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If Yuji was asked to describe his girlfriend? There was only one way ⸻ pink, glittery, vanilla scented, pretty.
But don't be fooled. Most men would want a way out. Yuji does not. In fact, if he could be anywhere in the world, he'd choose to be with you.
He is exactly where he wants to be.
"Yuji?" You're sprawled on his bed, watching as he games. It's some dumb fighting game he'd insisted on buying.
"Hm?" He doesn't glance up from the console.
"Do you know where my lipgloss is?"
He immediately abandons his game, clocking into his boyfriend duties. "Which one?"
"The clear gliterry one." You reply, watching as he searches the wrinkles in his duvet, under his pillows, the floor, his desk.
"Have you checked your bag?" He asks as he peers under the bed.
You glance towards your little pink handbag. "No." You frown. Reaching for the bag, you rummage around a bit. "Found it! Thank you, Yuji. You're the best."
He beams at the praise. "Of course, baby." He tosses himself down beside you, watching as you apply the lipgloss.
As the designated taste-tester, once you've coated your soft, juicy lips in shimmering gloss, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours.
You make a small whiney sound in the back of your throat. When he pulls back, your lips are pushed out into a pout.
He licks his lips. Vanilla flavoured. "10/10, baby." He says trying to go in for another taste.
"Stoppp," You giggle, pushing him back. The sound makes him smile.
He is absolutely, undeniably obsessed with you.
"Fine." He relents with a dramatic, mock sigh, rolling over theatrically.
"C'mere." You whine.
The second he rolls to face you, you're on top of him, your thighs on either side of his torso. His hands instinctively find your hips to hold you there. You take his face gently, holding his chin with one hand, as you lean closer, applying the shimmering gloss to his lips. Your breath mingles with his. Yuji stays perfectly still until you're done, then his tongue darts out to lick his glittery lips.
"Yuji!" You huff as he laps up the gloss off his lips. He grins up at you unapologetically.
content: bakugo katsuki, midoriya izuku, todoroki shoto x gn!reader 𖦹 fluff, established relationship, use of pet names, occasional swearing
a/n: couldn't choose a character so here we are
𝜗ৎ BAKUGO KATSUKI
Taking care of a sick Katsuki is actually way easier than anyone would think. It only takes one cold to turn your loud and brash boyfriend into something akin to a docile puppy— quiet, obedient and generally more manageable than his typical explosive self could ever be.
For someone like Katsuki— that thrives on being strong and powerful in every aspect of his life— being forced to stay put is straight up torture. It annoys him to death, but he also knows that, the longer he spends denying himself rest and cure, the longer he's stuck at home in his weakened state.
This means that, for the sake of reaching his top form as fast as he can, he begrudgingly accepts your help— although, of course, not without a normal dose of complaining. After all, it wouldn't be Katsuki otherwise.
"It's been six hours, you should take your medicine again," you say quietly as you step into the dark bedroom. Katsuki has been cooped up in here since morning, claiming that lights and loud noises were making the pounding in his head worse and accentuated the nauseous sensation in the back of his throat.
"Don't tell me what to do," he grumbles from under the covers, only blonde spikes peeking out from the cocoon of blankets he's wrapped in. You snort and shake your head, making your way towards him. The mattress dip under your weight and Katsuki pulls his head out to look at you— and it really is a sight to behold.
His cheeks are flushed, a pretty pink adorning his pale skin. His usually vibrant eyes look hazy, gaze unfocused as he blinks blearily at you, as if trying to focus his sight. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips tugged into a frown and face settled into a scowl that doesn't look nearly as intimidating as he probably wishes.
You have to admit, he actually looks kind of cute— but, for obvious reasons, you’ll keep the thought to yourself for now.
"How are you feeling?" you ask, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature. Katsuki grunts softly, but you catch the way he subtly leans into your touch, seeking the coolness it provides.
"Like shit," he responds gruffly, his voice low and husky.
You hum in understanding and cast him a sympathetic look, moving your hand to cup his face and stroke his cheek with your thumb. A soft exhale slips past his lips and his eyes fall closed as he tilts his face to the side, pressing more firmly against your palm.
"Stop looking at me like that," he murmurs.
"Like what?" you ask, confused. "You can't even see me."
"I don't have to, I know you," Katsuki responds promptly, not bothering to open his eyes yet. "You're probably looking all worried and shit, I can tell. Don't you dare start patronising me now."
You roll your eyes and shake your head. "I'm not patronising you, I'm just taking care of you," you correct him. "And on that note, you should really take your medicine again."
"I'll take it later," he replies, dismissively waving his hand around.
Before you can protest, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you to lie down beside him. His body is hot against your side, legs immediately tangling loosely together underneath the sheets. His hand curls around the dip of your waist, keeping you close as he rests his head on your shoulder.
"Katsuki?"
"Mh," he hums softly, nuzzling into your collarbone. His hand slips underneath your shirt, making contact with the bare skin of your stomach. "Shut up or you'll make my headache worse."
"You know, there's an easier way to stop your headache," you remind him sarcastically— tho you don't try to push him off you. You shift underneath him to make yourself more comfortable and raise your hand to the back of his head, gently carding your fingers through his hair.
"Yeah, yeah. I hear ya," he sighs, moving until he’s almost completely draped over you, with his head pillowed on your chest. A pleased sound rumbles in his throat as your nails sweetly scratch his scalp, making him melt into you.
“Just… give me a few minutes here, then I'll take that damn pill."
𝜗ৎ MIDORIYA IZUKU
When it comes to Izuku, the hard part isn't taking care of him—it's getting him to admit he's sick in the first place. His self sacrificing and people pleasing tendencies have been a part of him since he was a kid, so it's no surprise that his own health comes last in his list of priorities, far behind teaching, hero work and, obviously, you.
The main reason why he won't admit he's under the weather is because he feels like he can't take a step back without disappointing someone. If he's sick, he's forcing you to take care of the house— and him— all by yourself, he's leaving his students unattended and he's not out there to help out if something happens. He'd gladly kneel over before letting any of those things happen.
"Sweetheart, I already told you I'm fine," Izuku sighs, repeating himself for the umpteenth time— although, it's still not enough for you to believe him. After years of dating, you pride yourself in knowing how your boyfriend's feeling with just a look and what you're seeing clearly doesn't scream "fine". He's been sitting at the kitchen table for about half an hour, eyes fixed on the report on his computer. Every now and then, you catch him grimacing and rubbing his temples or his forehead, which lets you know that the "little headache" he insist he has is probably not as insignificant as he made it sound.
"You don't look fine to me, baby," you respond, eyeing him from the seat across from him. Despite never straying away from the screen, his eyes look unfocused and glassy, with that typical shine of illness in them. You get up to check on him, but as you do, your chair scrapes across the floor and you see Izuku wincing and holding the side of his head, then quickly scrambling to act like nothing happened.
"I promise I'm fine, I'm just tired."
Again, you don't buy it for a second. You ignore his excuse and reach for the thermometer to check his temperature. As he clocks what you're about to do, Izuku visibly grows more agitated.
"Ah, baby, there's no need for that," Izuku laughs nervously, plastering a smile on his face— tho it looks far too tight for it to seem genuine. "I'm-"
"Fine, yes. So you've told me," you interrupt him, cocking your head to the side. "Which means you have nothing to worry about. I'm sure your temperature will be fine, but better safe than sorry, right?"
