Jiisan's café

Shouta Aizawa: 24 hours

angst/comfort

Your shared apartment was quiet, it usually is. But this silence is different. It’s heavy and stiff, the kind of quiet that blankets over your entire body and leaves you still. Your eyes were glued to the floor. Unmoving. It had been exactly 24 hours since the war against AFO had settled, 24 hours since you last heard from him.

Shouta hadn’t called, and you knew why, you watched it all unfold from your TV after all. You witnessed the kids he spoke so fondly about to you, fight for their lives and for the lives of others. Your heart ached for them, but the best thing you could do was rush to the hospital you worked at and get to work.

The hospital was hectic—civilians, sidekicks and hero’s alike were being rushed in to be treated. You were overwhelmed and exhausted. Constantly running around from patient to patient, stretching yourself thin, all while in the back of your mind you were worrying for your husband.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Shouta laid in the hospital bed, breathing in the sterile hospital air, in slow— painful breaths. Every single part of him ached. His mind raced, trying to piece together everything that had happened.

His unpatched eye darted around the white and blue room. Then finally it landed on the silhouette that was sat next to his bed. Head hanging as they slept in an uncomfortable position, scrubs rumbled and name tag visible. His wife— his sweet wife was slumped over his battered body and was fast asleep in an uncomfortable way and he couldn’t move. He couldn’t help her. That frustrated him to his core.

There were faint shadows under your eyes, darker than he'd ever seen them. You obviously hadn’t gone home.

He knew you hadn’t. Not with the state he’d been brought in. You would have hovered. Argued with fellow nurses. Checked charts that weren’t yours to check. His wife—The one who stitched up strangers without trembling but probably broke down in supply closets where no one could see.

His chest tightened.

Slowly, the monitor ticked up a beat and in response, your brows twitched. His eye widened slightly. He focused on slowing his breathing, willing the machine not to betray him. It finally steadied—

You didn’t wake.

He let himself just look at you. He remembered flashes—the battlefield, the collapsing structures, the scream of metal and dust. The moment he’d thought, distantly,

‘I might not make it home this time.’

And then the memories came flooding back,

you standing in the kitchen in his oversized sweats and shirt, scolding him for skipping meals. The way you absentmindedly adjusted his capture scarf when it sat wrong before he left for work every morning. The softness in your voice when you said his name when you came home after late night shifts and found him fast asleep on your shared bed, your soft lips pressing against his before you slipped under the sheets and pulled yourself close to him.

He had clung to that, now here you were.

Close enough to touch— and he couldn’t.

His fingers twitched again, more insistently this time. A tremor ran through his hand before it settled. Pain followed, sharp and bright, but he welcomed it. It meant he wasn't gone.

His hand shifted barely an inch. Enough for his knuckles to brush the fabric of your sleeve. It was clumsy, weak, but it was contact.

You stirred—a soft sound left you , confused and disoriented. Your head lifted slowly, hair a mess, eyes blinking against the fluorescent light. For a second, you didn't seem to understand where you were.

Then your eyes adjusted and found his, staring at you. Your lower lip trembled, shoulders shook as you immediately stood up.

“Shouta?” Your voice cracked around his name like it had been waiting behind your teeth for days. His eye softened immediately, you were on your feet in an instant, hovering over him but careful— you were always careful. Your hands fluttered uselessly, afraid to touch somewhere that might hurt.

“You're awake,” you breathed—It wasn't a simple statement. It was disbelief, relief and fear. All tangled into one queasy knot in your chest, and plastered onto your pretty face.

He tried to speak.

It came out rough, barely audible. “You're... supposed to be sleeping.” Your breath hitched, and a watery laugh escaped you. “I was.” You whispered, “Uncomfortably,”he murmured faintly, eyes shifting to the chair. You swallowed, palming at your neck, feeling a sore knot. “You noticed—“ “I always notice,” he replied, voice thin but certain.

Tears welled before you could stop them. You leaned down carefully, one hand cradling the side of his face that wasn't bandaged. You were so gentle it almost hurt more than the injuries.

“You scared me,” you whispered. His eye drifted closed for a moment, leaning faintly into your palm. “M’ sorry.” He whispered raggedly—

“No— don’t you dare apologize for doing what you had to,” you said immediately. Your thumb ran over the blooming bruise underneath his exposed eye, feeling him as gently you could. Sniffling, you said “I can see the worry in your eyes, don’t— your kids are alright.”

“They’re strong, learned a lot from you. You should be proud of them.”you whispered as you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

His gaze shifted at your words. It was subtle—most people wouldn’t have caught it—but you did. You saw the tension behind his eye, the way his jaw tightened despite the medication dulling everything else. You were right. He hadn’t just been worried about you.

