heâd regret staying up late playing games, but he kept going anyway.
he glanced at the clock on his phone. 2 a.m. great. his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadnât eaten anything since dinner. he sighed and pushed himself off the couch.
as he padded toward the kitchen, the dim yellow light caught his eye. it shouldnât have been on. his steps froze, heart beating a little faster than normal.
he crouched behind the staircase railing, pressing himself into the shadows. squinting through the glow, he made out two figures.
and then he saw you. you were perched on the bar stool, legs swinging slightly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. you were watching katuski at the stove. the heat made his hair stick a little to his forehead, the light catching the sweat on his brow.
âkatuski?âŚâ eijiro whispered, hand flying to cover his mouth. his knees were shaking a little, and he pressed himself further into the shadows, afraid the two of you might notice him.
then you laughed. soft. warm. easy. it wasnât loud, but it filled the space in a way that made eijiroâs chest tighten. he couldnât hear the words, only the tone, the happiness that seemed to radiate from you.
and katuski⌠katuski wasnât scowling. not at all.
he was smiling. a little, quiet, rare smile. the kind of smile eijiro had never seen on him, the kind that made eijiroâs chest squeeze because it was so⌠soft. katuskiâs eyes softened too, a fraction, as he stirred the pan slowly, focused but calm.
eijiro blinked, dazed. maybe it was the lack of sleep. maybe it was the late-night gaming haze. maybe he was seeing things.
he leaned back against the wall, heart still racing, taking in every tiny motionâ the tilt of your head, the way katuskiâs hand flexed around the spatula, the way you laughed again at something small and quiet.
he backed toward his room, careful not to make a sound, heart hammering. he lay awake for the rest of the night, replaying it in his mind over and over, the image burned in front of his eyes: katuski, grumpy katuski, smiling for you.
two.
eijiro wanted nothing more than to lie down on his bed and rest after a long day of class. the sun was low, painting the school grounds in soft orange and gold, and he could already feel the soreness in his shoulders from carrying his bag.
he had just stepped ot of the schol gate when he noticedâ shitâ he left something in the classroom.
he groanes, letting the weight of his bag sag on his shoulder, and turned back. the hallways were empty, the faint echo of his footsteps stretching longer than usual in the quiet. it was peaceful.
as he reached the classroom door, something made hm pause. a faint flicker rof movement through the window. he froze, tilting his head, and pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.
there you were, sprawled across one of the tables, arms folded beneath your head, hair falling messisly over your face, and the warm lightfrom the windows made the dust in the air shimmer. eijiro could almost see each tiny speck floating, suspended in the quiet.
and then he noticed katuski.
he was sitting on the seat of the desk across from you, arms also folded, with his head resting on them, eyes locked on you like he couldnât look away.
he couldnât believe what he was seeing. the ever so alert katuski did not even notice eijiro because of how focused he was on you.
eijiro squinted, certain his eyes were deceiving him. the way katuskiâs jaw was relaxed, the tiny twitch of his finger, the way he leaned forward slightly wehn you shifted.
you stirred in your sleep, and katsukiâs head turned just slightly, following your movements. eijiro swallowed hard, hear hammering. he knew katuski. he knew the signsâ he knew when heâs angry, frustrated, tired, or bored. this was none of those. this was nothing else entirely.
the sunlight was fading, sreaking across your figure, highlighting the curve of your shoulders, the relaxed tilt of your head. katuski didnât move, didnât blink, didnât speak. he just watched.
eijiro felt like he shouldnât be seeing this. so he left.
three.
eijiro had asked katuski if he could join him tomorrow on his early morning run.
ânah, i run alone,â katuski said, crossing his arms, eyes narrowing like it was obvious he didnât want company.
eijiro laughed, already expecting his response. âfine.â
but now, early the next morning, eijiro dragged himself out of the bed anyway. the air was crisp, cold enough to make his breat puff out in little clouds. he trudged toward the track, still half-asleep, expecting to be alone.
he froze.
you were there, stretching lightly by the edge of the track, hair messy from sleep, the early sunlight brushing over your form. everything looked quiet and soft, the field empty except for the two of you.
and katuski⌠katuski was already there, jacket zipped halfway, jaw tight, hands shoved into his pockets. he muttered something under his breath about the cold, like he hated it, but eijiro noticed the way his eyes flicked toward you more than the path ahead.
you shivered slightly, and katuskiâs fingers brushed the edge of the folded windbreaker in his hands. he tossed it toward you without looking directly at you.
âput it on. donât freeze.â
eijiroâs chest tightened. that was katuskiâs way of showing careâ grumbling, pretending he didnât care, but still making sure you were alright. he noticed the way katuski lingered for a brief moment as you tugged the jacket on, the subtle glance at you that disappeared the second eijiro shifted his weight.
as you started jogging slowly along the track, katuski fell into step beside you. not too close, not hovering, just beside, moving carefully to match your pace. eijiro pretended to tie his shoes, heart hammering in his chest. katuski hated mornings. hated cold. hated being considerate for anyone. and yet here he was.
he had changed. small, subtle, almost invisible to anyone elseâ but not to eijiro. and it was all because of you.
four.
eijiro had stopped by the library after class, thinking he might grab a quiet spot to organize his notes. the hallways were nearly empty, the muffled hum of distant chatter fading as he stepped inside.
he froze at the sight in front of him.
you were already at a corner table, books spread out around you, scribbling something carefully in your notebook. katuski was sitting across from you, papers in disarray, a scowl on his face that eijiro had seen a thousand times. only this time⌠something was different.
katuski muttered under his breath, a rough sound like he was trying to keep himself from snapping. âdamn it⌠i donât get this part.â
you glanced up, tilting your head, eyes soft but focused. âoh, that one? try looking at it this way.â
and then⌠katuski did something eijiro had never seen before. he grunted, leaning closer, and asked youâ gruff, impatient, almost embarrassedâ âyou⌠can you show me again?â
eijiroâs jaw dropped. katuski asking for help? from anyone? let alone you? it was like the world had tilted on its axis.
he stayed in the doorway, pretending to sort through his own bag. he could see the tiny flickers: katuskiâs jaw unclenching just slightly when you explained, the way he shifted his weight so he could see better, the faint softening of his glare into something⌠curious, attentive.
you leaned forward, pointing to a diagram on the page, and katuski followed your movement with a subtle nod. eijiro noticed how he mirrored your motions almost unconsciously, adjusting the angle of his hand, the tilt of his shoulders.
and then there was the moment that broke him quietly insideâ katuskiâs eyes flicked up at you, just for a second, soft, and then away again as if he hadnât meant to.
katuski hated asking for help. hated relying on anyone. and yet here he was, doing it for you, paying attention in a way he never had for anyone else.
five.
eijiro was coming back from training, dragging his bag over one shoulder, feet echoing softly against the empty dorm hallway. the lights flickered faintly, casting long shadows along the walls, and the quiet hum of the building made the space feel almost too still. he was thinking about grabbing a drink from the vending machine by the lounge before heading up to his room.
he stopped a few steps away.
katuski was in front of the vending machine, one foot planted forward, fingers hovering over the buttons, scowling like the machine personally offended him. the familiar hum of the machine made the space feel louder somehow, and eijiro pressed himself lightly against the wall, leaning just enough to see without being noticed.
he noticed immediately: two drinks had dropped into the tray. one was katuskiâs usualâ bitter energy drink, sharp like himâ and the other was bright and sweet, a flavor he hated.
eijiroâs eyebrows shot up. katuski doesnât like sweets. never.
and then he saw it happen. katuski muttered something under his breath, a gruff sound meant for no one. âvending machine messed upâŚâ
you stepped up to the machine just then, shifting your bag. katuski grabbed the sweet drink, and without looking directly at you, shoved it your way.
âhere. donât drink it all at once,â he muttered, voice low, tone gruff as always.
you blinked, surprised. âoh⌠thanks?â
katuski huffed, turning back to the machine, pretending to check the buttons again. scowl firmly back in place. but eijiro saw itâ the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction when you smiled, the subtle flicker in his eyes as he watched you take the drink.
one time.
eijiro had stopped by the infirmary hallway, thinking heâd quietly check on you. the place was almost silent, faint beeping of monitors coming from the rooms ahead.
he froze when he saw katuski sitting on the bench outside your room, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, fingers tapping against his knees. he never sat still like this. pacing, muttering, scowlingâ fine. but sitting, waiting, tense, like the world had stopped? that was unusual.
eijiro shuffled closer, bag in hand, and sat down beside him, careful not to startle him. katuski didnât look up, just continued glancing at the door, muttering under his breath.
âyouâre worried, huh?â eijiro said softly, sliding a small packet of food across the bench. âsheâs gonna be fine.â
katuski growled low, a sound that was more frustration than anger. âiâm not worried,â he muttered, but his fingers clutched the packet tighter than necessary, knuckles white.
eijiro leaned back, watching him quietly. he noticed everything: the tight jaw, the restless tapping, the way katuskiâs eyes flicked toward the door every few seconds. he even noticed the subtle hitch in his breath whenever he thought you might be in pain.
âlook at you,â eijiro said, nudging him lightly. âsitting here like a damn statue. youâre gonna give yourself a heart attack before she even wakes up.â
katuski huffed, finally glancing at him, eyes sharp and defensiveâ but eijiro saw it. the tiny flicker of vulnerability, the edge of worry lurking beneath the scowl. he scowled back, muttering, âi just⌠canât leave her.â
eijiro chuckled softly. âyeah, i know.â
and eijiro realized, fully this time, that it wasnât just little gestures anymore. katuski was aware. conscious. he wasnât just acting differently around you without knowing itâ he was worried about you, all the way, and heâd never admit it to anyone but himself.
he sat there with katuski in silence, letting him stew, letting him watch the door. and for the first time, eijiro saw the full weight of how much you mattered to him.
small, subtle, and completely unspokenâ but crystal clear to anyone paying attention.
bakugo katuski, explosive, stubborn, grumpy katuski⌠completely undone by you.
âââ Ëđź Ě !! 24 Hours with Tiny Dynamight
â. đ Ë || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff
Youâre not entirely sure how it happened. One moment, Endeavor was barking orders through the comms, smoke was rising in thick, tar-black ribbons, and the villain was corneredâpalms sparking, eyes crazed, screaming something about ârewinding heroes to innocence.â The next, Katsuki Bakugo had thrown himself between you and a blast of shimmering violet light.
You remember his snarl. His teeth bared. âI saidâwatch your damn blind spot!â
And then the light swallowed him.
He's... gone.
Or, at least, that version of him is.
Whatâs left is a boy no older than five, blinking up at you with wide ruby-red eyes, fists clenched like heâs still ready for a fight.
You had blinkedâand where the fury of Dynamight once stood, there was now a pint-sized version of him. Blonde, wild, and very, very small. His hairâs even more chaotic now, if thatâs possibleâfluffier, softer, sticking up like fire reaching for the sky. His voice, when it comes, is tinier. Sharper. Confused.
âWho are you?! Whereâs my mom?! Whereâwhere am I?!â
You freeze. So does everyone else.
His hero suit now slumped comically around a child-sized body, red eyes wide, blinking up at you with confusion and a wild streak of terror that turned into immediate rage.
Shoto drops the villain to the ground in shock. Izukuâs jaw falls open.
âOh no,â Midoriya whispers. âThat was a regression quirk. Heâs been reverted⌠completely. Physically and mentally.â
âOh, for the love ofââ Endeavor growls. âI told you to stay put.â
And there was nothing else to say. Because the damage was done, and you were now holding a toddler-sized Bakugo back from lunging at a vending machine that apparently âlooked at him funny.â
Back at Endeavorâs agency, the chaos truly bloomed.