You grin in satisfaction as you see him worrying his lower lip, clearly looking for an excuse not to let you take his temperature but coming up short. He battles with himself for a few moments, before his shoulders deflate and he sighs in defeat. He leans back in his chair and parts his lips, just enough for you to slide the thermometer under his tongue.
You wait for a few seconds before pulling it out and reading the result. "Alright, you definitely have a fever," you comment, shaking your head. Of course you knew he had a fever, you're just shocked he was willing to suffer from it rather than just admitting it.
You glare at him and Izuku has at least the decency to look sheepish. "I swear it isn't that bad..." You raise an eyebrow at him and he sighs. "Okay, fine. It is bad, my head is pounding, but I wanted to finish this report. And I'm almost done, I only need-"
"What you need is medicine and some sleep," you interject firmly, but with a touch of gentleness in your tone. You reach over to close the report page on his computer, earning an halfhearted whine of protest from Izuku— tho he doesn't try to stop you. He doesn't fight you when you brush his curl away from his forehead— he lets out a sigh of relief that you assume is from the contrast between your cold fingers and his scorching hot skin and melts into you, until his face is buried into your stomach.
“Fine, fine," he relents, voice weak. His arms come to wrap around the top of your thighs in a loose embrace— probably because he doesn't have enough strength for a tighter one. "You coming with me?”
“If you want me to," you murmur, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Of course I do. I can't sleep without my favourite pillow," he says softly, nuzzling into your stomach like a cat.
“Very romantic," you reply sarcastically, earning a chuckle and a light squeeze from your boyfriend. “Come on, let’s get you rested up.”
𝜗ৎ TODOROKI SHOTO
Everyone in your inner circle knows that Shoto is touch starved. His clinginess towards you has always been the object of undeterred teasing whenever the two of you went out— his attention never wanders far from you for too long and there's always a point of touch between you, let it be a hand on your thigh underneath the table or his arm resting on the back of your chair.
What most people don't know, however, is that his clinginess gets ten times worse when he's sick— maybe even more. All of a sudden, you can’t move to another room without hearing a pair of extra steps immediately trailing after you.
“Sho, baby, I told you to stay in bed,” you sigh softly, feeling a familiar weight draped over your back. Shoto’s arms wrap around your waist from behind like vines, holding you close to his chest as if to merge your bodies together.
He whines softly against your neck, aggressively nuzzling his face into your shoulder. “You abandoned me,” he murmurs, and you can clearly hear the pout in his voice.
You chuckle softly and shake your head at the accusations. “I didn’t abandon you. I told you to wait for me while I made you some soup,” you reply, nodding at the simmering pot on the stove— the one that’s been heating up for barely five minutes before Shoto came looking for you.
Shoto spares it nothing but a fleeting glance before burying his face back in the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. “Still left me alone,” he protests. “I don’t need soup, I only need you.”
You’re thankful he can’t see the blush adorning your cheeks or the way your lips curl into a little grin at his words. Despite the years spent together, Shoto’s bluntness still catches you off guard at times— in the best way possible, of course.
“As sweet as that is, you need to get some food in your stomach,” you remind him softly, raising your hand to lightly caress his knuckles. Shoto lets you at first, then flexes his fingers to intertwine them through yours, holding your hand over your stomach.
“Okay,” he says softly, his voice raspy as a result of the cold he’s still suffering from. “But can we go back to bed later? I felt better when we were cuddling.”
“Sure we can,” you reassure him. “I just need to quickly swing by the pharmacy-“
“No.”
You knew this was going to happen. You sigh and shake your head. “Shoto, we’re out of cough syrup and medicine for your cold. I need to go buy some.”
“Why are you so eager to leave me?” Shoto whines softly, letting you know he’s beginning to sulk again— if he ever stopped in the first place, that is. “Just get it delivered or call someone to bring it here.”
“Shoto-“
“I’m sick,” he interrupts you. “You shouldn’t leave a sick person alone. What if something happens?”
“Baby, you have a cold. You’re not dying.” As you speak, Shoto raises his head from your shoulder to give you a look— and it’d be a lie to say your heart doesn’t skips a beat at the cute sight he makes. The tip of his nose is red and his cheeks are flushed, while his eyes are wide and pleading as he looks up at you.
"Please?" he whispers, in a voice so soft it tugs at your heartstrings— you know he's doing it on purpose, the damn manipulator. "Stay with me..."
Your resolve crumbles and you can only exhale and nod your head. Pleased with your acceptance, Shoto buries his head back in your neck and you feel a smile pressed against your skin. "Thank you. You're the best."
can you please do megumi takes care of you while you’re sick!! 🤗
boyfriend!megumi who internally goes crazy when he sees your empty seat in lecture hall. He quickly takes out an extra paper to take notes for you.
boyfriend!megumi who takes a quick photo of the notes you missed and sends it to you. He hesitates before sending; Where are you??
boyfriend!megumi who shows up to your dorm livid when you don't reply to the message in a few minutes. His arms are filled with snacks he'd gotten with Yuji from the broken down vending machine across campus.
boyfriend!megumi who sighs when you open the door—your body slumped between a comfy blanket, tissue boxes scattered around your room, your eyes low as you rubbed them and yawned.
Boyfriend!Megumi who teases you for being weak enough to catch a cold as he lightly pats your head with a cold towel to ease your fever.
Boyfriend!Megumi who refuses to leave your side as he lays next to you despite your protests.
"Get off me—you're going to get sick" You whined as you squirmed beneath his grasp, exasperation etching through your groggy voice.
Megumi only brought your body closer at that. " 'Don't care." he mumbled quietly as he wrapped himself beside you in your messy bed. He gently placed a hand on your lower back—rubbing soothing circles on your heated skin.
Boyfriend!Megumi who helps you study as you sit at your desk, using the little energy you have left.
Boyfriend!Megumi who watches you eat all the snacks he brought while he fixes something up for the two of you.
Boyfriend!Megumi who walks back towards your bedroom with his hands full, only to find you softly snoring on the bed.
Boyfriend!Megumi who presses a soft kiss to your forehead before joining you quietly.
summary: a sparring session with kirishima gets a little out of hand, and being the only medic able to deal with katsuki bakugou, you’re left with the aftermath.
content: fluff + SMUT - mdni ! boxer!bkg + medic!reader. kiri feature! blood & injury. feelings!!! tension. lots of banter. clear consent. semi-public. making out. thigh riding. slight marking / hickeys. fondling. titty sucking. fingerfucking. cum eating. bkg does not get off but he is fine w that. there is a quite a bit of build up before the smut lol. wc: 5.2k.
note: #needthat
masterlist. | header art credit: @ ami_ranthao on tiktok !
In the ring, he came alive. An absolute powerhouse, brute force and flawless technique bleeding together to create Katsuki Bakugou, one of the best up and coming boxers of your time. Everyone was a little enamored— a perfect face paired with such a vulgar tongue, an ego backed with the skill to match.
His win-or-nothing attitude led him to the top, but also caused complications with his medical staff. A few too many outbursts had scared them into backing down, allowing him to keep pushing despite his injuries.
Until you were hired a few months ago.