You leaned closer, your forehead nearly touching his. Your tears finally spilled over, warm drops landing against his skin before you hurried to wipe them away.

“I checked on them,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady with purpose. “Every single one that was brought in. I made sure.” His breathing stilled. You swallowed, trying to remember the kids with the most intense injuries “Um, Midoriya’s stable. Stubborn as ever, even when half‑conscious. Bakugo is furious about being bedridden—which means he’s going to be fine and uh Todoroki’s healing well. Iida hasn’t left anyone’s side.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself before finally saying “They’re hurt, Shouta. But they’re alive.”

His eye closed slowly—not from exhaustion, but relief. The tension drained from his features in a way that made your chest ache. His fingers tried to curl in your grasp again, and this time you felt the faint pressure. “I couldn’t—” His voice broke, scraped raw. “I couldn’t reach them all.”

“You did,” you insisted softly. “You always do.” A tear slipped from the corner of his visible eye, disappearing into the bandages near his temple, and you brushed it away instinctively. “You taught them well. They fought smart. They protected each other. They protected the people around them. They sounded a lot like you in those hospital rooms, ordering each other around” A faint, breathless huff left him—the ghost of a laugh.

You leaned down carefully, pressing the softest kiss to his uninjured cheek. “They’re alive because of you,” you murmured against his skin. “And they’re going to walk back into your classroom again. Alive, loud, disrespectful and ready to give you a headache.” His eye opened, softer now. The worry hadn’t vanished—it never would—but it no longer consumed him.

“And you,” you continued, your voice breaking again, “are allowed to rest.” He studied you then—your red eyes, the exhaustion you were pretending didn’t exist, the quiet strength you carried. “You stayed,” he said faintly. “Of course I did,” you replied, almost offended. His gaze warmed. “You didn’t have to.” You tightened your grip on his hand. “Yes,” you whispered fiercely, “I did.”

“I’m your wife,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady. “I’ll always be here for you.” The words settled heavily between you, louder than the quiet hum of machines. Your fingers tightened even more around his hand as if anchoring yourself to the moment. His eye searched your face, taking in the exhaustion, the fear, and the pure love written so plainly.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” you continued softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Not your students, Not the guilt. I’m here for all of it—the ugly parts too.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I don’t want you carrying it,” he murmured hoarsely. “I already do,” you replied gently. “That’s what we promised each other when we said our vows.”

“It’s not fair,” he said faintly. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his. “It was never about fair.” The monitor kept its steady rhythm as his fingers twitched, barely curling around yours. It was small, but it was him trying. “You scare me,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “Every time you walk out that door, you scare me, But I knew who you were when I married you. I knew what I was getting into, what you do.”

“And you still stayed,” he breathed. “I didn’t stay,” you whispered, tears slipping free. “I chose you. I keep choosing you.”

The words seemed to ease something inside him. With visible effort, his trembling hand lifted from the mattress, reaching. You met him halfway, guiding his fingers to your cheek. His touch was weak but warm, real. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. A soft, watery laugh left you. “That’s not a reasonable request right now.”

The faintest hint of a smile touched his mouth, small and fragile but real—and it unraveled you. You leaned down carefully, cradling the unbandaged side of his face, and pressed your lips softly against his. The kiss was slow and trembling, full of everything the last twenty-four hours had stolen from you. Tears slipped between you as you rested your forehead against his. “I love you,” you whispered, the words breaking on a quiet sob.

His eye softened, and his weak, trembling fingers tightened faintly against your cheek. “I know,” he murmured, voice rough. You shook your head gently. “No. Don’t do that, Say it. Please—” For a moment, vulnerability flickered across his features before his thumb brushed your skin with careful effort. “I love you too,” he said quietly. Relief poured out of you, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself fall apart—and though he couldn’t hold you the way he wanted to, his hand stayed against your face, and that was enough.

A/N: can yall tell im in my feels with all the lowk angsty shi ive been writing? Yes? Just Kirk me actually omfg. Anyways hiiii I fricking love aizawa SO BAD I need to rub my face against his stubbly cheeks lord

Heianera!sukuna: comforting you after a nightmare

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Sukuna despised tears, most of all yours. They unsettled him in a way no enemy ever has. He could endure blood, screams and ruin— but the pearly shine of tears on your cheeks made his jaw tighten just as much as his heart.

You were not fragile, far from it. Always standing tall beside him, unwavering in the face of certain disparities, that’s why you were his. So when one night, you came to his chambers and knocked at his door softly— rather than the usual way you made yourself known. By bursting through the door, he knew immediately something was wrong.