The doctors said the quirkâs effects would last twenty-four hours. No longer. Which was, in theory, comforting.
In practice? Not so much.
Because Little Bakugoâwho couldnât have been more than five years old in this formâwas an unholy combination of too much energy, zero filter, and a quirk that still sparked from his palms. Shoto tried reasoning with him. He got singed. Izuku tried logic. He got a plushie to the face. Endeavor? Bakugo bit his hand.
You?
He climbed onto your lap and refused to leave.
âOnly she can touch me!â he screamed when Shoto tried to lift him. âSheâs mine! You ugly fire popsicle! Back off!â
âDeku, I swear if you try to hug me, Iâll explode your nose off!â
âBut Kacchan, Iâm just trying toââ
âBOOM!â
Sparks flared. Screams echoed.
You were the only one he didnât try to incinerate.
When you brushed his hair back from his forehead, he calmed like lightning stilled by soft rain. When you tucked a blanket around him, he called you âthe prettiest damn heroâ and clung tighter.
He tried on sunglasses three sizes too big. Demanded a cape. Challenged Endeavor to a duel. Fell asleep on your chest mid-rant.
Shoto quietly took a photo.
Izuku followed.
Neither of them spoke. They just shared a look.
Blackmail material.
It was nearing dawn when the curseâor giftâbegan to lift.
You were curled on the agencyâs couch, one arm around a snoring Little Bakugo, his tiny fingers knotted in your sleeve. The heat of him was familiar, even if the size was wrong. A quiet weight. A softer fire.
And thenâ
His body shifted.
Muscle. Mass. Full height.
You startled slightly as his adult form slumped against you, head pillowed right over your heart. His eyelashes fluttered. The boy was gone. King Explosion Murder had returned.
ââŚthe hell?â he rasped.
You froze.
Katsuki Bakugo blinked up at youâchest to chest, cheek pressed to the curve of your collarbone, a confused warmth spreading across his face. A flush bloomed at his ears as he tried, and failed, to sit up gracefully.
âWhat⌠what the hell happened?!â he sputtered, flinging himself off the couch.
You blinked back a laugh. âLong story.â
Shoto, in the doorway, held up his phone. âYou were very clingy.â
Izuku grinned beside him, scrolling through the gallery. âYou called her âthe prettiest damn hero.ââ
âI already sent them to Kirishima,â Shoto said flatly.
You expected him to explodeâliterallyâbut instead, he turned slowly to you, mortification in every line of his face. âDid I⌠seriously say all that crap?â
You smirked. âYou also bit Endeavor.â
âWorth it.â
He groaned, dragging his hand over his face. âRemind me never to save your life again.â
You stood, stretching, and walked past himâbut not before whispering, âYou also said I was yours.â
He froze.
You didnât wait for his reply.
But as you glanced back at himâred-faced, shoulders tense, glaring at the ground like it just insulted his prideâyou couldnât help but think...
Maybe some quirks were blessings in disguise.
Especially the kind that turned a boy back into a child, just long enough to say the things his adult heart was too proud to admit.
synopsis: your remote internship at gojo enterprises is going rather well, or you think so, anyway. you sort of relish in how incapable your wildly successful boss is with technology, and at every turn youâre there, prompt and available on slack: his sweet IT intern who pushes her hours to help.
it's all very professionalâŚright?
pairing: ceo!satoru gojo x intern fem!reader
tags: modern au, keeping secrets, SMUT!!, thigh riding, unprotected piv, oral (m!receiving), face fucking (who said that?), sorta rough sex but not really, dirty talk, an overall foulmouthed satoru gojo, creampie, semi-public sex, inappropriate workplace conduct...and one extra tag that i won't say cause it'll ruin the surprise ;)
wc: 11k
a/n: um...so actually what happened was...um...uhhhh
masterlist
18+! mdni <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Satoru Gojo 5:27pm
Still not working.
the message blinks at you from your computer screen.Â
you really do enjoy your job. you like both of them, actually.
your internship with gojo enterprises came up sort of serendipitously, happening upon a listing for a paid remote IT intern right as you found a truly beautiful apartment on the outskirts of shibuya. you needed more income to cover the rent, and it wasnât like your other workplace required that you use your degree.
and youâve found there is something delightful about putting your college years into practice, particularly because it seemed for so long like you never would. rummaging through the backend of one of the most affluent corporations in the country thrills you a little bit, as silly at it sounds. curled up in your duvet and splayed about in silk pajamas, you pry open the metaphorical breakers of an economic giant and fiddle with the wires.
you suppose, as different as this line of work is from your other job on the face of things, it appeals to the same sort of animal in your belly that drew you to nightlife. you like feeling in control, enjoy the subversion of being so pretty and young and self assured.
you are delighted, too, by how often satoru gojo needs your help.
he has lost his email password at least three times in the last two months, accidentally deleted his own profile from the internal website, and filed his income tax forms in the shared google drive.Â
each time you have been there, fingers flying over your keyboard in your slack dms as you sort through his technological missteps. itâs only made more entertaining by how intelligent he clearly isâyou are under no illusionâit seems simply his single blind spot rests securely over your area of expertise.
he isâŚnot what you expected. he seems to respect you far more than you had anticipated a CEO to respect his remote intern. he knows that, as it relates to IT, you know better. there is no denial of his mistakes, no shame, only a brief request sent your way with a hint of playful self-deprecation. you like him.Â
this most recent problem has spanned almost all afternoon. heâs been locked out of his internal account, it seems. you bite back a smile as you respond to him.
You 5:27pm
Hmm. Iâve scanned backend three times now, and everything seems to be working. Whatâs the error message exactly?
Satoru Gojo 5:28pm
Says I donât have permissions.
now you really are smiling, responding immediately.
You 5:28pm
Oh, well I can fix that here, but thatâs something another admin could have done, too. Probably not a system error. It says here the other admin is Suguru Geto. Would he have changed permissions for some reason?
he drafts a few responses to that before going silent. suguru geto has never needed your help and is thus wholly enigmatic to you, though you know he is satoruâs CFO; you also knowâcertainly not because you poked around in their personal slack messagesâthat they are close childhood friends. it wouldnât be the first time one had attempted a practical joke on the other, the workplace often caught in the middle, though you commend geto for his foresight to humiliate gojo in the only way gojo couldnât fix himself.
after a few minutes you see him typing again.
Satoru Gojo 5:34pm
Yeah ok it was him. He just did it to mess with me. Iâm sorry to have bothered you! :/
your laugh rings through your apartment.
You 5:34pm
No worries!
and this should be the end of it, really. but the part of you that you reckon satoru gojo sharesâa joy in flagrant pettinessâcompels you to keep your computer open. your digital landscape is quiet for a few moments, your dms empty. you stretch your arms over your head and yawn.
ping!
Satoru Gojo 5:37pm
On second thought, can I get your help with one more thing?
You 5:37pm
Of course
Satoru Gojo 5:37pm
Youâre too sweet for your own good. Your shift ended 7 minutes ago.
you enjoy this, too. rare moments when his personality bares itself in the way he writes to you: the sort of harmless flirtation that you doubt he even notices as he types it.
youâve known enough womanizers to know heâs harmless. still, you bask in fleeting moments of his digital attention.
You 5:38pm
What can I help you with?
Satoru Gojo 5:39pm
Can you make his launch button this link?
Satoru Gojo 5:39pm
DONâT OPEN IT
you open it immediately.
oh.
oh.
your bottom lip gets caught under your teeth. of course you knew vaguely what gojo looks like, you had sufficiently googled the company when you first came upon the job listing.
and there are pictures of him everywhere, pretty face splashed under headlines like BILLIONAIRE CEO TURNED PLAYBOY?âthat article made you laugh, some ten thousand words about a blurry photo taken outside a nightclub, a white head of hair in motion walking outâbut still, in all of them he is pressed perfectly into well-tailored suits, hair brushed through and facial expressed tempered, even trained. he looks so professional, so proper, so terribly handsome, but not quite your type. or, really, a stage before your interest.
you like when men like that are disheveled, hair mussed and skin tacky with sweat.
though this photo heâs attached isnât all that far off.
something stirs, shakes awake between your legs looking at it. you grin with something devious and awful before responding.
You 5:40pm
I have to open it if you want me to use it.
Satoru Gojo 5:41pm
Is that true?
no.
You 5:42pm
Yes?
Satoru Gojo 5:43pm
Did you already look?
You 5:43pm
Yes
Satoru Gojo 5:44pm
Youâre fired
You 5:45pm
No Iâm not.
Satoru Gojo 5:45pm
No, youâre not.
with a giddy little grin you do as he asks. it is entirely unprofessional, you know, but you are surely exempt from blame when doing the bidding of the CEO, right?
you link suguruâs login button to the photo, laughing to yourself lightly.
You 5:50pm
I did it.Â
You 5:51pm
I have to admit Iâm sort of surprised youâd ask me to do something so childish on your behalf.
Satoru Gojo 5:51pm
He started it
You 5:52pm
Arenât you a CEO?
Satoru Gojo 5:52pm
Arenât you my intern?
You 5:53pm
My shift ended 23 minutes ago.
Satoru Gojo 5:54pm
So then youâve committed this âchildish actâ for me out of the kindness of your heart?
You 5:55pm
No, actually. I get paid double for overtime.
Satoru Gojo logged off 5:55pm
your heartbeat rings lightly in your ears, you feel like you might have rattled him a little and that delights you to no end.
you wonder what he imagines you look like. surely he could have searched your name, though any photos of your face wouldnât be attached there.Â
there are, of course, ample photos of your face across the internet, most of them behind a paywall, though some of the tamer ones are available for free. but all of them are under a different name.
you had chosen tsukiko, meaning moon child, as your stage name initially as something of a joke. she isnât an alter ego so much as an exaggerated caricaturization of your femininity, one who feeds on starlight and slinks about in the dark. you delegate the hungrier parts of yourself, the parts that ache and need for things, to her.
your manager at club cabal had spotted you first at a stoplight waiting to cross the street, pin striped pencil skirt down to your knees and shiny black pumps in each hand. you had been looking for months for a full time job, but the market was so saturated by then with IT workers that there seemed to be no space for you. you remember leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the stoplight pole, surely infected with some fifty diseases but you werenât in a place to mind, when an enormous and glamorously dressed woman approached you.Â
you remember so clearly what she said to you, the words cutting through your delirium and sinking sense of defeat: you look absolutely riveting in business clothes.
you barely had the wherewithal to lift your head but nonetheless you had, assessing all six feet of her, draped in fine furs and silk gloves. the whole getup would have looked like a costume on anyone else but she wore it all with such purpose that it looked like the most natural outfit in the world.Â
you still cringe thinking about the tactless way youâd simply replied: âhuh?â
she had laughed at you, but there was no humiliation in it, she almost seemed endeared to you, amused and halfway pleased by the bleary look on your face. she had handed you an ivory business card, embossed and shiny with her name and her place of work.