The first day you were assigned to him, the other medics had either snickered or grimaced, having each had their own share of bad luck with him. It seemed to be some rite of passage among them. When you met him, you understood exactly what the others had meant. There was enough fire behind that stare to send anyone skittering away.
But, to their surprise, you had returned back in one piece, with a perfectly bandaged Katsuki trailing behind you; glowering, with something like an irritated smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but tended to.
You were the only medic that could handle him.
Which is why you were spending your Saturday evening with your knees drawn to your chest on a bench at the edge of the boxing gym as he sparred with his close friend, and fellow boxer, Eijirou Kirishima.
The sound of their collective panting filled the air, the thud of fists against skin echoing off the walls as they tested each other.
Quick jabs, hits to the ribs; it was push and pull as they were nearly on equal ground, two decorated professionals with national titles.
You had to keep a close eye— track his movements to take note of any injuries, run over how exactly you would deal with each one. It was your job to.
But, admittedly, you found your gaze wandering against your will lately. More often than you wanted to admit.
It was difficult to ignore the way his biceps flexed with each jab, how soft blond tufts fell over his face, stuck to the sweat lining his forehead, the low hang of his boxing shorts highlighted his abs straining with each motion.
"Fuck!"
The sharp curse broke your trance, eyes snapping up, immediately alert.
Eijirou's hands flew over his mouth, his fighter's stance softening, hesitant hands reaching out towards his friend whose head was angled down, fighting to not reel.
"Woah, man, I am so sorry—"
Katsuki slapped his hand away, wiping at the blood beginning to drip down his nose with the back of his hand, unyielding eyes meeting Eijirou's.
"Keep it goin', Shitty Hair. And you,"
He didn't bother to look at you as you approached, keeping his burning stare on his opponent while waving you off with a harsh motion of his free hand. "Get back."
His bite was nothing new. You didn't bother to fight the eye roll, stepping closer to assess the extent of the damage. "Don't be dumb. Let me look."
"You deaf or something? Beat it."
More blood trickled down, coming over the curve of his lip. You had worked with Katsuki long enough to know that he pushed himself until he was battered, had nothing left to give.
Your job was to keep that from happening.
With a sigh, you grabbed him by the crook of his elbow.
"You are gushing blood. Come on—"
"Get your fuckin' hands off me, you piece of—"
"Again, don't be dumb—"
Eijirou blinked between the two of you, watching as you wrestled to keep Katsuki's arm in your grip, ineffectively attempting to drag him away. With a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, he began to take backwards steps towards the bench where he kept his water, knowing there was little else he could do in this situation.
"I'm gonna take five. Go with her, man."
Feeling Katsuki's resistance give in just enough, you tugged him towards the med bay, giving Eijirou a grateful look over your shoulder. You hoped he didn't feel too guilty. Sparring was never supposed to get this intense, after all. But, mistakes happened.
You offered soft apologies under your breath to the few nurses on the same late shift as you were with a tight smile as you rushed past them to guide him into the room at the very back, shutting the door behind you.
It was just you two now.
Katsuki was still panting, worked up from the fight. There was probably enough adrenaline in his system to keep him from feeling the real pain of his affliction.
You pushed him back onto the bed against the wall to your right with a hand over his chest, feeling the warm muscle rise up and down under your palm before you turned to rummage through the cabinet, fishing out a medical kit with a crease forming between your brows.
"Are you trying to get yourself put on medical leave before your match next week?"
He didn't say a word, only the sound of his heavy breathing filling the room as you felt his glare against your back.
You sighed.
"Right before I get off too..."
"Yeah," He scoffed, a mocking edge to his voice. "'Cause I did that shit on purpose."
"You kept pushing. That was stupid and you know it, the best athletes know when to call it quits."
Katsuki scoffed, his jutted lower lip pursing as you set down the kit beside him, opening it up to fish out some gauze. "Maybe we should get you in the ring. Since you're such an expert."
You pushed his thighs apart with an unimpressed look, standing between them to get as close as you could.
A hand went behind his neck, gently tilting his head down so the blood wouldn't trickle back into his nose, go down his throat.
You carefully pinched the sides of his nose bridge to stop the blood flow, wiping away at what had escaped with clean gauze.
“You love making my life harder,” you muttered under your breath. “Can’t you just admit I'm right? Say you’ll be more careful?”
“The day I say that shit you can put a gun to my head.”
You rolled your eyes, but he continued.
"I don't say shit I don't mean," he sighed out, abs flexing as he winced slightly. “If your meddling ass didn't get in the way, I would've won.”
“Or you would've gotten your ass beat, but whatever.”
“I've had worse. A fucked up nose is nothing."
"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" you raised a brow, getting a new piece of gauze. "You never know when to stop, Katsuki. That's your issue."
The room settled into silence only the hum of the AC, your shifting, and the quiet, reluctant winces that slipped past as you tended to him.
His eyes never left you.
Sometimes, you wondered why.
Why he allowed you to treat him, why he let you get close. But you shook yourself out of those thoughts, reaching down to grab an ice pack. No time to get sidetracked, not now. Especially on something that was very likely nothing.
"Bleeding stopped."
He didn't respond, eyes downcast as you alternated between pressing it to either side of his nose bridge.
When he finally spoke, his words were quick. Quiet.
"I was going for his blind spot."
Said like he had to explain himself to you, or maybe himself.
But he didn't have to. You knew that his slip ups were extremely rare, he never made the same mistake twice— he beat himself up over every error, obsessed over earned perfection, victory.
His high standards for himself were what got him so far, but you knew they got to him. That, quietly, he sometimes needed reassurance, like anyone would.
“I know you were.” you finally responded, voice gentle, without pity.
"Eijirou's right side was open and he was getting tired. That was the right move. You would've gotten him."
He blinked down at you, as if assessing your honesty before a slight smile touched his lips. He gripped the edge of the small bed a little tighter, leaning down closer.
"Knew you were starin'."
Your heart jumped in your chest, but you pushed it down.
"Well, that is my job."
"It's your job to watch for injuries. Not stare."
You couldn't help what came out of your mouth next.
"Maybe I was staring at Eijirou."
"You think you're so funny."
"I think your ego's inflated."
"Wanna say that again?"
You pressed the ice a little too harshly into the side of his nose, drawing a small groan from him.
"Save it, Katsuki."
You packed up your kit and gathered the bloodied gauze to throw away, rinsing your hands before coming back to assess your work.
Blood clean, no signs of continued bleeding. A small bruise forming under his right eye from the trauma, expected.
It took everything in you to ignore the weight of his eyes, how he looked at you with an intensity reserved for his opponents in the ring. Calculating, searching. You could feel the burn crawling up the back of your neck. Professional, keep it professional.
You nodded a little too quickly, turning on your heel. "Yep, all good. No more sparring, but you can go back now."
He tugged you by the back of your shirt collar before you got too far, pulling you back between his legs, face only inches away from yours.
"You don't want that."
The sudden proximity along with his words made your heart spike, as if caught.
What did you want? The question made you uneasy.
(Or, maybe it was the answer that you knew deep down that made you want to crawl out of your skin.)
You pushed back slightly, deflecting.
“I want you to see Dr. Tanaka as soon as you can. I'll make an appointment for tomorrow morning since he left for the day. I think your nose is broken.”