He stood up and pulled his on his robe fully before opening his chamber doors. You stood there, eyes pulled up and looking into his. Glassed over with unshed tears, your cheeks streaked with their salty remnants. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The sight struck him harder than any blade ever could. His gaze dragged slowly over your face, memorizing the evidence. Not a single detail escaped him. The tremor you were fighting in your jaw. The way your fingers curled slightly into your palms, as if bracing yourself.

You had clearly already tried to compose yourself before coming here.

That realization made something territorial coil deep in his sternum. He stepped forward. You didn't step back— ‘Good’ he thought.

His hand came up, slow, knuckles brushing against your cheek in a rather softly manner. His thumb pressed against one of the tear tracks, smearing it deliberately as if erasing proof that you had cried at all.

He quickly dragged you into his room, it was dimly lit with candles in each corner. He slid his doors shut before dragging you to his bed and sitting you down. He loomed over you before asking— “what happened…” You sniffled softly, looking up at him you replied, “nothing just another nightmare…”

A nightmare, not a person or thing he could kill— a nightmare.

“And what could possibly haunt you? You tremble for nothing—” he whispered. Before you could steady your breathing, his lower arms pressed at your waist and shoulders, guiding you further up the bed. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as he laid you back against the dark sheets.

He followed.

Caging you in. Not crushing. Not careless. But inescapable all the same.

Candlelight flickered across the sharp lines of his face as he hovered above you, shadows pooling in the hollow of his eyes.

“Tell me,” he murmured again, voice lower now. “If something is chasing you in your dreams— I will carve it out of your mind.”

You lay beneath him, breath uneven, the warmth of him surrounding you from every side. Your hands lifted almost instinctively, finding the fabric of his robe. Your fingers clenched into it, bunching the cloth at his chest.

The smallest tremor ran through you.

That did something to him. His gaze dropped to where your hands held him—as if anchoring yourself there. As if he were the only solid thing in the room. His expression shifted. Just slightly.

“Was it blood?” he asked quietly. “Was it death?” His face lowered closer to yours, his breath warm against your temple.

“Or was it me.”

There was no arrogance in the question—only something possessive. More intimate.

His upper hand slid into your hair, not pulling, just holding—fingers spreading against your scalp as though claiming you through touch alone. His other brushed slowly down your side, steadying the rise and fall of your breathing. “No, no it was not you— it is nothing now I’m—I am alright now.“ you whispered softly.

“You come to my chambers,” he murmured, eyes locking onto yours again, “you cling to me like this… and you expect me to believe it is nothing.” His forehead nearly touched yours now. “Dreams do not frighten you,” he said softly. “Unless they threaten to take something.” A pause.

“Or someone.”

His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, possessive but deliberate. “If your mind is tormenting you,” he continued, voice dropping to something dangerously tender, “then I will replace those dreams with something else.”

His eyes darkened.

“Something that reminds you who stands over you when you wake.” The candles flickered harder. “You are not allowed to be haunted,” he whispered. “Not while you are mine.”

You nodded. That was all the permission he needed. His gaze darkened, not softening—never did. But it did sharpen, As if your fear, your trembling, your need had narrowed his entire focus down to you and you alone. He leaned down slowly, deliberately, giving you time to turn away.

You didn’t.

Your fingers tightened in his robe instead, clutching at him like you were grounding yourself in something real. The moment his lips met yours, it was no longer measured.

It was deliberate.

Not rushed—it was deep, all consuming, he never did anything halfway. His hand in your hair tightened, tilting your head back as his mouth claimed yours with unmistakable dominance and need. There was no question in the kiss.

Only utter possession.

You felt the weight of him shift as he caged you more completely, one arm sliding beneath you to pull you flush against his chest. The other braced beside your head, trapping you in the heat of him.

A low sound rumbled in his throat when you responded when your grip on him deepened instead of resisting.

His lips moved against yours again, slower this time but heavier, intent on erasing the tremble from your breath. On replacing every lingering shadow in your mind with the overwhelming presence of him.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough for your lips to part. His eyes searched yours. Looking for any other sign of distress. “Nothing haunts what belongs to me,” he said quietly, thumb pressing under your chin to keep your gaze locked on his. “Not in dreams nor in your memory.”

His lower hand slid to your waist, fingers spreading across your body, anchoring you in place. “You wake afraid,” he murmured, leaning down so his voice brushed against your ear, “you come to me.”There was something almost feral in the way he exhaled against your skin.