éˇćž¤éˇĺ (nagasawa hisako)
CLUB CABAL MANAGER
âcome to see me if youâd like to make some real money,â she offered, not waiting for your reply before strutting back down the block, coat fluttering in the evening wind like a cloak.
when your savings dipped into the single digits a week later you paid her a visit.
working at the most exclusive hostess bar in tokyo fits you stunningly well. your clients are disallowed from propositioning you, serving you alcohol, offering you drugs, and, most importantly, touching you. you spend your weekday evenings in clothes that could pass as business formal if they were longerâtiny miniskirts and button-ups that urged the plush of your tits to spill outâand entertain the most wealthy business people of the tokyo metropolitan area.
all of them just want someone to talk to, you have come to learn. it helps, naturally, that you arrive to them dripping in sex appeal, but most of your returning clients seem to remember first and foremost the way you speak to them.Â
after two years collecting a rather well-to-do roster of exclusive clientele, hisako began operating you out of a private room.Â
and there are real, tangible things you have learned from catering to top performers in all fields. you might have majored in math and CS but you know now, too, about the global economy, about agriculture, about the intricacies of factory-owning.Â
and you flare bright, a star in spinning orbit, in that subtle performance under the moody lighting of the club. every hand gesture, every curl of your lips, it all means something, and the fine precision has come to excite you. you are untouchable there, a coveted thing, paid to see.
speaking of which, you think, itâs about time to get ready.
you have very few reservations tonight, though you donât mind much now that you have your own space. you extend your legs across the couch, stilettos hanging off each foot as you tap them to the humming bass of the music. your room sits right off the main hallway, just big enough for a plush, navy couch and a coffee table, wiped shiny between clients. lanterns hang golden and coy at each corner, illuminating your face just enough to provoke your visitors to lean in closer.
you can hear the distinct click of hisakoâs heels as they approach your door, and you turn your head on the armrest with a smile to greet her.
âhi baby,â she coos. you sit up and cross one leg over the other, lest she have a client in tow.
âgood evening,â you reply with a smile. she leans on the threshold with a conspiratorial grin.
âi have a new client for you. a real big hitter. can you handle him?â
you tilt your head. âare you really asking me that?â
she laughs, full-bodied. âi guess not,â she muses, turning back to send him in. you pull a chilled bottle of sake from a small fridge at one end of the couch and place a glass next to it on the coffee table.
there are about 30 seconds as a client approaches your door when you learn some of the most vital things about them. the weight of their shoes, the sound their clothes make as they walk, whether they make conversation with the other hostesses passing by, all of it is catalogued as you listen.Â
the so-called big hitter makes his way towards your door with purpose, though he is in no rush. his footsteps fall deliberately, a hairâs breadth away from heavy but not quite, just fast enough to sound intentional, just slow enough to keep from missing your door.Â
the face they make when they enter matters, too. how they assess you, where they look, you cater your posture to their tastes. an interested man is an honest man, you have found, and you learn the most when they want you.Â
the door swings open.
fuck.
fuck.
he is so tall he takes up almost the entire doorway, weight leaned on one hip like heâs waiting to be invited in, though surely confident enough to know you will. his suit is bespoke, you can tell from the way it sits just so on his shoulders, and heâs loosened his tie a centimeter or two. heâs one of the most attractive young men youâve ever seen in your life, which would typically excite you. you love beautiful clients.Â
but blinking at you from a few feet away is satoru gojo.
your boss.
satoru gojo.
is at your door.
for one of the first times in your entire career, you have no idea the sort of look pulled across your face. what the fuck are you supposed to do?
you know you have at most one more second before the silence shifts from anticipatory into awkward, and you consume it in full to think. okay. gojo has no clue what you look like, of this much you are almost certain. further, the name on your door is not one he would recognize. by all accounts the person who sits before him has absolutely no relation to his remote IT intern, despite the fact that youâre in fact the same woman. you take stock of his face; if you have any sense left, you think he shows no sign of recognition on your face.
okay. you swallow. refusing him would be a first for you, and by hisakoâs description heâs an important client to please. you almost laugh at yourself for that thought; of course heâs an important client to please, heâs something like the wealthiest man in the country.Â
what is there to do other than act as though heâs any other customer?
you smile, small and wry, and gesture him inside. gojo nods his head in hello, closing the door behind him and settling gracefully on the other end of the couch. his legs are long and spread so far his knee almost touches yours, almost, and he reclines back into the upholstery like he owns the room. you suppose he could, if he had any interest. he holds a broad hand out to you, smiling sharp and wolfish. he likes you.
âitâs nice to meet you. you can call me satoru.â
if you can push beyond the strangeness of meeting your boss like this, you acknowledge the unique position you have been unceremoniously pushed into. namely, that unlike any other first-time client, you know a great deal about him.
you smile warmly but donât move your hand to shake his. âitâs my pleasure.â
he wiggles his fingers slightly. âyou donât shake hands?â
âyou know the rules, satoru,â you admonish lightly.
he chuckles and lowers his hand. âi guess i was hoping otherwise.â
you move to pour him a glass of sake and feel his eyes trace you as you bend. his irises flit over the swell of your breasts, the arch of your back, though he stays reposed back into the cushions, watching you like a predator. you coach a smile that doesnât reveal what is becoming clearer to you with each moment: itâs almost fun to have this secret.Â
or it would be, if your internship wasnât on the line.
it may still be, actually.
you cross your other leg over, let the tip of your stiletto hang close to his shin. the muscle of his thigh twitches but he remains still.
âso what brings you here tonight?â
gojo keeps his eyes on you over his glass as he takes a slow pull. he smacks his lips lightly, shrugging. âi wanted company.â
âdo you struggle to find good company?â you tease.
he tilts his head back and forth, thinking, before admitting, âyeah, i guess i do.â
âi find that sort of hard to believe.â
the corner of gojoâs mouth tilts up. âand whyâs that?â
you roll your eyes lightly. âyouâll have to work a little harder if you want me to stroke your ego that overtly.â
âiâll work as hard as it takes,â he fires back, only half joking.
your laugh is breathy and real. he communicates himself rather well over slack, you think. all the cheekiness, all the bite, you have felt moments of it in your communications online. though seeing it all from his mouth is a different beast you are, if you can admit it, becoming increasingly elated to face. how fucking hot he looks while talking is not something easily captured online.
âso what do you do for work, satoru?â
you hope that question is convincing. he didnât tell you his last name on purpose, you think.Â
âi run a business.â his eyes are narrowed almost imperceptibly, and it unnerves you, so you bend at the waist again to refill the sip he took from his glass. the tension in his face goes limp watching the curve of your ass.
âwhat sort of business?â
âoh, itâs all so boring,â he dismisses, sounding almost disappointed that youâd ask.
you scoff and chuckle all at once. âmost of my clients come to talk about their work.â
he extends an arm across the back of the couch, fingers a few inches from your neck but still not touching. you let him.
âi think thatâd be a waste.â
âwhyâs that?â
âi could pay a lot less money for someone who doesnât look like you to listen to stories about my work.â
you breathe in sharply. heâs fun. âyou could pay a lot less money for someone you could touch, too,â you add.
his eyes flit a moment to his hand, so close to your skin, surely sensing the warmth of you, but still making no move to actually feel. it seems almost like he gets off on the not-touching, like that inch of space between you thrills him. he flexes all five fingers.
âi find that pretty boring, too,â he murmurs.
âyou donât like fucking pretty girls?âÂ
your sudden crassness makes him shift, crossing one leg over the other. he liked that.Â
âi suppose iâm just tired of it now.â
your grin grows. âoh, i see, so youâve fucked too many pretty girls.â
he shrugs with that predatory smile, running his free hand through his hair to muss it slightly. âthe waitingâs the best part anyway.â
âso what do you find not boring?â you ask.
he looks at the ceiling in a show of consideration that makes you laugh. his gaze snaps back to you at the sound, immediately preening with it. âyouâre doing a pretty good job so far.â
your scoff only sets him alight further, scooting just barely closer to you, angling his legs so they still donât touch yours. but youâre tucked further into his side now, noses closer, and it makes something animal inside you flex and bite. your thighs squeeze quickly but you track his eyes as they catch the movement.
âsee that, right there,â his hair flops to one side, loose now from its gel in all his fussing, âyouâre scoffing at me. do you know how rare that is?â
he seems genuinely delighted, whole-heartedly excited by your diminutive little noise.
âoh i see,â you start, âyou like being degraded?â
he scrunches his nose and itâs sort of boyish. âno, honestly, not really. i just have so few people in my life that treat me like a real person.â
you chew on this slowly. âso youâŚâ a coy smile breaks through, âyou came to a hostess bar for the humanity?â but you can hardly finish your sentence without laughing again, light and amused but real, and he chuckles at himself, too.
âyeah, i guess so.â
you feel his pointer finger brush the skin at the back of your neck and you shudder, narrowing your eyes at him again. he corrects himself immediately, pulling away, and breathing out, âsorry. i forgot.â
you can see on his face that he means it.
âtell me about your life, little moon,â he says, voice low and quieter as it fans over your face. when did you get so close together? both of your bodies contort beyond reasonable expectation to fit so closely without touching.
you have never felt quite so charmed by a client before. whether itâs because you already feel so familiar with him outside of this room or the appeal of harboring this secret you cannot decipher, but nonetheless you are doing things you would normally never allow yourself. you have never leaned so close before, have flirted so overtly with the breaking of a rule you have historically enjoyed.
you want him to touch you. for so many reasons that is a terrible, life-alteringly horrific idea.
you try to speak with him instead.
âlittle moon?â you ask.
he points to your door. âtsukiko. moon-child,â he clarifies, but something thinly veiled and knowing tugs at his lips.
you hum.Â
âbut i guess that isnât your real name, is it?â
something about the low rumble of his voice tickles at your spine, makes you want to arch into his touch. youâre trying so hard to remember yourself, to remember who he is.
âi donât think itâs wise for me to answer that question.â
he doesnât miss a beat. âthen answer my other one. tell me about your life.â you hesitate and he grins. âor scoff at me again.â
you smile and push an amused breath through your nose. this is a somewhat perilous trap of a question but you donât show it on your face.
âwouldnât that ruin the illusion? peeking behind the curtain and all?â
âwhat illusion do you think iâm under?â
you appraise his face slowly. you suppose you donât have an answer to that, so you relent to his other question, at last.
âiâm fairly boring outside of this job, actually.â
âi donât believe that.â
âi spend all my time here and at home.â
âoh, little moon, such a shame. pretty young thing all alone all the time?â
the teasing lilt of his voice, sweeping in that low whisper of a register, makes your thighs clench again. he doesnât even look this time, only grins a little bigger to show you he knows.
âiâm around people all the time, people are my job,â you argue.
âthatâs not the sort of alone iâm talking about.â
you cannot help but want to play this game with him, you lob the ball back, though your voice comes out a fraction more breathless than usual. âwhat sort of alone are you talking about then, satoru?â
âwell i canât touch you,â you can feel his pointer finger hover over your shoulder again, intentional this time, running a knuckle so close you can sense it without looking, but still not touching. âbut is anyone?â
youâre taking in a stuttering breath in an attempt to respond but he continues, lips closer to the shell of your ear.
âsurely someone gets to feel this tight pussy, huh?â
you huff out all your air, fuck youâre so wet and heâs looking at you like you can smell it. what the fuck is happening? you have never, ever reacted to a client this way. and better yet, this is your boss.
but rationality slips from your ears and down your neck, you think, because you only shake your head.
pity drips from his voice like honey, every ounce of power you implicitly relinquish to him a thing he takes on with what appears to be great pleasure.
âsurely you must have needs.â
âi can take care of myself, but i appreciate your concern.â your double entendre doesnât dawn upon you until youâve already said it and heâs laughing with a lewd sort of tenderness. your face burns and you make use of your remaining faculty, looking away from him knowing he cannot tilt your chin back himself.
âuh huh. and how often are youâŚtaking care of yourself?â
âi donât have to answer that.â thatâs a weak retort and you both know it.
âno, you donât.â
you try to deflect. âi thought fucking pretty girls bored you.â
âiâm not fucking you, am i? unless youâve had a change of heart about the touching rule.â
âno,â you reply, as firmly as you can manage, though something below your navel is bellowing for him.