“No it's not.”
It wasn't. If it had been broken, you would've known from one look, you would have been angrier with him. But that was your out, your excuse to get away. And he had called your bluff, gaze unmoving.
"Don't play dumb right now."
“I'm not playing dumb." the words came snappy, brave; but you were just so close, that fire faltered. His hand that had gripped the back of your collar had shifted carefully to the front, so close to your neck that you were afraid he might feel your heart try to burst out of your throat.
"You're just…" you trailed off, struggling to find your words. "…difficult. You're being difficult.”
"Difficult?" a dry sort of laugh. "You're the difficult one. For someone smart you can be pretty fuckin' dense."
You bit the inside of your lower lip, eyes darting between him and the door.
You knew what he meant. This back and forth between you was nothing new. But when it got too real you had always gotten away, said something and acted like nothing had happened once you cooled down.
The sounds outside seemed to be getting louder, closer. These doors didn’t have locks. Anyone could come in, find you like this. One of the nurses checking in, a gym goer looking for band-aids.
“Or maybe you do know. Hm?”
The question pulled you from your thoughts in an instant, made your eyes snap to his— first mistake. Once his crimson stare bored into yours, you couldn’t look away.
Could you have been that obvious? You thought your moments of distraction were fleeting, imperceptible to the average eye.
He had never commented on it before, slipping back to his normal self even after your closest calls.
But you should’ve known better. Katsuki Bakugou was not average in any sense of the word.
(Of course, he noticed. Of course he did.)
You sputtered something before you could think, just wanting to hear something other than the sound of your own thoughts.
"Some…someone could—"
"No one's gonna come in." his voice flat, dismissal easy. All matter of fact as he craned his neck down closer to you.
"Unless you want Eijirou to come in. Since you were, what, staring at him, right? That what you want?"
"What?!" the word was almost a squeak, high and taken aback. "That's not— "
You fought the strange heat crawling up your face by shooting him a look, eyes narrowing.
"Katsuki. I was joking."
He hummed.
(Unbelieving? Amused? A bit of both?)
"Sure you were."
You opened your mouth, then closed it. The deflections that had once come so easy were heavy on your tongue. There was no joke, no eye roll, nothing you could say to slip away. Not this time.
You sighed, next words defeated.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to be real with me." you could feel his breath against your lips; hot, charged. "Tell me you don’t want this, that you haven't thought about it.”
“Katsuki…”
It came out weaker than you wanted. Small, kind of breathless. Almost pleading.
For what— to let you go?
(To keep going?)
He kept egging, eyes not once leaving yours. “Say it. I'll stop.”
And you knew he would. Because he was being serious, you could tell by his voice— how it was low under his breath, softened.
For you, he was being intentionally careful.
Just the thought made you want to cave. But the entire reason your relationship worked, why you were able to handle him, was because you didn't give in.
"There are rules about this sort of thing—"
"You think I give a fuck about bullshit rules?"
"Yeah, I know you don't." you gave him a look. "But I do. I could lose my job, you could get me fired, or…"
You swallowed back the rest of it.
He didn't have to know how it made you afraid, testing the fragile nature of this relationship. How giving in meant that all of this could shatter, that this could all amount to one big mistake.
Katsuki blinked, taking in your expression. He looked off to the side for a beat, lips pursing in thought before, carefully, he took your hands into his.
"You know I won't let that happen. I don't see any of the other shitty medics here."
You snorted a little. Because you did know. You cocked your head to the side, a small smile tugging at your lips. "They're not shitty."
He didn't retaliate, just raised his brows slowly. The truth of his words wasn't what mattered, it was the implication behind them.
(You're the one I see. You.)
His earlier words rang in your ears.
Tell me you don't want this, that you haven't thought about it.
You couldn't, because you had.
Countless times— whenever you watched him hover over his opponents, keep them locked underneath him, the heat in his eyes, a cocky smile on his lips.
He wormed his way into your mind, more often than not, late at night. When sleep couldn't find you and your bed felt exceptionally cold. Empty.
(Him. You imagined him.)
Denying all of that was exactly what you should have done. That would have been the rational thing to do, the smart thing.
But as you traced his face, followed the soft curve of his cheeks against the otherwise harsh lines, watched the furrow of his brow deepen ever so slightly, as if he, of all people, was nervous— you couldn't fight the feeling anymore.
Because you wanted to kiss him, and you wanted him to kiss you— more than anything.
Hesitantly, you brushed your thumbs over the bruises on his knuckles.
“No, I… I do. Want this, I mean."
Something in his expression shifted. Surprise, for a brief second, before that cocky gleam in his eyes that you had seen when he was in-action settled over his face. Only, a little different. (A little sharper, hungrier.)
"Yeah?" he pushed closer, nose just barely brushing yours. "You want this?"
Slowly, you nodded.
"Yes."
His gaze darted from your eyes and lips before the sliver of space between you finally disappeared.
The kiss was tentative, careful. So unlike him that it caught you a little off guard.
Soft. His lips were so soft against yours.
He kissed you like he was trying to figure out the shape of your lips, go slow enough to savor the moment, commit the feeling to memory. The hand near your collar came up to cup your jaw, angle your face just right.
You had thought about what this would feel like for longer than you would ever admit. Did he think of you the same way? Were you what he had expected?
When he pulled back just enough to breathe, he drank in your expression; your pretty lips plush and parted, wide doe-eyes blinking up at him.
He groaned, "Fuck it."
You yelped when calloused hands gripped your arms, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, thick biceps flexing as he pulled you down to straddle his thigh.
You planted your hands on his chest to steady yourself on instinct, unable to process it for a second. Your thighs were around his leg, his hands at your waist, holding you in a way you had only ever thought would exist in the secret fantasies you let yourself indulge in. The small bed creaking under your combined weight. His chest rising and falling under your palms.
Sometimes, you forgot how strong he actually was. How he wasn’t just some other annoying, short-tempered guy— his body was molded to his profession; brute strength and jagged lines carved from a life in the ring. His shoulders broad, a tapering waist, arms nearly the size of your head. He could probably pick you up and snap you in half if he really wanted to. Your stomach flipped at just the thought.
Before you could open your mouth to speak, he flexed the muscle of his thigh; deliberate, testing. Sharp eyes watching as your face flushed at his bare muscle pressing up against your core.
Your breath hitched, warmth pooled down between your legs, heart beating in your ears as his large hands slid down to rest over your hips, holding you steady— pulling you down closer.
"Feel good?"
Your ears burned at the mocking edge to his voice. You squirmed, caught between wanting to slap that smug look off his face and slowly seek more friction by grinding down.
You didn't have to choose, not when his hands slowly guided your hips down, back and forth against his hardened muscle. You bit your bottom lip between your teeth, clearly embarrassed, ineffectively fighting the whimpers that threatened to slip past with each movement.
His gaze never once left you, taking note of every little reaction.
Heat crawled up your face at being watched so shamelessly.
Leaning forward, you distracted yourself by pressing soft kisses up the side of his throat, staring to grind down on him yourself, your tongue darting out before gently sucking soft marks into his skin.
He let out a strained sigh, tilting his neck back just enough to give you more access.
You hooked your arms loosely around his neck, pecking across his jaw. Your fingers curled into the hair at his nape, giving it a soft tug, pulling his head back so his eyes met yours.