“As you should.” He pressed another kiss to your mouth, deeper, slower, leaving no room for doubt nor air. Every movement deliberate. Every touch a reminder.

You were here— under him. With him, and whatever nightmare had dared disturb you would find no place to breathe when Sukuna replaced it with himself.

Without a word, he pulled you with him as he lay down, gathering you into his chest. All four of his arms wrapped around you—one beneath your head, one at your waist, the others sealing you in completely.

Your cheek rested over his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your ear. His fingers moved slowly through your hair, repetitive and grounding, as your breathing began to even out.

“You will not dream of that, not while I’m here— if you must, cling to me, anything to stop those tears from flowing,” he murmured into your hair.

You fell asleep in his arms. Your breathing slow, lashes fluttering.

He did not, he stayed awake in the dim candlelight, holding you tighter than necessary—making sure that if you reached for him again, you would find him.

A/N: second Heian era Sukuna fic where he’s comforting you… do I have a problem? Don’t answer that- anywayssss hope yall like this.

Tags 🏷️: @megumistan45 @raven66551 @lilithkleia

Sukuna was in love with his wife, and he hated that: heianera!Sukuna fluff oneshot ✿

TW: allusions to suicide.

Ryomen Sukuna was a brute, a being who did not believe in something as repulsive and weak as love. Yet he found himself feeling odd around his fifth wife. A woman who was rumored to be a ‘witch’, and was gifted to him by her own family and village. Their reasoning? to be spared of his rage, but to also be rid of you but you didn’t know that, what you also didn’t know was they were still all massacred. Two birds one stone but one got away it seems.

He hated how being near you made him feel, the way your eyes shined bright when you spoke to him, as if he was the soft moonlight reflecting into your eyes, He loathed how late at night, he laid there, awake— aching to hear your nonsensical babble once more.

He hated how you always leaned in so close when you diligently poured his morning tea, how he could smell the soft essence you had put on that morning— as well as something sweet, something distinctly you.

He hated how you found your place within the walls of his estate, running things orderly unlike the other women before you who cowered in their rooms. Those women ultimately either ran off and were killed, starved, lost to the wilderness or committed what he saw as the most weak thing a person can do…

He hated how you worried for him, he’s Ryomen Sukuna for fucks sake, the best sorcerer of his time. He didn’t need you wondering why he was gone so long, if he was hurt. He hated how your hands would linger when you stood in between his thick thighs, examining him. Checking for any severe injuries.

Most of all he despised how you weren’t afraid of him. You never flinched, never cried nor yelled. Not around him at least. You certainly weren’t all smiles and laughter though, no— you had your moments. Awkward silences, displeased scowls and deep frowns etched into your soft skin.

He should’ve reveled in those moments, should’ve enjoyed making you upset in any form, yet he always found himself apologizing. Not directly, never that— but with small gestures.

Leaving you wild flowers and herbs you used for healing remedies, tied with a simple red string, always laid in a small cup at your front door. Your room was always filled with the latest fashions, all in those deep reds, purples and pinks.

He hated how you always ended up in his bedchamber, curling up near the foot of his bed, he’d pull you up and into his arms— wishing he could rid you of those awful nightmares that plagued you at night. He’d hold you, tight. As if you would disappear into the futon, and he’d lose you forever.

He loved the way you clung to him, lashes fluttering as you slept— breath evening out as your nightmares seemingly faded from your mind.

He loved you, and he’d burn the world for you.

A/N: erm hey chat! I haven’t been writing much cuz I am lowk slumped asf… but I had a hit of inspiration after rewatching ‘seeking Persephone’ and cuz I’ve been itching for heian era Sukuna omg he’s so ngh- missed you guys(╥_╥)

Tags 🏷️: @megumistan45 @raven66551 @lilithkleia and @epicderpface I was thinking of you and Raven the whole time I was writing this😭 hope you guys like this one( ˘ ³˘)

Touchstarved!Sukuna, modern AU

MDNI

Touchstarved!Sukuna: Going absolutely nuts when his eyes land on you, standing at his doorway after being away for four months. Being apart from him for that long did a number on him.

Touchstarved!Sukuna: immediately pulling you into his apartment, tugging and practically ripping off your clothes— large fingers digging and grabbing at your full flesh.

Touchstarved!Sukuna: who would toss you onto his couch and immediately push your legs apart while you whined and laid on your side, immediately pulling his aching cock out, red hot tip pouring out copious amounts of slick precum, and pressing it against your exposed and drooling cunt.

Touchstarved!Sukuna: whose now shoving all of him, into his sweet girls needy cunt, groaning into your neck as he litters your skin with hard bites and bruises. Whispering filthy words into your ear.