âi figured not,â he admits, leaning just slightly further into you, whispering low and hot into your ear, âitâs enough just knowing how fucking wet you are in that little skirt just from the sound of my voice.â
your mouth drops open in disbelief, head snapping towards his, so close your noses almost bump. âiâm not,â you protest, voice clipped. fucking liar.Â
âno?â
âno.â
âwhy donât you prove it for me?â he taunts softly.
you squeeze your thighs harder, desperate for any sort of friction, anything, but your restraint is waning with him whispering so sinfully in your ear.
âyouâre not allowed to touch me,â you remind him again.
âbut you can touch me, canât you?â
this is a suggestion youâve heard from a few patrons before but itâs a first to feel so tempted to take one up on it. you search his face for anything to tether to, looking for a reason to refuse, but god heâs so pretty and you want him. he has almost as keen an eye as you do, you think, because he sees the moment your trepidation lowers.
âwhy donât you get on my thigh and let me feel?â
his legs uncross and he splays them out, a saddle for you. your eyes drop there, and then to the tent in his slacks as they pull tight across his hips, to his faceâwild and manicâand then back again. shit.Â
you brace one hand on his shoulder, just to see what heâll do. he tenses with the contact but doesnât move, doesnât make to grab at you. you look at each other a moment longer, both of you waiting for something terrible or wonderful or both, and then youâre swinging one bare leg over his, settling slowly on his pant leg, skirt fanned just to the middle of your thigh.
the pressure of his muscle under your swollen clit makes you whimper as soon as you sit down and a breath punches from his lungs but still he does as you have asked, still he doesnât touch you. he tilts his head to the side, mouth parted.Â
âcome on, little moon,â he encourages lowly. âuse me.â he punctuates it with a little bounce of his leg and youâre gone.
you start slow, dragging your clit on the warmth of his slacks, surely leaving something shiny and humiliating behind but you canât find it in you to care. you brace your other hand on his other shoulder for balance, rolling your hips faster now, mewling quietly as he watches with rapt attention.
âyouâre fucking soaked, arenât you? that all for me?â
you nod wordlessly but he bounces his leg again. you only barely stop yourself from screaming. âanswer me.â
âf-fuck, yes, satoru, f-for you,â you exhale, words stuttering and stumbled as your stomach tenses with your movement. the pleasure whips through your body, coils around your diaphragm and around your hole. you flutter and pulse and surely he feels it, how badly you want to be filled. his fists clench at his sides watching it, cock aching and huge from the looks of it, jumping in time with your little grinds along the fabric.
with each roll you thrust harder, whimpering as the feeling bubbles and smokes inside of you. âfuck,â you whisper, to yourself or to him you do not know.
âfuck you look so fuckingâoh thatâs itâperfect humping me like a slut,â he groans.
you throw your head back, rolling your hips harder, faster, you need to cum and itâs so close you can taste it, can feel it between your fingers. he takes the opportunity to lean closer to your neck, exhaling slowly on the beating of your jugular.
âiâm so cl-close,â you whine.
he bares his teeth against your skin. âoh baby you really did need it, huh? cumming so fast.â
you nod, all pretenses and attempts at self-possession abandoned. the maw of your heat unhinges its jaw as ecstasy washes over you, hips gone frantic and lost of all rhythm, riding your high as you gush over the fabric of his pants. he moans with you watching it happen, feeling the wet heat spread across his thigh.
with one final sigh you slow to a stop, panting lightly. when you raise your head to meet his eyes again you feel something like sheepishness coiling feverish in your chest but his expression is so open in its wanting that the humiliation doesnât last.
âfuck,â he sighs, running a hand through his hair.Â
with the remaining shreds of your crazed desire you are put upon to slide two fingers past the hem of your panties, collecting your slick where it pools. you raise them in front of his face, shiny and tacky.
âopen,â you order softly.
he obeys immediately, gratefully. you press your fingers lightly on his tongue and his eyes almost roll back, half-lidded as he licks your fingers clean, his groaning around them reverberating down your hand. you pull away with a faint pop.
âyou are fantastic,â he breathes, as dazed as you are.
you smile something small and honest, slowly disentangling yourself from him to right yourself on the couch again.Â
âthank you,â you say, for the compliment andâŚfor everything else, you suppose.
he almost seems nervous now that heâs seen you cum. his cock is still obscenely swollen in his pants, still jumps every time you look at it, but it feels like heâs swallowed his swagger along with your cum. he reaches for his sake cup and takes it all in one swig before standing.
âiâllâŚsee you again, iâm sure,â he says as he makes for the door. you sort of want to giggle at the absurdity of it all, at this situation you find yourself in. but then he turns back, as if remembering something, and digs through his pocket.
he pulls out a wallet, leather and embossed with the kanji of his name, a tidbit you know but cannot divulge. yes, the fact is slapping you across the face again: this is your boss.Â
he throws something to the tune of 150 thousand yen on the table, for the first time looking less than certain about what to do. you think for a moment that he seems like heâs just remembered, there at the threshold and one foot out the door, that this has been first and foremost a transactional encounter.Â
when the sound of his expensive shoes walking down the hallway fades into silenceâor as close to silence as the club is capableâyou hang your head in your hands. what the fuck did you just do?
the next week passes like torture. for the first time in your life you dread going to work, dread seeing him again; even worse you spend equal time hoping heâll turn up at your private room. satoru gojo plagues you, plagues tsukiko, infiltrates somewhere deeper beyond the character.
to add insult to injury, you are subject to continued messages from him under your real name, a new character borne of necessity under the pretense that you didnât fuck his thigh last thursday. though you suppose the only benefit to keeping such close contact with him is that you do not have to wonder when he doesnât turn up for a week after his first appearance; you know he is busy, know heâs working past sunset, and you have the slack receipts to prove it.
he is as hopeless with his computer as he has always beenâyou suppose a clandestine encounter with a hostess wouldnât have changed thatâand every time he turns to you, endlessly grateful and funny and reverent, somehow, of the ways in which you help him.
like now.
Satoru Gojo 6:06pm
Sweet intern
normally you would have logged off by now, but you have the night off from the club, and what better way to spend your evening than with a glass of wine and engaged in a treacherous IT session with your boss and best single-visit client?
you nibble on your lip as you respond.
You 6:06pm
Good evening
Satoru Gojo 6:07pm
My evening has been terrible.
You 6:07pm
More computer troubles?
Satoru Gojo 6:08pm
You must think Iâm an idiot.
You 6:09pm
Definitely not.
Satoru Gojo 6:09pm
Helpless?
You 6:10pm
Something like that.
oh god. did you just send that? you need to log off. take a week of PTO. do anything other than continue responding while a little tipsy and still fucking horny for him. to his credit, he takes that comment in stride.
Satoru Gojo 6:11pm
I appreciate your honesty.
Satoru Gojo 6:11pm
And yes, more computer troubles.
You 6:12pm
Do tell.
Satoru Gojo 6:13pm
Suguru retaliated
You 6:14pm
From your retaliation? Itâs becoming a vicious cycle.
Satoru Gojo 6:14pm
He logged me out of my Partiful account
you almost spit up wine laughing at him.
You 6:15pm
Why is your Partiful account attached to your business email?
Satoru Gojo 6:15pm
Itâs a business party!
You 6:16pm
Go ahead and request the Forgot Password email. It should send to the domain admin (me) and Iâll fix it for you. Itâll be a temp password and then you can reset when you log in again.
itâs an easy fix; so many of his requests are. he is never any less grateful.
Satoru Gojo 6:18pm
Thank you thank you!
case in point.
you begin to rise from your bed to refill your glass when another ping! lights up your screen.Â
Satoru Gojo 6:20pm
Do you live in Tokyo?
you pause. is thisâŚstill business related?
You 6:21pm
Yes
Satoru Gojo 6:21pm
You should come by then.
something skittish pokes from behind your ribs.Â
You 6:22pm
Come to what?
Satoru Gojo 6:23pm
This business party. Itâs the companyâs 100th anniversary. You can come by the office, meet your poor disciples in person
despite everything that still makes you smile.Â
of course, you cannot under any circumstances attend. the moment he sees you in person heâll know, likely firing you in the middle of the party. and heâll know, too, that the night you met in person, you knew who he was even though he took great care to equivocate. was that a betrayal on your part? should you have suggested he leave that night when he walked in?
itâs all so hazy now, glossed over with your lust and his, the heat a contagion you havenât quite baptised yourself of.
his message blinks before you still.
You 6:25pm
Iâm busy that night, unfortunately
Satoru Gojo 6:25pm
I havenât told you what night it is yet
are you the stupidest young woman on the planet? it is so unfamiliar to feel so out of control, your grip slack where it normally tightens, white-knuckled.
you arenât entirely ready to concede.
You 6:26pm
I just donât do well with people.
lie.
Satoru Gojo 6:26pm
I really would like it if you dropped by. You donât have to stay for long.
you groan aloud.
Satoru Gojo 6:27pm
Youâve helped me so much the last few months
Satoru Gojo 6:28pm
Itâs next Friday at 7pm. Most people will be there straight from work so business formal is fine. I hope youâll come
the truthâit descends upon you like wrath, venomous and toothyâis that you have no options. you cannot deny the CEO at the company for which you intern three times. you also surely cannot attend, cannot let him see your face. but the former is a more pressing problem, you suppose. maybe itâs the wine, but you feel your resolve bruising into submission.
maybe this is for the best; youâve saved enough now that you can stay in this apartment long enough to find another job. and was it really sustainable to continue to work alongside gojo after what happened at the club?
the terrible part of youâyouâll never forgive herâwants to think you would sustain this as long as it was viable. but the rest of you acknowledges that the lifespan has arrived at its bloody, inelegant end.
You 6:30pm
Okay
there is something deeply ironic about zipping up a pencil skirt of appropriate length in preparation to go see satoru gojo again. your stockings are sheer and black, catching the light where your foot curves into the lowest heels you managed to find in your closet. no matter how you arrange your gray sweater over your torso you feel sort of crude-looking. you have come to associate this style of clothing so closely with the club that you cannot process your silhouette in the mirror as anything other than whorish.
with a manic sort of giggle you think, oh well. youâre getting fired anyway!
youâve considered, over the last week, feigning sickness or some personal tragedy, all manner of terrible scenarios which would keep you from the party. but in the first place you suspect, after your couplet of dreadful attempts at rejecting the invitation, that he would know outright you were simply trying to weasel your way out of the obligation.Â
and secondly, some naive part of you does want to go. the other coworkers youâve helped online seemed so excited when they found out you had committed to come: yuuji itadori, a new hire who seems entirely incapable of recalling his passwords, kento nanami, a clearly whip-smart high-level employee who harbors a secret fear of pressing buttons he doesnât understand, ieri shoko, an altogether efficient young woman who simply cannot remember to clock in and out.
you have put in tangible time of your life to help these people, and in turn have forged something like friendships with them. what you had said to gojo that night is true; other than the club, you donât encounter people much. there is something embarrassingly exciting to you about solidifying, even if only for ten minutes, these little bonds you find you care a lot about.
the gojo enterprises building is enormous and beautifully designed, you notice, as you walk towards the revolving entrance doors. the scaffolding gleams in sleek gray steel, large windows across swaths of floors cleaned to a pristine shine. the lobby is still full of people, even at this hour, shuffling about in all directions along the marble flooring.
nobody seems to pay you any attention, which soothes your nerves slightly. at least only you and him will know youâre a slut.Â
you approach a pretty young woman at the front desk, hair cut recently in an auburn bob that suits her face.