Pupils blown, eyes heavy with want, hair falling over them all messy and disheveled.
You didn't know how you had gone so long without this, how you could have ever wanted to keep your distance. Now that you let yourself have a taste, you didn't think you could ever get enough.
Tugging him to you by the hair, you pulled him to kiss you again.
This time, it was feverish, insatiable. Months of tension and denied desire pouring over all at once.
He kissed like he was still chasing you; like he had something to prove, like he wanted you to feel that you were his favorite taste. A clash of tongue and teeth, nipping at your bottom lip. Each time he pulled back to breathe it lasted less than a beat before he rushed back to steal the soft sounds that slipped past your lips as your hips continued to buck against his thigh.
But the fabric, it was in the way. No matter how hard you grinded down on him, there was too much between you and what you wanted, and the frustration was showing. Your slight sighs turning into small huffs, brows pinching against your will.
The next time Katsuki pulled back, you didn't let him kiss you again. The small string of saliva between your lips broke as you spoke, softly panting. "I want 'em off."
He looked down at your request, pinching the fabric of your pants between his index and thumb. Eyes looking up into yours carefully, like he was uncertain if that was something you really wanted.
You nodded, a little frantic.
"Off. Please."
He got straight to it. Getting them off wasn't pretty, but a controlled sort of desperate.
His movements were precise as always, fairly smooth, but you could feel that something was simmering under his palms as he moved you around to get them off just right, even more so when they finally rested over your bare legs, eyes slightly dazed as he gave the flesh a tentative squeeze.
You bit your lip at the feeling, skin burning under his touch, wanting it all over you.
You glanced down at your shirt.
"This too."
He scoffed, but there was something like a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Fuckin' bossy."
His hands slid under the hem, bunching the fabric up over your chest, too impatient to get it all the way off. He reached back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as he took in the shape of your bare chest, the way your nipples hardened at the cool air of the clinic.
For a beat too long, he just stared.
On instinct, you wondered if something was wrong, if there was something about you that was weird or unappealing, the feeling twisted in you. But before you could tug your shirt back down, he cupped your tits with both hands, feeling the weight of them, squeezing slightly.
"Been waiting for this shit for so fuckin' long, y'know that?" He groaned out, leaning forward to bury his face into them.
You whimpered as he pressed wet kisses across the skin, thumb brushing over one of your nipples while his tongue lolled out to lick over the other, sucking it between his lips.
You began grinding down on his thigh again, the feeling so much more intense with just your panties on. You shifted your hips to find the angle that felt best, rubbing yourself down against the hard muscle of his thigh beneath you, solid and perfect, the friction sending sparks up your spine, your breaths coming out in shallow pants.
Each roll of your hips made your breath come a little faster, especially as his mouth pulled off one of your tits to give the other a fair share of attention.
Your nails dug into his shoulders when he nipped at your chest, sucking harshly, catching your sensitive peak between his teeth just to hear you whine. His tongue was hot against your skin, wet and needy.
Katsuki could feel your arousal starting to coat his thigh, soaking through your panties, smearing over his leg with every drag of your hips. Smiling against your chest, he pulled back with a soft pop, looking down at the glistening mess you left behind.
He moved a hand down between your bodies, slightly nudging your hips up with his leg to give him enough space in between to feel you over your panties, the fabric evidently damp as his index and middle finger stopped right above your clothed clit, pressing against it just slightly, enough to pull a shaky sigh from your lips.
"All this from just my thigh?"
There was a smug, slightly demeaning tone to his voice, like he was surprised you were so wet, as if it wasn't his fault. It made you want to throttle him. Or kiss him. Or both.
Your brows furrowed. "Shut up."
He only chuckled, drawing a line down your clothed slit. All slow, agonizing. Self-satisfied at the soft whimper that slips out of you.
"It's a simple fucking question. Haven't even touched you properly yet."
You huffed, mustering your most serious expression to meet his eyes. "God, just quit teasing, Katsuki. You're being mean."
He raised his brows, that smile on his face only widening. "You think this is mean?"
Finally, finally, he hooked his fingers into your panties, pushing them aside. The first touch, skin-on-skin, made you gasp. He dragged his fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, slow and deliberate, before circling your entrance.
"I can show you mean."
His eyes were locked between your legs, watching his own fingers move. "Look at you," he murmured, almost to himself. “Fucking soaked."
He pushed one finger inside, slow enough that you felt every inch. You whimpered softly, walls fluttering around him.
He groaned softly, watching your face contort, feeling himself get even harder in his shorts.
"Tight," he breathed. "Gonna add another. That okay?"
You nodded frantically, beyond words.
The second finger stretched you more, made you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning too loud. He worked them deeper, curling them slightly. Your chest heaved at the intrusion you fought to not cry out, your nails digging into his shoulder as he hit just the right spot.
"There?" His voice was rough, satisfied. "That the spot?"
You couldn't respond, forehead falling into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he curled his fingers again, rubbing that soft patch inside you with devastating precision.
Once he found it, he didn't stop, pumping his fingers in and out, hitting it with precision each time.
You grinded down into his hand, feeling the heel of his palm press up against your clit. You chase the feeling, shameless. Lost in the sensation, the overwhelming feeling of him all around you.
You mumbled into the skin of his neck incoherently about how you were: "Almost… 'm gonna…"
You could hear his voice right by your ear. Hoarse, determined.
“Yeah?” his efforts nearly doubled. “Close?”
You could only nod, coherent thoughts gone from your mind, only a desperate haze of want.
"Yeah. Yes. Please, please more…"
He kept at it, silently savoring your desperate sounds.
You wrapped your arms tight around his neck, moans muffled into his skin as the tightly wound up knot came undone. Your breaths getting heavy in your lungs, head getting fuzzy, eyes fluttering shut, nails having left angry red lines down the skin of his upper back.
He ran a hand up and down your back as you collapsed against him, coming down from the high. He let you rest against him, breathing from a moment before pulling you back with a small kiss to the side of your head.
"Look at me."
It didn't sound like a request.
"Hm?"
You watched with hazy eyes as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, the loss making you whimper. They glistened under the harsh light of the clinic, coated with the evidence of what he'd just done to you.
He held your gaze as he brought them to his mouth. His tongue darted out first, licking a long strip up the slick-covered fingers. Then, he took them fully into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes never once leaving yours.
Your breath caught in your throat. Heat flooded through you again, despite having just come. Tasting you off his own fingers like you were the best thing he'd ever had— it was almost too much.
When he finally pulled his fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, he smirked at your expression.
"Tastes good," he said simply, like commenting on the weather.
You clenched around nothing, already missing him inside you, feeling spent but somehow needing more.
"You're shameless."
"Last I checked, I wasn't the one humping your thigh."
Your face burned, a small, angry sort of pout settling on your lips.
He snickered, hand sliding up to your waist, giving it a small squeeze. "Little too late to get all embarrassed. Shit was hot."
"Uh huh…" You gave him a look, "Um. Thanks, by the way... that was—" You trailed off, not knowing how to express what you feel just the right way. "Good. It was good."
Katsuki snorted. "Just good?" you rolled your eyes, but leaned into his teasing with sweetness, something he didn't quite expect.
"Much better than good."