Touchstarved!Sukuna: who, while kissing your soft lips, let out a whimper. He’s always all grunts and subtle moans but hearing him whimper for the first time made your pussy clench around him even tighter.

Touchstarved!Sukuna: who finished embarrassingly quick, collapsing onto you. Trying his damndest not to squish you— you giggled, kissing up and down his neck and jaw as he whispered “don’t laugh— just missed you,”

A/N: is this ooc for Sukuna? Probably? Will I re-write this? Absolutely not. Why? Because I’m in a horrendous slump.

all work belongs to @j1hxxn , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

Being the wife of a man who risks his life quite often, can be very very stressful. Every time he’s call off to god knows where, you’re left a worried mess. You tell him you’ll be “just fine!” And that you’re “not worried sick at all—“ but you were. Who wouldn’t be? Your husband was wading into such dangerous waters and almost dying multiple times.

But you were always grateful he always came back to you alive. Battered and bruised sure, but alive nonetheless.

he was a many of few words whenever he came home, it made sense he was. Always witnessing the horrors of humanity. He walked through your apartments threshold, tossing his bag to the floor and peeling off his jacket. You heard his soft thumping around and sprung up and off of the soft couch and padded towards your long hallway and your eyes met.

“Hey…”

You greeted him softly as you walked towards him. You stood right before him, taking in his glazed over eyes, which slowly widened as he took in the sight of yours. The soft pads of your fingertips sweetly pressed against his cheeks as he huffed out a deep sigh. The sound came from deep within his chest.

“Hey—“ he replied eventually as he slowly pulled you in by your hips into a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your fingers threaded through his slightly matted, silvery locks.

“I didn’t think you were coming home early—“ you whispered as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Breathing you in, reacquainting himself with your soft warm scent, burying it into his very soul.

“Me neither…” he said gruffly, but when you pulled back, his eyes followed you, caught up on your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were here, in your shared home.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?” you whispered.

You didn’t let him answer. You took his hand and tugged him gently toward your shared bedroom—the one that had stayed untouched for weeks while he was gone. It had felt bigger without him. Quiet. Empty. And you’d always slept in the living room when he left, like you thought you were safer there, you didn’t want to sleep in your empty bed without the one you love.

He noticed. He always noticed.

You guided him onto the mattress and sank onto your knees in front of him, starting with his boots. Your movements were quiet, careful, patient—like you were trying to soothe the past few weeks out of him with nothing but tenderness. Then you helped with his shirt and pants, and every time your hands moved, his focus sharpened, his gaze never drifting from your face.

“C’mon,” you murmured, voice soft but steady. “Let’s get cleaned properly, then sleep, yeah?”

He nodded, once, slowly, eyes still fixed on you like he was afraid if he blinked you’d disappear.

“You never have to do this for me,” he said quietly, standing up again and pulling you into his arms. His hold was firm, warm, sheltering. “You always fuss over me when I come home—”

“I know…” you whispered against his chest, fingers curling where his boxers met his skin. “I just worry...”

“You’re out there getting called out,” you say softly, but your voice turns shaky as your eyes linger on the marks he’s trying to hide, “T-to do such dangerous things that I don’t even get the luxury of knowing about.”

Your hands hover for a moment—close to him, careful not to startle him. Then you let your palms rest over his skin, light as a promise.

“So the best thing I can do,” you continue, swallowing around the ache in your chest, “is take care of you. Especially when you come home like this.”

His breathing changes at that—just a fraction—and you can feel the way his body tenses, like he wants to argue with you.

But his eyes stay on yours. “Don’t,” he murmurs, low and rough.

You press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, tender and grounding. “I’m not asking you to agree,” you whisper. “I’m just telling you why I’m here.”

Eventually, you both end up in the hot shower together, Steam fogs the air, and the water runs down both of you in warm rivers. You step close, palms soft against his bruised chest, and the light above him catches his skin—turning black and blue bruises into a deeper shade of violet.

He subtly flinches at the first touch, just a sharp inhale, but you adjust immediately—hands gentler, pressure lighter, like you’re learning his pain by the second. You wash carefully, slow enough that he can keep breathing steadily.

“Sorry, I’ll be gentler,” you murmur, voice quiet over the waters rush. Your eyes flicker across his skin as you work over bruises, over scars, trying, really trying, to be careful enough that your love feels like healing instead of just presence.

“No, no it’s fine— I’m fine,” he murmurs softly

His silvery locks cling to his skin under the hot water, heavy and darkened, his lashes flutter, droplets catching and shaking loose from the ends. Water runs down his face and along the line of his jaw. His hair can’t hide the way he’s looking at you.