âumâŚhi,â you begin, resting one hand on the counter. âiâm here for the office party?â
she smiles at you easily, like you arenât about to be fired and potentially publicly humiliated. âwonderful! itâs on the penultimate floor, so just click the second button from the top.â
you nod and thank her, heartbeat increasingly demanding in the cavity of your ribs. a part of you remembers the way gojo acted that night, how pliable and kind he remained even as he paid you and stumbled out. youâd like to think the man you knowâboth versionsâwould spare you the degradation of announcing your misdeeds in front of everyone. itâs not like he isnât lewdly implicated in such an announcement, either.
but you canât help the slight tremble in your hands as you press on the button and it chimes, thrusting you upwards.
the last thing you consider before the doors open is that he simply wonât mind, that youâll laugh about it together. itâs a little startling how much you find youâre hoping that he isnât upset with you.Â
and then the doors slide open.
you are reminded, as you wade through the gaggle of people chatting over champagne, that the only person here who knows what you look like is gojo, and even he might not realize at the outset that you are you. you have no way of recognizing your familiar coworkers, and thus no reasonable way to begin conversation with anyone. you make a beeline for the bar.
you assess the room around you from the far end, nursing your champagne with as much poise as you can manage. this floor has only a few, large desks in an open bullpen, surrounded by even larger board rooms flush with long, dark tables and leather seats. at the far left corner you see two single-person offices with plaques by the doors, surely gojo and getoâs offices, you think.
you cannot see gojo anywhere, though youâre unable to decide whether thatâs a relief or a disappointment. you scrutinize the crowd so hard you hardly sense the figure approaching at your side until theyâre already there. a deep voice clears its throat.
the man you find when you turn is rather beautiful. hair long and dark around his shoulders, face sharp and fox-like, eyes the sort of keen that might frighten someone who didnât enjoy observant people so much. you give him a polite smile.
âyouâre new,â he says simply.
you shake your head. âonly partly.â you hold your hand out to shake and tell him your name. âiâm actually your remote IT intern,â you explain.
the man smiles wider, almost secretive, and assesses you quickly. his eyes rake down your form, across your face, but it isnât hungry so much as it feels vigilant, void of the voyeuristic heat youâre used to.Â
he introduces himself: âsuguru geto.â
you grin at him, laughing a little. âitâs great to meet you. iâve been wondering what youâre like.â
he raises one eyebrow. âthat so?â
you realize only now that itâs more difficult than you anticipated to speak with attractive men in a different way than how you talk at the club.
âi just mean that youâve never needed my help. i only know the technologically-challenged of you.â
he chuckles. âyou must know satoru well.â
actually, you go back on your previous thought; you are positively indebted to your time at the club. all your practiced grace and easy charm prevents you from choking on your champagne. just barely.Â
âyeah, in fact, i do.â
âare you the one who helps him get back at me?â
âguilty as charged.â
he clicks his tongue in his mouth. âi knew he couldnât have been doing it on his own.â
you take another sip of your drink. âi really am sorry for my participation,â you assure him, âbut when the CEO demands you attach a lewd photo to your launch button i donât have much of a choice.â
getoâs lips tug up at one corner. âso you saw that photo then?â
heat licks over your nose and you hope the fluorescents cover it. âunfortunately, yes.â
âheâll be so hurt you said that.â
your eyes widen only slightly, but you know he catches it. you try to imbue your voice with the casual leisure you hope to convey. âdonât tell him.â
he clinks his glass against yours with a small, knowing smile. âyou have my word.â and then, over his shoulder as he begins to walk back into the heart of the party, he adds: âit was nice to meet you.â
you wave him off politely, leaning again against the bar.
your attention is pulled quickly towards a broad, blonde man as he approaches the bar, another, much younger man seemingly attached to his hip.Â
âno, itadori, you canât handle your alcohol,â the older man admonishes.
âplease? itâs the company party, nanamin,â he pouts.
you smile to yourself. two of your frequent flyers.
âlook, youâre an adult,â kento sounds wholly unconvinced of this, even as he says it, âbut if youâre asking my permission for some godforsaken reason, then iâll tell youââ
âwait a second,â yuuji stops. it takes you a second to realize heâs looking at you. âarenât you our IT intern?â
you sputter in surprise. âiâumâŚyes?â
yuuji beams. âi knew it! itâs nice to meet you in person.â his handshake is so firm and eager it jostles you a little bit. something lost in his online translation is how frenetic of a thing he is, bouncing about in a constant state of buzzing that endears you to him.
âhow did you know it was me?â
âhe has a weird sense for those things,â nanami interjects, taking your hand next.
âitâs really nice to meet you both,â you smile.
âthank you so much for all your help. i was just mentioning to gojo how i wouldnât ever get any work done without you.â
âyou said that to gojo?â nanami asks disapprovingly, though yuuji doesnât even seem to register it.
âi know he wanted to meet you, too. iâll go get him!â he chirps, bounding off between people beyond your reach, not hearingâor choosing to ignoreâyour feeble oh no you donât have to!
you turn back to nanami to find an almost pitying look on his face. you scrunch your nose. âis he that bad in person?â
âheâsâŚa lot,â he qualifies.
you lean an elbow on the counter of the bar, watch your champagne swirl about in the flute. âitâs sort of strange meeting all of you in person,â you admit.
nanami scans the throng briefly again, quickly muttering into his own drink: âinto the eye of the hurricane.â
you have only a moment too little to discern what he means.
ââand he keeps taking my champagne away,â itadori grumbles.
lord help you you recognize gojoâs footsteps as they approach, still as certain as you remember them, and the discs of your spine align in a taut stack, but you do not turn to him.
his laugh is easy, unaware, the low scratch of it only a few feet away now, but you learned that night that he watches when he speaks. he doesnât see you yet, surely still turned and attentive towards yuuji. âprobably because you threw up in his office trash can at the last christmas party.â
âi told you, that wasnât me.â
âwho else could it have possiblyâoh.â the footsteps stop, and you feel his eyes fall on you.
when you turn your head, a number of things become obvious at once.
he is as handsome as you remember him. melted a little around the edges, tie loose, suit jacket gone and button-up bunched at the elbows to expose his forearms. his scent makes your thighs clench a little, less perceptible under your reasonable skirt, his hair disrupted by the long day and possibly a glass of champagne. the terror of your present circumstances, and the punch of guilt, too, come fettered to how badly you want him.Â
the other revelationâor, you suppose itâs more like a reminderâis that gojo is a great deal like you. you can almost see the way heâs counting the moments in his head, taking stock of the time he can allot himself to think, to decide, knowing that this gnawing silence will at some point grow too monstrous too ignore.
in that time the shock meets his eyes first. they widen and then pinch, flitting across your face and down your body, and you do your best not to preen in the attention. and then his lips part a little, any further salutations stone dead in the back of his mouth, swallowed down. he breathes out once, twice, heavy things you think he wanted to attach to words but couldnât quite manage to animate.
and you want to say something, want to apologize; you almost want to encourage him to fire you now so you can avoid the anticipation and get home before your feet hurt.Â
but then something devious pokes out from behind his teeth, something vital and alive, something like a smirk. his head cocks just so, bearing his large hand out.
âitâs so nice to finally meet you in person,â he says, voice so even you could strike him.Â
and this is the final cognizance, thrust towards you between his lithe fingers; he plans to enjoy this. beginning, it seems with a cheeky homage to that night, the shaking of hands you refused him once but cannot deny him now.Â
you shake his hand firmly, smiling something only he would identify as divergent from polite. he grazes the inside of your wrist with his pointer finger before your arms drop, posture twitching with the feeling of you despite the mundanity.
you nod your head in acknowledgment. âgood to see you, sir.â
his tongue pokes briefly on the inside of his cheek. âi trust nanamin has introduced you around.â
âdonât call me that.â nanami sounds exhausted with him already, weighed down further by what you fear is a flicker of recognition. whatever dynamic flare is crackling between you and gojo, nanamiâs eyes narrow, just a moment, like he sees it.
âyou let me call you that,â yuuji adds unhelpfully.
and even though youâve come upon this game in the wake of a monumentally terrible decisionâor maybe because of that, youâre unsure one way or the otherâyou let the other proverbial pleaser drop.
âwould you introduce me?â you ask gojo.
both his eyebrows jump, something silent exchanged, but he takes little time to seize the opportunity. he rounds beside you to lay a hand on the small of your back, all but delighted to guide you away, pressing only minutely harder than what would be appropriate. enough to remind you that he can touch you now.
âit was nice to meet you both again,â you offer to nanami and yuuji as satoru shepherds you off, but as soon as the pair looks away gojo is leaning down to your level slightly.
you beat him to the punch. âis this really wise?â
low enough that itâs only for the both of you: âdefinitely not.â he squeezes your side again quickly. âbut i think iâd like to show you off to all your lovely coworkers before i fuck you in my office.â
you suck on the back of your teeth and try your best to glare up at him, but itâs hard when your panties stick so tacky to your mound. he bumps into you on purpose, giving you one, ephemeral moment to feel how hard he is in those expensive slacks.Â
âcan you even wait that long?â
he drops his hand from your back just to graze the swell of your ass, swipe there once with his thumb. âi already told you, little moonâŚthe waiting is my favorite part.â
with what is clearly no small amount of reserved prudence, gojo stays true to his word. he deposits you about the party, peering at you heavy-lidded as you greet the people youâve thus far only known over email. every time you steal a glance at him heâs already staring, the weight of his gaze so heavy your knees nearly buckle. you feel more supine than you ever have in your life, soft and watched and wanted.
but surely he must know youâre observant enough to notice he is winding you, slowly, to his office. with each new introduction you are a few feet closer to his door; itâs just shy of torture waiting this way. how long has it been since youâve been fucked? you choose not to answer that question for yourself, though with each step you feel the gluey swipe of your slick between your legs and you cannot deny that youâre greedy to be filled.
still, you do your best to appear something like normal when you walk through the threshold of his office door, when you hear the metal snick of the lock behind you.Â
the panel of glass looking out into the bullpen is so frosted you can hardly see through it, a modern design choice that suits the building, and the rest of the room follows suit; a glass coffee table stacked neatly with books, an enormous desk flush with papers and folders and an intercom system, windows that span the outer wall to boast half of tokyo.
gojo stays a moment by the closed door but gives you no direction, so you simply stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind your back and waiting for further instruction. you suppose he likes the look of it, because he makes no move to gesture you anywhere, smoothing a hand over his jaw as he watches you.
âget down on your knees for me, baby,â he says simply.
the air punches from your lungs and you bite down on the inside of your cheek but you find your legs curling under themselves anyway. you canât look way from his face, that crazed manner of watching you a scorching cloak you donât want to shed.Â
only once youâre on your knees does he approach you, reaching a hand to your face to cup your jaw. with a little tug of your jaw your nose is brushing against the bulge in his pants and you exhale over it. he sighs up at the ceiling as you bring one hand up to cup his twitching cockâgod itâs so big.
âyouâre not mad at me?â you murmur.
he laughs once, sharp and humorless. âoh iâm fucking furiousâahâ heâs cut off by your palm applying more pressure, rubbing him in earnest, and his hips buck into your fingers. his right hand weaves into your hair and grips it like a handle, humming at the way you whine.
âso i have rules of my own now,â he finishes. you still and blink back up at his face. âno touching.â you lower both hands and fasten them behind your back again.Â
gojo pulls his belt loose and tugs the zipper of his pants down, aching cock jumping up and out. heâs so red it looks like it hurts, curved up a little and as massive as you thought he was, and with one hand he wraps his long fingers around the base, tugging up once, twice. your lips part as precum pearls at the tip and he grips the back of your head, bumping his slit against your lips to gloss them. when you donât take more than youâre given he groans low, âgood girl.â
and then in one, mean thrust, heâs fucking the entire girth of him into your mouth. heâs so big he bumps halfway down your throat, you gasp and sputter around him, spit pooling already and eyes watering but youâre nothing if not determined, swallowing hard around his tip.