He searched your eyes for a beat, a hand coming up to brush back some of your hair. Then he pecked your lips— soft, almost sweet — before tugging your shirt back down carefully.
That was when you slowly realized, he was wrapping this up. But… he didn't cum?
He didn't cum.
"Hey, wait you didn't—"
He knew what you were talking about, the strained bulge in his shorts was nothing short of obvious.
"Does it look like I care."
His dismissal of his own need threw you off.
"Katsuki, that's not fair. I can't just—"
"Sure you can. You just did."
You turned his head towards you, pulling him into a soft kiss, parting his lips with yours, trying to not get lost in tasting yourself on his tongue. Gently trying to urge him to let you have him the way he had you.
You try to convince him, urge him to let you return the favor, do something.
You ran your hand over the bulge in his shorts, traced it gently, wanting. He groaned against your mouth, the sound strained in the back of his throat, like he was holding himself back. "C'mon, Katsuki," you palmed him over his shorts, wanting to hear more. "Let me? Please?"
He looked like he could give in, his jaw tense, eyes screwing shut as your finger hooked into the waistband of his shorts, drawing out a breathy sigh. You froze when the intercom crackled above you.
"The gym will be closing in ten minutes. Please begin wrapping up your sessions and make your way to the exit. Thank you."
You blinked. Fuck.
"…I can be quick?"
That was a lie. Ten minutes wasn't nearly enough time to do what you wanted to.
He waved you off with a snort, tugging your hand away from his throbbing cock, taking it upon himself to adjust the hem of your shirt with more care than you thought possible from someone like him.
"Relax." He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Shit’s not a big deal. Can take care of it in the shower."
The mental image of him standing under the shower, hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about this — you — made something low in your stomach tighten.
You must have made a face, because he huffed out a laugh.
"But if you want to make it up so bad," He leaned in closer, nose brushing yours. The soft curve of his lashes was so much more apparent this close. He pressed a final, lingering kiss, grinning softly as he spoke. His voice low against your lips, promising. "We'll go for round 2."
may blabs: baby's first smut dont throw tomatoes at me.. ok
btw if u ever genuinely have a bloody nose do NOT tilt your head back. that blood will go down your throat and if it gets into ur stomach u could throw up and that is not good so do NOT do that ✌️✌️
big special thank u to the mutuals ( @updownandbatty & @cupidkats & @hushedlotus ) AND irls i bothered w this fic… u are goated ❤️🩹
again, art in the header is not mine, credits to the artist !!!
taglist: @nanakamii 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ :
masterlist ★ taglist form ★ want to send in a request?
your boyfriend kento’s patience is something that can’t be easily overcome. even when you open your mouth to spew nonsense collected from your doomscrolling sessions.
really, he should be used to it by now — and part of him is — but he sometimes finds himself in a state of utter confusion when you… speak?
it’s always unexpected, too.
you both are standing in the kitchen, kento pestering you about drinking more water.
“honey, please, i don’t want you to be dehydrated” he mutters, pouring you a glass.
“son im crine.”
…
“excuse me?”
that’s a pretty tame example, though.
you both are walking down the stairs, and your darling boyfriend accidentally trips a little.
you sigh, “so much aura loss.”
he blankly stares at you, watching as you continue to walk down the stairs without a second thought.
“i nearly fell.”
“period, king.”
he’s trying to have a normal conversation with you.
“are you hungry, my love?”
“lowkenuienlly.”
he just sighs and says: “im not sure what that means.”
but what really threw him off is when you were texting.
it was innocent, at first, you missed kento while he was at work! so, you asked for a selfie of your pretty lover.
“can u send a pic i miss u so muchhhhh.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
instead of responding normally to his very cute picture, you say:
“GIVE ME THAT DICK😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭IM FUCKING HORNYYYY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I MEAN HUNGRYYYYYYYYYYYY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭GET ME MY FUCKING PLATEEEE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭”
you can only imagine the disturbed look on his face when he reads your text, how amusing it must be.
ten minutes pass before he finally responds:
“I regret texting you during a meeting.”
nonetheless, he tries to adapt to your strange lingo!
“you look cooked.” he says playfully, meaning to compliment you.
“excuse me? you think i look cooked?” you gasp, shaking your head in disbelief.
“what, isn’t that a good thing? you said earlier you "cooked" with your makeup—“ he tries to defend his case, genuinely confused.
“no, ken, you don’t say i LOOK cooked you could say—“
you sigh, shaking your head again at your seemingly defeated boyfriend.
“just forget it.”
you walk away, mumbling under your breath:
“unc.”
don’t worry, kento will get it eventually… hopefully…
SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ After months of cold shoulder from your boyfriend, the relationship finally comes to an end when a Reddit post spiraled into your best friend’s orbit, and the poster? Your own boyfriend. The embarrassment and shame brought onto your name began tumbling when he thinks you will come back —like you always do, he quotes— to him. However, this time your best friend had a plan in mind to prove your snobbish ex-boyfriend wrong. To set you up with her friend . . . Who is also going through a messy break up scenario of his own.
PAIRING ᯓ★ nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader
TAGS ᯓ★ does not follow the original jjk plot . suggestive content . no smut (it is implied that gojo and the reader had sex, but will not be described) . gojo and the reader are in their 20s . pokemon lover gojo . gojo is a middle school student teacher . cursing . mentions of sex . naoya cameo . romcom stuff . fake dating . mentions of cheating (not done by gojo or the reader) . shoko cameo . suguru cameo . loneliness . slow updates
After that stressful commission, you had plastered the word “commision closed” a few days ago; needing a little rest from the anxiousness that client gave you. Frankly, dealing with annoying clients would be part of your everyday life as an artist, and you know that it’s indubidable —especially with a job that requires you to communicate one on one. You just hoped that your next one wouldn’t be as harsh as the last one.
For the past few days you have been actively uploading back on your social media, gaining back the engagement you lost while you worked on your commission. In most occassions, you wouldn’t have mind at all, but since the client was a total one star experience. You hated the fact that you lost engagement for her.
And honestly? That was all you’ve been doing. Minus the ‘no time to eat dinner or get lunch part’. You did get your servings of protein and minerals that you needed —as much as you hated keeping up with it, you weren’t planning on dying just yet. Not until that jerk Naoya gets a taste of his own medicine.
Along the days, you’d recognize a familiar account lurking by your social media. There was only one person named Satoru Gojo that you know. No profile, followers count barely reaching one hundred, a following list equivalent to the population of Chippubatsu, Hokkaido, and no pictures available. Not even the profile picture was filled in.
Shoko followed the account, and it confirmed your suspicion on it being Satoru. So, you nonchalantly followed him back. It had been at least a week, and the account —spelled @gosatoru— had liked 3 pictures of your art from 3 years prior.
At first, you thought that he might have accidentally pressed on it while he was stalking. But, when the second like pops up, you began second-guessing. Maybe he is stalking, although it has been radio silence from his side and yours. Why not intercept that?
The number one principle you have always tell yourself to do is that you’d rather wait for someone than keep them waiting —it’s professional. Well, you figured it was just polite especially when you were meeting Shoko’s friend for the first time planned. All the other meetings with Satoru have gone unplanned and . . . it had been short, so you didn’t have to think of what sorts of conversation the two of you were going to do.