His gaze holds, steadily, starting at your bare skin, then drifting to your soft lips like he’s stuck between tenderness and restraint. He doesn’t seem to notice the moment turning dangerous in a quiet way. “You’re staring…” you say, voice soft, watching him without looking away yourself.

When you scrub at the last of the grime and any remaining traces of blood, the water carries it off in thin streaks—until his skin looks clean again, but your awareness doesn’t loosen.

He makes a low sound, not quite a word. Then his eyes flick back up to yours, and the silence answers for him.

“Just taking you in,” he murmurs, voice low and rough under the steady hiss of water.

You let out a soft giggle, eyes crinkling, warmth blooming in your chest, and it pulls a small smile out of him anyway, like he’s trying not to show how much that sound does to him. “Missed that sound…” he says, eyes warm as they track you. “Your laugh—”

Your face flushes harder than you expected. The steam doesn’t help hide it. You bite at your lower lip, then finally—quietly, with that honey courage you always had, you whisper, “Leon… please kiss me.”

He goes still for half a second, like he’s caught between teasing you and obeying you instantly. Then he leans in, careful and close, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

Then there was no restraint—only sweet passion and need for you. His large, calloused hands snaked around your waist as he deepened the kiss. Groaning into your lips and mouth as the hot water turned lukewarm.

You held onto his forearms as he kissed down your jaw, nipping and lapping at the wet, sweet skin. “Missed you, so god damn much—“ he murmurs over and over again, into the crook of your neck as you whined softly.

“Leon… don’t start something you can’t finish—“

He scoffs softly, and you could feel the smile on his lips, “you begged me to kiss you… I didn’t start anything beautiful.” You let out a sweet whine as he bit softly at your shoulder, “mm, fair… but go easy— your still hurt.”

“Still fussing even when I’m trying to make love to you” he says with a chuckle.

“I can’t help it,” your pretty lips forming that cute pout that drove him wild.

“I know you can’t, but let’s just say this’ll heal me quicker, m’kay?” He whispered as his thick thigh nudged between your legs causing you to gasp as you leaned back, feeling the frigid tiles press against your searing hot skin.

“H-heal you?” You stammered, “yes baby, I missed you. Your scent, your voice— Your body…” he murmured softly. His fingertips slid up and down your arms. Then your sides.

“Being close, touching you like this? Heals me…” he whispered as his calloused hands found their way to your plump breasts, softly groping them. You shivered as you whispered “oh fuck Leon—keep touching me,”

“Yeah? Now you want me to keep touching you hm?“ he asked softly, a small knowing smirk plastered on his stubbled face. He ducked his head down—kissing and sucking on your now swollen nipples.

The water from the shower head beat down onto the two of you,

“So sweet, always been so sweet—“ he lapped at your skin, tasting you and the shower water. He groaned softly as he lowered himself, “careful—“ you mumble as he grips your hips for leverage.

He was on his knees, kissing every inch of skin his lips could reach, his stubble itching your skin deliciously “I love you, I love you so much—“ his eyes found yours as he gripped your right thigh and pushed it up, “on my shoulder cmon,“

“Your—“

“Shush, shush— no no… don’t worry about me please my love, just let me do this please—” He whispered against your skin. His eyes lowered down and came in contact with your slit, wet with water and your own slick.

You gasp and let out a weak moan as his lips attached to your swollen clit, lapping and sucking on the sensitive bud. He groaned against you, tongue pushing and prodding at your quivering entrance. The vibrations from his moaning and whines had your hips bucking and your fingers tugging at his silvery locks of hair.

“Missed this, missed your taste—“ he says as he pushes his head even deeper.

“Juuust like that baby, keep bucking— show me, mmfph, sh-show me how much you missed me too.” He moaned between your folds, making you shake and moan out,

“Oh fuck Leon! So go-good, faster, please faster!” You cried, hips rocking faster like he asked.

His eyes were wide, taking in the sight that beheld him. You curled over, face contorted in pure bliss as he felt your pussy clench around his prodding tongue. You hiccuped and tugged his hair even harder.

Lips were now attached to you bud once more, and two of his thick fingers were now plunging into, hard and fast just how you wanted.

“Give it to me baby girl, need to feel you cum— need to taste it, cmon!” He growled against you as you shook violently, moaning unapologetically loud.

“Oh! Ah fuck L-Leon! Oh I’m—“ you were cut off by your own moan, loud and guttural, feeling the hot coil in your lower belly snap, the rush of ecstasy pumping through you as he lapped up your sweetness.