âfuck i knew youâd take it,â he growls.
you try to nod but his length pins your head in place, not to mention each of his hands taking a tight grip on each side of your face to start thrusting into your mouth.
heâs loud, so loud that you have moments of clarity when you worry the party will hear, but heâs so fucking long that mostly you dedicate all your attention to taking him without gagging. with each thrust your nose brushes the neatly trimmed hair at his base and you lave your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling a vein there that pulses every time you moan around him.
âthatâs it, thatâs it,â he lets one hand travel down to your throat and wrap there, not pressing so much as feeling himself as he fucks in and out, âswallowâfuck meâswallow around me again, baby.â
you do and he moans wild and honest, almost surprised at how good it feels, and youâre so desperate for anything that your hips start to rock over your own heels. feeling the wet trail you leave on your shoes is vaguely humiliating but the pressure behind your pulsing clit is almost unbearable and youâre afraid heâll pull out if you use your fingers, still clung together behind you. gojo looks like a deity with his head tipped forward watching you, brows pinched together and mouth agape, droopy eyes sharpening when he sees the little ruts of your hips.
âyou fucking like this donât you?â
you hum out a pathetic mmhmm around his skin and his eyes almost roll back. forgetting yourself you bring both hands up to claw at the vee of his hips but he catches them immediately, thrusting once with a particular malevolence to tell you to behave.
his thrusts are gaining urgency, losing their rhythm, you know heâs close and you canât tell if you want him to finish or would prefer it be inside of you. most of all, though, you find you want to please him, so you whine one more time around his cock to hear him mewl something broken and desperate. he does.
âfuckfuckfuck iâm gâna cum, iââ
he canât even finish his own sentence, hips stuttering and growl caught in the back of his throat as he finishes heavy on your tongue. you swallow it all down like a blessing and the bob of your throat makes him pulse a little more, whispering mainly to himself a breathy: jesus. when you pull your lips away slowly a few webs of spit snap down your chin but you let them glisten there.
gojo can hardly allow you enough time to get to your feet, wrapping his arms under yours to haul you up and over his desk. your hands press over files and polished wood and he bends you into a deep arch with one hand. with no less urgency than before his first orgasm gojo rips your skirt and stockings down to your ankles, groaning low at the damp spot in your panties, on display with your legs spread and hips flared out to him.
he uses one finger to pull your thong to the side and you can feel the filthy slide of your slick as it slips around your folds, down your thighs. you can hear the squelching of his hand on his cock again, jerking himself over the remnants of your spit and his own cum, and you tense your legs waiting for him to breach your tight hole.
he chuckles when he sees the cords of your muscles move.
âoh baby,â he coos, âare you waiting to get fucked?â
your fingers pull in and leave crescent marks on your palms. âplease,â you whimper, wiggling your hips, âplease fuck me.â
âi dunno,â the fwap of his hand is speeding up seeing you present yourself further for him. âi think seeing you like this is enough toâfuckfuckâmake me cum again.â
you drop your forehead to the wood to ground yourself but still your words come out like a sob: âi need you satoru please, please.â
âfuck!â again his hand gets quicker, âbeg me again baby. beg me better than that.â
âplease satoru i need your cock so bad, i need you to fuck me, iââ
in all honesty you donât know whether it was you begging that did it or the dissolution of his own resolve, but without warning gojo fits his angry tip at your hole and pushes, hips slapping against your ass as he sheaths himself fully in one go.
you both groan in unison, relief and nirvana and the aching heat with her claws in both of you, and satoru holds your head to his desk as he starts to move.
his thrusts now are not exactly like the way he fucked your mouth; he isnât testing your limits, isnât using every ounce of his remaining strength, each grind is calculated, slower than before. it almost feels like heâs pausing after each rut to hear the sound you make and learn. that consideration alone is enough to make you clamp down around him, and a moan claps like thunder from his mouth.
âgod itâs like fucking a virgin youâre so fucking tight,â he hisses.Â
recovering from the burn of the initial stretch you start to incline your hips back into each thrust, the punches of his tip around your walls even harder as you arch to meet him. your arms reach back to feel for him but he only seizes the opportunity to wind them in one hand and hold them to the curve of your spine.Â
âwas it worth it fucking embarassing me?â he pants out, beginning to bend at the waist to fuck up into harder, words nearly spat onto the wing of your shoulder. âiâve spent allâfuckâweek thinking about it.â
you mewl and hum into the wood of the desk.
âmade me feel like a fucking teenager at the club,â he thrusts harder, the sound of his skin on yours louder in your ears, âmade me feel like a fucking creep at my job.â
youâŚwhat?
somewhere between your insistent moaning you ask him âwhatâah! oh f-fuuck satoruâwhat do you mean a creep?â
he bands one arm around your torso and shifts upright, holding you to his chest as his hips continue to buck wildly, more erratic, more in it. his lips just barely graze the shell of your ear.
âall this time iâve wanted to fuck my sweet intern,â your mouth drops open in surprise and pleasure and something else, the mounting feeling of ecstasy scintillating through your body, âthinking you were some fucking hermit,â he spits. your ass is surely red from the snapping of his toned hips but youâre so close and the hot tickle of his breath on your face just might be enough to get you there.
he almost seems to hear what youâre thinking, though, because then his free hand is jumping to your swollen clit, rubbing messy circles over and under the hood. âwent to the club hoping toâoh yeah baby, squeeze me like thatâget her off my mind just for you to fuck me over again,â he spits, but it isnât angry, not really, heâs just desperately and pathetically close.
your body catches and locks, toes curling into your heels as you start to come undone, the dull pleasure coming first and then that cutting slice of your high. you shudder and pulse and milk him as it washes over you, about to pull him over the cliffside with you.
âiâm gâna fuck my cum deep in this cunt and youâre gonna have to fucking walk out of here with it dripping out of you.â
and then heâs gone too, rutting quick and thoughtless and then exploding inside of you, groaning deep in your ear and arm tight across your chest. he thrusts lazily through it, plugging you with the ropes of his seed, trying to feel the slosh of it in your channel.
the disentanglement of his body from yours is almost silent save for your shared quiet groaning at the overstimulation, an almost self-conscious kiss pressed to your temple as you redress, and the murmuring buzz of the corporate party still going outside.Â
fuck. the party.
satoru takes great care righting your clothing, brushing fingers through your hair. he doesnât say anythingâhe doesnât have toâonly smiling sort of boyishly as you do the same for him. you try to replicate the easy and rushed tug on his tie from before, the right pleating of his sleeves halfway up his arms.Â
really itâs no use. you look like youâve been railed, you can feel it, and the scent of sex sticks to gojo, supplanting even his cologne. you shrug at him and he laughs softly, muttering a small câmon as he ushers you back out.
to your surprise and great delight, the party outside seemsâŚnormal. people hardly turn when you exit, engaged in their own conversations, a considerable group of them watching yuujiâabsolutely plastered nowâtrying to get nanami to dance. satoru places his hand again on your back one last time and presses there, but it isnât hungry now. he means it to be comforting, you think, and it is.
or it wouldâve been, if your eyes didnât immediately land on geto, leaned against the wall and watching you both with that serpentine glare. you nudge gojo with your elbow to get his attention.
when they make eye contact suguru only smirks wider. you turn slow and dangerous to satoru, who stands upright like a statue.
âsatoru,â you begin, a calm that should frighten him if heâs smart, âwhat does he know?â
he shakes his head quickly, lips turned down in a dismissal. ânothing.âÂ
satoru gojo is frustratingly excellent at a great number of things. lying isnât one of them.
when you return to your apartment that night, legs sore and aching and happy, you flop immediately onto your bed and pry open your computer, single-minded. it only takes a few moments of navigation through the admin channels to find it, a conversation from two weeks after you first started.
Satoru Gojo 3:11pm
Hello
Suguru Geto 3:13pm
Oh Iâm sorry I donât have any change
Satoru Gojo 3:14pm
I need your help
Suguru Geto 3:15pm
Iâm not a philanthropist
Satoru Gojo 3:15pm
Iâll give you 3 extra days of PTO
Suguru Geto 3:15pm
What is it
Satoru Gojo 3:15pm
Youâre not gonna like it
Suguru Geto 3:16pm
When do I ever
Satoru Gojo 3:16pm
I need to fuck the IT intern
Suguru Geto logged off 3:16pm
~~~~~~~~~~~
to anyone who read to the end dm me you're entitled to a big messy kiss!!
I like to refer to dabi and shoto as sons of endeavor because that's probably how they've been referred to all their lives and it reflects endeavor's omnipotence, however this sticker design is about their connection to their mother, hence the dominance of blue & the flower bracelet :D
much to be said about act III and the epilogue, but all in all i love how endeavor is presented to be so loud about his sense of ownership and how Rei's silent resilience and dormant quirk within Touya juxtaposes that
I don't have anything fun or special written this year but happy birthday to my beloved @quilliamfears đĽłđđ we've been besties for 10+ years now and I'm so happy she's in my life đĽş
â ââââ The first time Ichigo touches you was solely out of curiosity, and it all happened because he was a little dense in the head. But heâs not even an inch apologetic for it.
If Ichigo has learned anything from his father, itâs knowing how to appreciate a woman. Whenever he stares too much at your curves, or simply your body when youâre wearing something tight-fitted, his ears go red and he gets a little dazed.
He definitely knows how to appreciate you. In his mind. He likes to be respectful and goes with the pace you lead, despite yourself not knowing. Whenever you guys are making out and youâre seated so perfectly on his lap, his hands itch to roam around your body. Feel and learn, but he keeps them at your hips or waist. The man will suffer but heâll wait until you give him that green light.
All that being said, Ichigo is still a little dense with certain things. Like closed doors for example, now that you both are dating, closed doors mean something entirely different. Ichigo doesnât seem to know that but you do, youâve mentioned it once and his response was; âweâve hung out many times before with the door closed.â So there was no avail there.
And thereâs also now. Undressing in front of each other. Youâve seen Ichigo shirtless countless times, more than you can count due to him being injuried and wounded. But now, when there isnât an urgency to take off fabric to help clean an injury or patch it up, you couldnât help but blush red. Your eyes widened when you saw his back muscles appear with every inch of his shirt being lifted up, you quickly turned yourself around. Facing the closed door.
He threw his shirt on his bed, letting it fall onto the floor slowly. He was starting to unbutton his jeans when he realized he wasnât hearing any movement behind him, looking over his shoulder his gaze was met with your back. He quickly turned himself around, facing you properly with his eyebrow raised. âWhat are you doing?â
âGiving you privacy.â You mumbled, fumbling with the ends of your shirt. âWhy?â The answer felt so obvious you felt like face palming. Ichigo has never once seen you shirtless, itâs always been the other way around. âBecause youâre undressing yourself?â
âI mean,â Ichigo titled his head, still very confused. âI get that. But why arenât you undressing?â The question was so straightforward that it couldnât be helped how much more red you got. âWell.. cause..â you were fumbling with your words, your eyes wandering around his room. Trying to find the right words.
But it dawned on you; Ichigo was a visual learner. You might as well show him why you werenât undressing at the same time he was. Turning around, you breathed out and your hands were at the ends of your shirt. Ichigo had his arms crossed over his chest, still looking at you a little puzzled.
Slowly, you pulled your shirt up and it surprised you a little how he hasnât reacted. If anything, it just looked like you were proving his point. It wasnât until your bra was showing and then your cleavage, thatâs when it hit Ichigo and his ears were turning red. With widened eyes, âokay! Okay! I get it now.â His hands flew to grab yours and stop them from pulling your shirt up more. Instead, he had you pulling your shirt all the way back down.