I feel like throwing up. You chanted softly, your hands clamped shut over the cold glass of iced coffee. The time reads 15.10, you had arrived here five minutes ago and ordered a cup of coffee to ease your nerves. Ever since he asked you for coffee the other day, you had been . . . quite nervous. “Quite nervous” is actually an understatement. If there was a word to describe the fact that you barely caught any sleep nor the smile that managed to pop up once in a while when you were laying down on bed, then that would be it.
“You’re early, I left work early so I would be first. But, seems like you beat me to it,” the familiar voice pokes at you.
And there he stood. A formal white colored button up shirt tightly shaping his biceps, rolle dup a couple of times, the bundled sleeves sitting right just above the crook of his elbow. He held onto his backpack, sitting down across from you, “Have you been waiting long here?”
You shook your head, “I just came five minutes ago.”
“I tried being early, and you were earlier,” he chuckled, nervously rubbing on his head.
You answered him, suppressing the smile from pulling wider, “I figured it’s just courtesy to show up early when we actually plan to meet for the first time alone,” Satoru raised a brow, nodding his head sheepishly, “but seriously, I’ve just sat down for five minutes.”
“My apologies for being late then.”
“Our designated time is fifteen-thirty, we’re both early,” if this was Naoya, he’d show up fifteen minutes late and tell you that you were being dramatic over a little range of time. But why were you comparing the two anyways? Naoya couldn’t compete where he don’t compare, “thank you for trying to come early though. I would have expected you to come later, especially since you’re a teacher . . . I guessed that you would have to stay back for sudden faculty meetings or student meetings.”
“Ah, yes. That happens a lot, today is just one of the days where it’s pretty peaceful, I’m surprised too,” he shrugs, eyeing the menu, “do you come here with Shoko often?”
You nodded. The café where she first intertwined your life with Satoru’s —the same day she told him about the plan, and the same day he declined blatantly to both of your faces, “She found the place though, apparently it’s been her usual since . . . Forever. I’m not surprised, the coffee they serve is pretty strong. That woman practically lives on coffee.”
“Yeah, not surprised. Med field? I’m surprised she’s only surviving on coffee too,” Satoru grins. His eyes panned to you briefly before it averts down to your bag on the seat next to yours, “hey, you like Pokemon?”
You laugh, “No, I bought it during a convention bevause I love the art style. This was . . . Maybe three years ago? Four-ish? Around that time, yeah,” his fingers touched the soft acrylic material of your keychain, “actually, I think Ieiri did mention that you love Pokemon. I know a thing or two about Pokemon, what’s your favorite Pokemon?”
Satoru’s eyes lit up at the question, he pushes up his glasses, “Me? It’s Popplio. And Popplio’s whole evolution,” he excitedly carried his backpack onto his lap, showcasing the pins and keychains of —you guessed— Popplio and it’s whole evolution, “your keychain is Rowlett. A starter Pokemon just like Popplio. That’s why I was surprised.”
Satoru’s mood seemed to brighten at the mention of his hyperfixation. His arm leaning on the table, right above the menu book that was left forgotten the second his eyes landed on your keychain. His body leaning slightly closer, and you chuckled, “I got a commission once to draw someone’s OC as a Pokemon trainer, I think the Pokemon they chose was . . . What is it? The starter. Shit, I actually forgot,” your finger tapped on the table in distress, trying to remember the name of the small monster, “well, it’s fire type. I remember them asking for me to draw flames and stuff, the monster is a light yellow, it looks like a fox. Orange fur thing coming out of it’s ears. White snout area . . . I just can’t pinpoint it’s name.”
“Fennekin?”
Your eyes lit up, nodding, “That’s it. Fennekin!”
Satoru’s palm curled into an excited fist, his body was practically trembling in joy, “I love Fennekin too. It’s a starter, you got that right. It’s actually inspired by a Fennec Fox. Isn’t that cool? I think the whole yellow and orange gave it out, Fennekin is famous for it too,” his lips moved quickly, the word flew out before Satoru could stop himself. Once he was done, he sheepishly rubbed against his arm, “sorry, I get excited when I can talk about my likes to someone who don’t mind listening. I hope.”
You didn’t know whether you should feel bad or honored —you shot him a reassuring smile, “Come on, I don’t mind at all. It’s great to learn new things as an artist, you know? So I’ll know what my client wants, tell me more.”
Satoru puffed his cheeks out slightly, “I actually don’t want to scare you, so I’ll do that once we get closer. I promise you, it’s hard to get me to stop talking once I start,” he gestured to the waitress nearby, ordering in a fleeting moment before turning his head back to you, “why don’t you tell me about yourself? Something that I don’t know yet from the first time we met with Shoko.”
You pondered slightly, “I’ve been drawing since forever. I strive to be a modern Van Gogh, somehow which is pretty impossible. But, you get the idea. I want to make it big in a world of imaginary, I want to be an artist people see and think ‘oh, she portrayed me well even if she isn’t talking about me’. Is that weird?” Truthfully, you had maybe expected a laugh or a joke from him, but he shook his head in answer.
A smile graced upon his lips, “Nope. I think that’s a nice dream.”
“Even when I’m far from it?” You chuckled, playing with the tip of your straw, folding it inward and outward in an attempt to calm your nerves at the reassuring words you’ve always seeked from the love of your life —then, of course— every single time you start second-guessing yourself. Instead, he was the reason for it, “Even if I only get commissions for fanarts now?”
“Fanarts are art too. In a way, you’re portraying someone else’s feelings into a form of art, which makes you even more amazing,” Satoru looks at you incredulously, his cerulean eyes narrowing the slightest bit, “I actually took you for an optimist. I guess that’s a mistake, but then again . . . Artists don’t get the recognition they deserve just because Artificial Intelligence is evolving. But, I assure you, AI will never compare to your blood, sweat, and tears (Name).”
He blinks in realization, “Which reminded me when I paid fifty bucks to an artist online and got AI art instead . . . I should commission you next time,” he murmured to himself, or you, you don’t know.
You laugh, “Yeah, people have been exposing them for a while now. I’m not surprised.”
The conversation flowed like stream that it surprises you somehow. His words connected yours like a piece of puzzle, and yours fit him the same way. Minutes ticked by, the both of you jumped from one topic to another ina flash and everything was going well. Too well that you weren’t equally surprised when it was ruined by a familiar voice that you would absolutely love to unfamiliarize.
“Huh, so you got a new play thing already?”
Your eyes flew shut. Already the pound in your head started like drums of coronation, fuck. Why is he everyhwere now that the two of you broke up? Inhaling sharply, you flutter your eyes open, Naoya standing gracefully beside the table, “What do you need?” This time, he wasn’t alone —you’d recognize the girl dressed in a tight blouse and knee length skirt behind him as his secretary, her sharp eyes gazing on your figure. You’ve always gotten a jist that she disliked you from the first time you saw her; counting 5 years ago when she first started in Naoya’s family company. Apparently, she thought you were too “clingy” for her boss, which mind you, at that time was your boyfriend.
Satoru’s brows pinched together, he stared at Naoya before his gaze coaxes towards you, “Do you know him . . ?” Unfortunately, you would like to say. But, all you could muster out was a stiff nod, lips pursed in annoyance, “Who is this?”