“Good girl, came so hard for me— missed doing this to you, leaving you undone like this,” he whispered as he kissed right back up your body, till his lips landed on yours. You could taste him, and yourself.

You felt it, his hard cock, right up against your leg and you whispered “want me to?” And he shook his head,

“Let me just… finish taking you in, that I’m finally back home.” You gave him a soft smile and hugged him.

“We should seriously take this to the bed room… the water is freezing now.” You whispered softly and he chuckled, sweet and hearty.

“You’re right love… I’d much rather take you apart even more in the warmth of our bed.”

Tags 🏷️: @lilithkleia @megumistan @raven66551

Toji and your sweet voice: fluff oneshot ✿

Toji loves your voice, the way you talk, whisper, hum, he loves it all. He loves everything about you but your voice just does something to him, gets him riled up.

You were talking about your day, laid up beside him in your soft bed, just yapping your pretty little head off. He was holding you close, his large arm draped over your waist, thumb softly stroking your soft skin underneath your pajama shirt.

His eyes bore into you, “what?” You asked softly,

“You sound so pretty,” he said gruffly. You smiled at him as felt your face heat up, “you always say that—“ “and I mean it every time doll,” he says before leaning down and kissing your sweet lips, earning a soft squeak from you. “Toji-“ you whispered sweetly, using that honey tone that always made his heart thunder, his ears red. He ducked his head into your neck and breathed in your scent deep, “keep talking—“ he whispered against your skin.

Your fingers run through his raven-colored locks, slow and grounding, and you giggle sweetly as you lean closer. Your closeness making everything feel softer. Warm.

“Whatever you want,” you whisper, voice warm with mischief and devotion, “you big baby.”

His breath catches—just slightly, and for a second his gruffness wavers. Then he lets out a low sound that’s half amusement, half something more tender.

“Careful,” he murmurs, but there’s no real threat in it. Just a softened edge, like he’s already forgiven you for every tease. He dips his forehead toward yours, eyes locked on you. “Say that again,” he adds, voice rough with want, “and I’m not letting you get away with it.”

You blush, pretty cheeks warming instantly, and you kiss his lips—quick, sweet, like a truce sealed without either of you having to say it out loud.

“Let me finish my story now,” you whisper, voice soft.

“Oh now you wanna finish it?” Toji murmurs, gruff but pleased. “Go on, doll.”

He snuggles back into the crook of your warm neck, settling there like he belongs. His breathing evens out, and the tension in him fades into something calm and listening. “Talk to me,” he says quietly against your skin, voice low and fond.

Your honey-like voice keeps him soothed as the story winds down, and eventually the tension in him disappears completely. He starts to drift—still tucked into the crook of your neck—until his breathing evens out. You can feel it; the peace settling over him like a blanket.

Then, when you finally pause, you let yourself exhale too. You adjust just slightly, tucking him in closer, making sure he’s comfortable, and you settle right after—your body warm, your mind finally quiet enough to rest.

For a little while, it’s just the two of you; steady breaths, soft sweet-scented calm, and the gentle song of sleep claiming you both.

You drift off quickly, peaceful and safe in his large arms.

A/N: another oneshot, lowk struggling with the nightwing fic, please bare with me chat(╥_╥) I love toji, this man is honestly everything— I have like 3 other works of him almost down… am I obsessed? Maybe🙁 is this ooc for toji? Most definitely 😭

all work belongs to @j1hxxn , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!

Possessive suguru:

Suguru was always the jealous type, he was oddly patient about it though. He had a way of waiting until everything was exactly where he could see it, exactly where it belonged before he unleashed his silent fury. Tonight was the perfect example.

You were at a bar with friends, the kind of place that always felt a little too loud in the best way—music thumping through the walls, laughter ricocheting off glasses, everyone caught up in the warmth of the night. Suguru was with you, close enough to feel, relaxed enough to look harmless. You were only two drinks in when it happened.

A tall, sable-haired man approached. He didn’t loom like a threat; he came in smiling, bright and easy, like he already belonged in your orbit. His compliments were smooth, his flattery practiced, his questions delivered with the confidence of someone who expected answers.

You were courteous. You gave him the kind of simple, straightforward reactions people gave when they didn’t want to cause a scene. You answered his prodding questions—nothing complicated, nothing sharp—just enough to keep the conversation going without inviting trouble.

And all the while, you didn’t notice the way Suguru’s patience stretched a little thinner, like a thread being pulled slowly until it finally started to threaten snapping.

“What’s your name?” You asked him, “Choso…” he responded, flashing you a bright smile that seared into your eyelids. You could feel them. The pair of seething eyes on you. You shivered slightly and the raven haired man immediately said “you cold? Here— my jacket,” and draped over your bare shoulders his leather jacket.