He just couldnât help but stare at your chest. You gave him the smallest peek and now he was more curious than before, now, he desperately needed you to give him the green light. He swallowed a little, the small memory of Keigo saying - âyou gotta feel them just once. Theyâre so soft.â Years back when they were still in high-school, when Keigo somehow got some action.
You stared up at him, your body and face heating up because of how much Ichigo just kept starring at your chest. Youâve seen that look on his face before, needy and desperate. Heâd constantly have that look when you pull away from a heavy make out, when his hands twitch a little and move up on your waist. Heâd give you those puppy eyes that you didnât know he could do and itâs not like the man was doing it on purpose, he wouldnât even know heâs looking at you like that. He just craved you so much.
Ichigo parted his lips, his hands finding their way to your hips, resting them there. He breathed in before whispering. âIâll go out and you can change.â But it was there that you decided to give him the green light. You shook your head, your hands reaching over to his own hands. You guided them, having him help you take off your shirt.
Ichigos sanity was breaking with every inch of new skin from you. When your shirt fell to the ground and he saw them being supported prettily in a black lace bra, he was just about to crumble at your mercy. He didnât know what to do first. You helped him a bit, standing on your toes to kiss him, your arms wrapping around his neck. Thatâs when he came back from his awestruck state, his hands gripped your hips firmer, pulling you closer. Your chest pressing up against his own bare one.
The contact alone was enough to make him quietly groan against your lips. His hands soon found their way to feel your soft skin, his fingers gliding across all inches of it. His touch made you shiver, moving to step closer to him. With every new inch of skin, Ichigo began kissing you hungrier, needier. He had you stumbling, shaking breathes being brushed against his lips.
Soon, Ichigo was sitting on his bed and you straddling his lap. But that wasnât enough for him, he pulled away and stared up at you, panting. Your face was lightly pink, looking up at him in small surprise and your lips parted, panting. You just couldnât look any more stunning to him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and flipped your position over. Your back touching the soft mattress of his bed and he fixed himself to be in between your thighs.
You were nervous, so nervous. But Ichigo looked so damn.. fine with how he stared at you. His hair was flat on his forehead, a little messy from your own doing. His brown eyes were lidded and his lips were pressing themselves on the skin of your stomach, he stared at you while he made a trail of kisses. When his pretty lips met the skin on your neck, kissing at your most sensitive spots, his hand that rested on your thigh slowly moved up and finally cupped on of your boobs. Groping it very lightly, massaging them through the padded material of your bra.
You couldnât help but whimper maybe a little louder than usual. You arched your back a little, making yourself press against his chest once more. The more sounds you made, the rougher he groped them. Eventually it wasnât just one hand on one boob, it was both hands on both boobs. Ichigo had to pull away from kissing your neck to stare at you, watch you squirm and gasp and whimper from his hands.
âLike that?â Ichigo whispered to you, his hands managing to slip under your bra. Finally able to touch the soft flesh of them fully. His thumb accidentally flicked past your hard nipples, the feeling gave you a shock of pleasure. You gasped a little loudly, your body flinching. You nodded while biting your bottom lip, humming. âMhm.â
That surprised gasp from you, it ignited something within Ichigo. He didnât even try to undo your bra, he just pulled the material down and had your boobs pop out of them. It was no surprise to anyone that he was crazy hard in his pants, you could feel it near your own heat. And you couldâve been brave and moved your hand to grope him over his pants but when you were going for it, Ichigo attached his mouth to one of your nipples.
You squealed in surprised, a loud moan soon following after. Your eyes widened and you moved your hand to cover your mouth instead. Your hand was muffling all the moans and whimpers you let out when Ichigo got the hang of using his tongue against the nerve, multitasking, his other hand groped and toyed with your other exposed nipple. Flicking, rubing, circling, and even pinching.
Each new move either tongue or hand, you couldnât stop yourself from expressing how good it felt. You werenât really doing a good job at keeping yourself quiet. Especially when you moved your hips and pressed yourself against his clothed hard on. That earned you a muffled groaned from him, his own hips twitching to do the same.
So not only was he sucking your boobs, he was grinding himself against your heat. You couldnât help but follow along, your legs wrapping around his hips and moving up to pressed yourself eagerly on him.
You guys mightâve gone all the way that night if it wasnât for his dad yelling at you both from down stairs that the food was ready.
pairing : knight!ichigo kurosaki x princess!reader
summary : ichigo has no choice but to take you away. after all, it is his duty to protect you, no matter the cost. and now, ichigo has to make sure the love of his life is not found.
word count : 1.2k
warnings : swearing, abusive family, me not knowing how to cook in medieval times
note : this isn't gonna be completely accurate to medieval times, but just go with the flow okay?
saying a goodbye to renji, ichigo continued leaning against the doorframe to watch you. you had taken a blanket and a book, and set up a little area for you to read while he talked with renji inside.
this was no ordinary situation you found yourselves in. you were a princess, and he was your knight. however, those titles were a thing of the past.
about half a year ago, you'd had to escape from your life as royalty. your father was not a good man. he was abusive and was going to force you to marry an old duke in the name of 'forming an alliance'. when your father announced his intentions of marrying you off, you had immediately begged him to reconsider. he would hear none of it and afterwards, you bore a black eye in consequence.
before that instance, you thought you had been doing an excellent job at keeping your father's violence towards you a secret from ichigo. but, he was your knight and of course had known for a long time, however, both your lives were threatened by your father in order to keep him in line and to keep him silent.
when ichigo had realized there was no changing your father's mind and that this would only be the continuation of an awful life for you, he planned for you both to run away.
the night ichigo snuck you out of the castle was also the same night he confessed his feelings for you. he hated the thought of what your father was trying to force you into and couldn't bear the thought of you married to someone else. but he knew that no matter your feelings towards him, he would help you escape if that's what you wanted.
to his surprise, when he was done confessing, you'd practically thrown yourself into his arms and kissed him with all your might.
that same night with the help of some of your handmaidens, you and ichigo ran away. it took a week of almost non-stop travel for you to reach the village that ichigo was born and raised in.
karakura village was the perfect place to hide you in. ichigo had his friends and family here. no one here liked your father as ruler and would most rather spit in his face, and any of his officials, than talk to anyone about you, even if they knew your real identity.
the first month was hard on you. it wasn't easy running away from your home and to change lifestyles. but, you adjusted well and ichigo could tell you were happier here than in the castle.
"you're staring." ichigo heard you say. snapping out of his thoughts, he focused on you again. you had stood up, blanket and book in arm, and were now making your way towards him.
âhow could i not when i have the most beautiful woman in front of me?â he questioned, a smile forming on his lips.
âhow was renji?â you asked, now in front of him.
âheâs good, him and rukia are doing well as well. he wanted to tell me that rumour has it, weâve died.â he informed you.
âmy father thinks weâre dead?â you looked at him with something in your eyes, hope maybe?
âit would seem so. but it wouldnât hurt to keep being on the lookout for anything that could put you in danger.â he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "i've asked if some of the men could keep an eye on the newcomers for anything suspicious."
âus in danger ichigo.â you said, a serious look on your face. "you know i don't like it when you try to exclude yourself from my future. you're not going to die protecting me, i won't allow it."
"well, my princess, as you wish. now, what do you say? should we go inside and make dinner? i know you're hungry."
âyou really think this is a good idea?â renji asked ichigo. the two had returned to your cabin, where the rest of the now large group were spending time together while they were gone.
"i'm scared renji." ichigo confessed, taking a deep breath. "i was her knight, the one entrusted to protect the princess and i stole her away. her father was a piece of shit and i took her away. i'm scared that one day, when we've finally stopped worrying about him, that he's going to come and take her away from me."
"they announced the princess' death was a result of consumption. i don't think they suspect anything and would come for you." renji told his friend, who was looking at a dagger in his hands.
"i know. but i can't help but fear that this beautiful life we've started for ourselves is going to disappear one day." ichigo continued. "it's why i'm going to teach her to defend herself. it'll bring me peace of mind and help her become more confident in going out into town."
"it is an honourable thing to do, you know. to keep protecting and defending her. to give her the opportunity to do most things women in other regions can't do."
"thank you renji. now let's go see what the women have been up to without us." ichigo said, opening the door to your cabin.
the cabin was filled with laughter as renji and ichigo walked in. the house smelled of freshly baked bread and delicious meats that you were currently taking out of oven.
"ichigo! renji!" orihime exclaimed. "you're just in time. we just finished making dinner."
"did you find what you wanted?" uryu asked ichigo, knowing why the two went into town today.
"he did. now, what did we miss while we were gone?" renji asked, taking away the attention from the errand.
"you had this made for me?" you asked, looking at the dagger ichigo held in his hands.
after everyone had left for the night, you two made your way to your shared bedroom in order to prepare for bed. you'd just sat down on the bed when ichigo had told you he wanted to talk to you.
"i did." he confirmed. he was currently kneeling in front of you as you sat on the bed. "i know your father thinks we're dead and is covering it up so we most likely don't have to worry about him anymore... but to be honest with you, i'm scared. i'm scared that one day i won't be able to protect you and i need to know that you can protect yourself."
"oh ichigo..." you said softly, placing the blade down on the nightstand and taking his face in your hands. he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. "nothing will happen to me. but i will learn how to wield this dagger for you."
"thank you my dear." ichigo said, opening his eyes to look at you again.
"now, if you don't get in this bed and cuddle me, i will throw a royal sized tantrum ichigo!" you exclaimed, making the man laugh loudly before tackling you into the bed.
katsuki bakugou x reader, blind date, first date, fluff, ooc?, based on this drabble, probably my longest written fic(around 2300-2400 words, but like thats a lot for međ)
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Youâve never considered yourself the romantic type.
Not for lack of curiosity, but because the idea of romance felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. Sure, the view was breathtaking, but one wrong move and youâd plummet into the unknown. Relationships demanded too much- a risk of losing control, of exposing parts of yourself no one else had seen, only to have it thrown back in your face.
Thatâs why, despite Minaâs relentless campaigning to set you up with her âperfect guy,â you resisted.
âCâmon, heâs not like other guys,â she insisted one afternoon, her golden eyes sparkling with determination.
You sighed, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. âMina, youâve said that about all of your friends. And letâs not forget how the last one ended up being obsessed with his ex.â
Mina laughed. âOkay, fair, but this guy is different. Heâs⌠grounded. Straightforward. No games, no fluff. I think youâd actually like him.â
âYouâve said that before too,â you teased.
Her pout was almost convincing. Almost. âJust trust me. One date. If itâs horrible, Iâll never bring it up again. Deal?â
You hesitated, weighing the risk of one awkward evening against weeks of Minaâs pestering. Reluctantly, you gave in. âFine. One date.â
The restaurant was warm and inviting, its soft lighting casting a cozy glow over the wooden tables and shelves lined with potted plants. Mina had texted you the details earlier: 7 PM, party for two, under your name. Sheâd been oddly tight-lipped about who your date was, insisting she wanted it to be a surprise.
You were still skeptical, but a small part of you was curious. Maybe Mina was right this time. Maybe.
You arrived a few minutes early, hoping to gather your thoughts before meeting your mystery date. The host greeted you with a polite smile and led you to a small table near the window.
âYour party hasnât arrived yet,â they said, pulling out your chair.
âThank you,â you replied, sitting down and scanning the menu.
Minutes ticked by. You started to wonder if youâd been stood up when the door opened, and a blond man walked in, his sharp crimson eyes scanning the room.
You froze.
Even from across the restaurant, you recognized him. Katsuki Bakugou, pro hero and household name, exuded an aura that was impossible to ignore. He wasnât wearing his hero costume, but the fitted black sweater and dark jeans were somehow just as striking.