Naoya had his hand on his hip, laidback as if this was another day for him —which you would guess is, he’s an oppressive jerk who does this to his own employees too— in a year. He stared Satoru down from head to toe, a cheshire grin on his face, “You downgraded, (Name),” your fists clenched under the table, fisting your knee in anger, “a Digimon dweeb over a company owner?”
“Pokemon,” Satoru corrected.
“Who gives a fuck, dweeb?” His whole façade screams out high school bully and you hate it. The tip of your sandal touched Satoru’s shin as a small signal to just let Naoya ramble on his own, and Satoru nodded his head in agreement, “Serious heads up, she draws shit for a living, barely has the money to live, and would not want to stay at home to serve you. And if you’d like to take a tip from a successful guy like me, I’d say she’s not worth it . . . Or, you’d have to force her to know her place as woman. Take this as a helping hand from someone who dated her for seven years before she decided to leave over a harmless post.”
Your heart dropped. Is he implying that you were nothing but a maid? What a fucking jerk! Satoru spat out, “Is there a reason beside spite that your ex-lover has found a better date than you that you took the time to bother her action to find the love she deserves? Because from a dweeb’s point of view, you are a narcisstic pain in the ass who think of women as nothing but a maid to serve you —which is funny because women can do as much as we men, but people like you expect them to do less. And if you are an owner of a company? God, help your employees,” Satoru spoke with trained calmness, a small smile hovering over his lips that screamed ‘kill with kindness’, “And I would appreciate it if you could leave and stop bothering our date, because you had just killed the mood.”
Naoya’s smirk faltered, he grits his teeth in anger, “Aren’t you charming? Men like you will never compare to men like me.”
Satoru drawls out, “I wouldn’t want to be compared to someone like you either, I’d take that as a win,” he grins, “also, it would be appreciated if you could apologize to (Name) for what you said because frankly I find it insulting.”
Your jaw dropped slightly at Satoru’s command. Naoya clicked his tongue, a loud grunt escaping his throat as he turned away, kicking the floor in anger as he walks out. His secretary quietly follwing his steps, “He came in here just to pull at your strings, huh? He is as good as an unemployed person that isn’t even trying to be employed, I’m guessing . . . Family business?”
Your head bobbed, “Yeah, priviledges.”
Satoru shrugs, “Isn’t hard to judge. I’m glad you broke things off, but . . . Seven year?’ His brow raised, appalled. You covered your face, “You deserve better.”
“Don’t even remind me, I thought I could change him,” your voice muffled into your hand in embarrassment, “Ieiri had given me an earful, I don’t need a teacher to tell me the same. I’ve realized, okay? He’s a jerk, I get it.”
“He’s insufferable. I hate people like him.”
“Tell me about it. Everyone I’ve introduced him to so far has hated him,” you mumbled, thinking of past friends and co-workers in jobs you took as a college student. Some even cutting you off for the reason that you decided to stay even after getting hurt, you couldn’t blame them at all —because, you’d do the same if you were them, stupid, “I just held on to that little possibility.”
“Hope,” Satoru corrected, “a possibility is a state or fact of something being able to exist, happen, or to be true. Whereas, hope means that you’re confident but not certain that a desire or something positive is attainable. You hoped that he will change, but after seeing him, I don’t even think the possibility is there. You hoped he’d change for you because you were in love, and that’s okay too because I was also you,” he nods his head.
“Elaborate?”
He nervously chuckled, “To put it short. Loser falls in love with popular girl. Popular girl gives him hope. They date. Popular girl cheats. Loser boy thinks she’ll change because he thinks she loves him. Popular girl cheats again. Loser boy breaks up. Full version will have to wait until we’re closer,” you rolled your eyes, “I’d say we’re ten percent closer right now. Which is good progress, I don’t make friends a lot unless they adopt me.”
You laugh, “Ten percent is generous. I like that.”
Satoru scratched his cheek, “He said something about a harmless post—”
“That requires eighty percent friendship, like you said,” you hummed in content, smiling from ear to ear watching him roll his eyes.
“No, we met up, talked, and Naoya just happened to turn up inside the same café. How is he everywhere?” Your phone slid slightly, your shoulder flinched to tighten your hold on the device as you poured the chicken noodle soup from a couple of days ago —that you just warmed up— into a big bowl, carrying it over towards the coffee table, “Also.”
“This could mean bad or good, which also?”
You shrugged even though Shoko couldn’t see you, “Like . . . More of a confused and appalled kind of ‘also’. You get it,” her hum signified you to continue, and you did, “Satoru kinda played the part about . . . Us in a date and stuff, but I guess it was just to spite Naoya. Still though, kinda surprised that he admitted we were on a date.”
“When did you both start on first name basis?” Shoko slyly asked, the tone in her voice was mocking, in a good friendly way, “All I’m saying is that, now that Naoya thinks the both of you are getting close —I’d expect more of the whole ‘couple’ act. Anyways, what do you think of him so far?”
“Satoru?” You questioned.
“Mhm.”
The gears in your head turned at the question, adjectives popping up, and you mutter out, “He’s nice. And he’s kinda cute? He gets excited over my Pokemon keychain, and he’s very smart. Did I tell you about the time I bumped into him in a coffee shop and he began explaining about all this force, mass, acceleration thing?” You chcukled, quietly reminiscing the moment, “And archery, gravity, and whole lot of that.”
“Sounds like him alright. I got a lesson when I mistakenly asked about what he’s doing,” Shoko mumbles out softly, mustering a yawn after a long shift, “he’s just that type of person, you know?”
You nodded, blowing on the bowl. Steam floating upwards as you slot your legs under the table, “Yeah, I can see that now. We exchanged numbers.”
“Oh?”
“For other purposes, get your head out of your ass. It’s not a hat,” Shoko chuckles loudly, “I’m gonna eat, and no it’s not instant ramen. It’s chicken noodle soup, I had extra bokchoy in it because you said it’s healthy. Okay? Bye.”
oh he means it. he means get on top of him and ride him in to oblision— ride him into an unreacheable high, only you could bring him to. And fuck, that's exactly what you were doing. Your mind was drifiting off to a world of pleasure—the evidence on your face not going unnoticed by Satoru even in his fucked out state.
The way your eyes closed, how your lips parted with each soft whimper that fell from your soft lips had Satoru infatuated. You slump over him, nuzzling your head against his neck. Your hands moved with purpose. You dragged a soft hand under his hair. Low groans freed from his throat, this pleasure- it was unreal.
Your hips rolled with an unmistakeable need- lips trailing over satoru's neck in slow teasing motions. With each thrust, satoru's cock plummeted deeper inside your aching cunt. You felt so full . Both his hand's weighed down on either side of your hips, squeezing the plush skin softly.
" Yes—yes! you feel so —hah—good—mmh" he whined against your skin- desire taking over his body. You threw your head back again, this time your hands found their ways on his thighs for stability. "you feel me baby, getting all tight around you?" Your words were enough to make him cum alone. That tone you had and the look you gave him—he was fucked.
And he did feel you, each thrust and roll of your hips had you clenching around his length; bringing him closer to his orgasm. Satoru woulkd be lying if he said he wasn"t seeing stars. He was so lost in this pleasure that he couldn't even think straight.
"fuckk—I can't..'m gonna come, baby" he whimpered softly, bringing you in closer.