Your heart sank. Thereâs no way heâs here for me.
But then his gaze landed on you, and he started walking over.
âYouâre the blind date?â he asked, stopping in front of your table.
You blinked up at him, stunned. âYouâreâŚâ
âKatsuki,â he said, pulling out the chair across from you and sitting down. âGuess weâre both surprised.â
It took you a moment to recover. Of all the people Mina could have set you up with, this was the guy sheâd chosen? Pro hero, explosive temper, and notorious for being brutally honest? It didnât make sense.
âUh, yeah,â you finally managed. âNice to meet you.â
He gave a small nod, studying you with an intensity that made you shift in your seat.
The first few minutes were⌠awkward. He wasnât exactly a conversationalist, and you werenât sure how to navigate the situation. But as the evening went on, you began to notice things you hadnât expected.
For one, he wasnât as intimidating as youâd imagined. Sure, his words were blunt, but there was a surprising warmth behind them. He listened when you spoke, his attention unwavering. And when he talked about his work, there was a passion in his voice that made it impossible not to be drawn in.
âSo, youâre friends with Mina?â he asked at one point, breaking the silence that had settled between you.
âYeah. Weâve been friends since middle school,â you said. âSheâs been trying to set me up for years. Guess she finally got her way.â
He snorted. âSounds like her.â
You smiled, relaxing slightly. âWhat about you? How did she convince you to do this?â
âDidnât take much,â he admitted. âShe said you werenât annoying, so I figured it was worth a shot.â
Your eyebrows shot up. âHigh praise.â
âIt is,â he said, smirking.
Despite yourself, you laughed. The more you talked, the more you realized that he wasnât what youâd expected. Beneath the sharp edges and fiery reputation was someone who was honest, genuine, and⌠kind. In his own way.
When the night ended, he walked you to your car. The cool evening air was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, and you found yourself wishing the night could last just a little longer.
âThanks for tonight,â he said, his hands shoved into his pockets. âDidnât think Iâd like this whole blind date thing, but⌠youâre not bad.â
A small laugh escaped you. âYouâre not bad yourself.â
His lips quirked in the faintest of smirks. âSee ya around?â
For a moment, you hesitated, the weight of your fears pressing down on you. But then you met his gaze- steady, genuine- and you felt something shift.
âYeah,â you said softly. âSee you around.â
That night, as you lay in bed replaying the evening in your mind, you realized something strange: you werenât overthinking it. You werenât second-guessing every word or analyzing every gesture. Instead, you felt⌠calm.
For the first time, the idea of letting someone in didnât feel like a leap off a cliff.
It felt like the beginning of something you didnât want to lose.
You didnât expect him to call.
Even though the night had gone surprisingly well, you told yourself not to get your hopes up. He was a pro hero, after all- someone whose life moved at a pace so fast it felt impossible to keep up. People like him didnât have time for something as fragile and delicate as a budding relationship.
Still, the memory of his smirk lingered, sharp and vivid in your mind. The way his crimson eyes had softened ever so slightly when he teased you- so subtle you wondered if youâd imagined it- made it impossible not to replay the evening over and over.
Three days passed. You told yourself to move on, to not dwell on what was probably just a casual dinner for him. That is, until your phone buzzed with a text.
Katsuki:Â Hey. You free for dinner this week?
The message was so short, so him, that it took you a moment to process it. Your heart stuttered, and you stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity. Was this real? A small, incredulous laugh bubbled out of you. You couldnât deny the warmth spreading through your chest.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should you reply right away? Wait a few minutes? Was it too eager to answer so quickly?
Finally, with a shaky breath, you typed back:
You:Â Yeah, I think I could be convinced. When were you thinking?
The pause before his next reply felt like forever, but when it came, it was so straightforward you had to smile.
Katsuki:Â Friday. 7. Same place.
Simple. Confident. And as you stared at the message, you couldnât help but feel a flicker of hope.
The first couple of dinners were... awkward, to say the least.
It wasnât that Katsuki made you uncomfortable- far from it. But there was something about the way he carried himself, the unwavering intensity in his gaze, that made you hyperaware of every word you spoke. He wasnât a conversationalist, either. The silences between you felt heavier than they needed to, filled with the unspoken tension of two people trying to figure each other out.
He wasnât oblivious to it. One evening, while you sat across from him in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, your fork hovering over your plate, he tilted his head and raised a brow.
âYou gonna stop acting like youâre walkinâ on eggshells around me, or do I need to pry it out of you?â he asked bluntly, his tone laced with teasing, though his crimson eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.
Your fork clinked softly against the plate as you set it down, caught off guard. âIâm not walking on eggshells,â you retorted, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.
His lips quirked in a knowing smirk. âYeah, you are.â He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. âJust say whateverâs on your mind. Iâm not gonna bite.â
There was something disarming about the way he said it- gruff but sincere. His words loosened something inside you, and before you realized it, you were laughing, the tension in your shoulders melting away. âYou really donât hold back, do you?â
âDonât see the point,â he said with a shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. âItâs more fun when people are just themselves. So, quit overthinkinâ and just talk to me.â
It was easier said than done, but something about the way he said it- direct, no room for doubt- made you want to try. And so you did. Hesitantly at first, testing the waters with little anecdotes and random thoughts. But as the night went on, the words flowed more freely. You told him about your day, about things that annoyed you, things that made you laugh. And Katsuki listened.
Really listened.
He didnât interrupt or interject with meaningless comments. He just let you talk, his eyes steady on yours, nodding here and there or throwing in a dry remark that made you laugh despite yourself. By the time the check came, the air between you felt lighter, less strained.
When he walked you to your door that night, hands shoved into his pockets and that familiar scowl softening just a fraction, you realized you were looking forward to the next time youâd see him.
Things between you shifted after that. Slowly, in small, subtle ways. Dinners turned into late-night conversations that carried over into texts throughout the week. Katsuki wasnât the type to blow up your phone with messages, but when he did text, it was always something meaningful- or hilarious, though heâd never admit he was funny on purpose.
One night, he called out of the blue.
âLook outside,â he said gruffly, not even bothering with a greeting.
Confused, you walked to the window. Sure enough, there he was, standing on the sidewalk with a bag slung over one shoulder, his free hand holding up his phone.
âWhat are you doing here?â you asked, laughing as you opened the door and stepped outside to meet him.
âThought you could use a break,â he said, holding up the bag. âBrought food. Donât argue, just eat.â
It was simple, thoughtful gestures like that- the way he remembered little things you said, like your favorite snack or how you liked your coffee- that caught you off guard. He wasnât trying to impress you; he was just... himself. Honest, genuine, and surprisingly caring in ways heâd never admit aloud.
The night it all came to a head was unplanned, much like the way your relationship had unfolded. Youâd been feeling restless all day, the kind of itch beneath your skin that no amount of pacing or distractions could soothe. Katsuki must have noticed when he stopped by after work, because instead of sitting down like usual, he grabbed your hand.
âCâmon,â he said simply, tugging you toward the door.
âWhere are we going?â you asked, though you didnât resist, letting him lead you out into the cool night air.
âYouâll see.â
He didnât elaborate, and you didnât push, curious despite yourself. He walked with purpose, his hand warm and solid around yours, guiding you through streets you didnât recognize until you reached a quiet rooftop overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking- glittering lights stretching out as far as the eye could see, the hum of distant traffic a soothing backdrop.
âWow,â you breathed, stepping closer to the edge to take it all in.
Katsuki leaned against the railing, watching you instead of the view. âThought you might like it,â he said after a moment, his voice softer than usual.
You glanced back at him, your chest tightening at the way he looked at you. âI do. Itâs beautiful.â
He stayed quiet for a beat, his gaze dropping to the ground before meeting yours again. âYouâve been outta it lately,â he said, his tone careful. âFigured you needed to get outta your head for a bit.â
The words hit harder than you expected. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the weight of his attention- his care- making it hard to speak. âThank you,â you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.
âDonât mention it,â he muttered, though the faint blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.
The silence stretched, comfortable now, as you both watched the city lights. But something was shifting between you, unspoken but undeniable. You felt it in the way he stood closer than before, his shoulder brushing against yours. In the way his crimson eyes softened when they met yours.
âKatsuki,â you began, your voice trembling slightly, âwhy do you... do all this? For me, I mean.â
He stiffened slightly but didnât look away. âWhy wouldnât I?â he said, his tone defensive, like the answer was obvious. âYouâre important to me.â
The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Your breath caught, and before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He stared at your joined hands, his expression unreadable, before squeezing back.
âYouâre important to me too,â you said softly, the words carrying more weight than you expected.
And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the glow of the city, something between you clicked. There were no fireworks, no dramatic declarations, but as Katsuki leaned in, his forehead brushing gently against yours, you realized you didnât need them. This- his warmth, his presence- was more than enough.
i need to get this out of my head. getting your nails done and getting them a little extra long to surprise your boyfriend kento nanami.
when you show them to him he doesnât take much note of the length, but he compliments the color and design like he always does and brings your hand to his lips, placing little kisses there that make you giggle.
itâs not until youâre underneath him that he realizes just what power these nails have.
you writhing and moaning, cause heâs stretching you open on his thick length so good that it almost hurts. trying to stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your head so you can keep eye contact, while heâs praising you through the whole thing.
his perfect perfect girl.
and then you rake your nails down his back, creating red marks, and kentoâs whole body shudders as he squeezes his eyes shut. his hips stutter before he buries himself deep, shooting hot white ropes of cum, filling you up.
he whines into your ear. a pretty little sound, so far from his usual composed demeanor. it makes you tighten around him, which only aids kento to cum that much harder.
he rides out his high, before he opens his eyes again, and he pants as he mumbles several fumbled apologies.
kento usually never cums before you.
he blinks almost owlishly at you, wondering what sorcery you just pulled on him, cause he swears he just saw the pearly white gates of heaven.
something about your nails, the faint pain mixed with pleasure, the newfound knowledge that thereâs yet another way for you to mark him as yours. he imagines going to work tomorrow, scratch marks hidden underneath his shirt, but heâll know. and so will you.
you swear he almost purrs when you run your fingers through his sweaty blonde hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp, and tell him not to apologize. if anything, you found it hot.
incredibly hot.
(he never asks you to scratch him up again going forward, but whenever youâre fucking, he always makes sure his shirt is off so you have free access.)
(approximately three weeks later he transfers you well over the amount that your nails cost. in the note he just writes âmake sure to get them long againâ)
oh, and if you decide to be a brat about it for even a second. nothing too mean, you swear, just a bresthless giggle and a âaw, ken, did you cum already?â heâll have you flipped around on your tummy within literal seconds.
thick thighs on either side of your own, caging you in, one hand wrapped around both your wrists so he can watch those perfectly manicured nails dig into the soft skin of your palms while youâre fucked into absolute oblivion.
heâll lean over you, and youâll feel his weight on you back, as he pants into your ear.
heâs not the least bit ashamed, by the way. heâs just a firm believer that brats need to be kept in line.
(he spoils you relentlessly nine out of ten times. spoils you rotten, actually. even this punishment could be considered spoiling, because youâre getting exactly what you want.)
youâre drooling onto your pillow and gasping for air. the filthy sound of your gushing cunt fills your bedroom but you have no mind to be embarrassed because youâre, quite frankly, getting your brains fucked out.
at some point you even loose track of how many times youâve cum, as youâre fucked like a doll.
afterwards heâll clean you up and make you food. if heâs feeling extra filthy, though, he wonât clean up your cunt, instead letting you sit on your bed in only a flimsy pair of underwear while the proof of several creampies ruins the fabric.