You turned your head just enough to see Suguru reflected in the bar's dark glass windows.

He wasn't loud. He wasn't storming over. He wasn't moving.

That was what made it worse.

Suguru's smile; if it could even be called that, didn't reach his eyes, his soft crows feet not visible. He stayed where he was with your friends, drink halfway to his mouth, and watched you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Like whoever had approached you had just stepped onto a line he'd drawn.

The tall sable-haired man, leaned in again, too cheerful, too quick with his words.

"So," he said, bright as a blade, "you warmer now?" You swallowed. "I'm fine." "Mm." His grin widened. "You don't sound fine."

“Seriously I’m good, you can take this jacket back—“ you murmured as you slipped it off your body, and handed it back to him. Before you could turn around and walk away, a large palm slid around your waist and pulled you into their side—Suguru.

“Who’s your friend princess?”

“Oh, uh this is Choso… not really a friend I would say—“ you said, voice tight.

“Not a friend?” Choso’s voice slid out like a tease, bright and easy—his eyes practically sparkling as he wore that mischievous smile. “I’m hurt, darling… especially after the amazing conversation we just had?”

You kept your expression sharp as you glared at him, but the words barely had time to settle before something changed against your side.

Suguru’s grip tightened around your waist—grounding and possessive. It pulled you a fraction closer, enough to make your breath catch and your attention snap upward. When you looked at him, you found his eyes already locked in on Choso’s face.

No smile. No warmth. Just a steady, focused intensity that made it impossible to pretend this was friendly banter. Suguru didn’t blink; he didn’t look away. His attention felt like a hand around Choso’s throat.

Choso’s grin faltered just slightly at the way Suguru watched him, but he recovered fast, tilting his head like he could charm his way out of it. As if Suguru’s reaction was just another part of this silly little game.

But you could feel the tension humming under your skin—between Suguru’s hold and Choso’s too-bright confidence—a rope was held, waiting for someone to tug.

“So,” said Choso, voice light but eyes cutting, “is this a friend of yours, pretty?"

The word pretty landed with a deliberate sort of sweetness, the kind meant to sound harmless while it actually drew blood.

You could feel Suguru beside you shift, barely. Just enough to make the space between you feel smaller-like his patience had hit a limit and the rest of him was deciding what to do with it. Your breath caught in your chest when Suguru's hand at your waist tightened, firming into an anchor.

Suguru scoffed-low, sharp, and dismissive, as if Choso's little game bored him.

“Her lover,” Suguru said quietly, voice smooth enough to pass as control rather than emotion. His gaze never left Choso's.

“And you're just a stranger.”

Choso's smile flickered, but Suguru didn't give him time to recover. Suguru hooked his fingers around your hand, he held it firmly as he guided you away as if this had always been the plan.

Still, your attention kept snapping back towards Choso, toward what could’ve happened next, until Suguru's grip tightened around your hand like a warning.

“Come on,” he murmured, leading you deeper into the darker, quieter part of the place, where eyes couldn't reach as easily.

You were both in the single bathroom now, the door closing shut behind you with a click.

Suguru didn't waste time. The moment you turned toward him, his hand caught your jaw and tipped your face up with possessive force. Then his mouth came down on yours—mean and rough, less like a plea and more like staking a claim on your very being. Your lipstick smeared where his lips dragged, and he didn't slow, didn't soften, like he was punishing you.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was uneven, tan skin flushed that pretty shade of pink. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, your nose, then eyes, as if he was checking that you were still there-still his to hold.

"You looked at him," he said, voice low and sharp. “Like he deserved you.“ You tried to speak, but his thumb pressed hard against your cheek, making you squeak softly, yet keeping you still and complaint.

"Next time," Suguru murmured, leaning in close enough that you could feel every word, his lips brushing against yours, "don't answer strangers. Don't entertain them.

You don't owe anyone access to you." His gaze dropped to your lips again, then lifted—darker now.

"Or else I'll have to just take my frustrations out on you-" he murmured darkly,

"You know how I get, doll," he said, voice rough with jealous need. "I hate it when filth like that even thinks about coming near something as precious as you; something that's mine." His hands drifted to your hips, pulling you flush against him.

He tightened his hold, definitely not gently, just more deliberate—like he was reminding you he could do worse, and had chosen not to.

"Suguru-" you gasped softly as his head ducked suddenly and his lips attached themselves to your sap-sweet skin. Sucking and biting at your neck. He was definitely leaving deep bruises and bite marks on you.

Your hands found their way to his long locks and tugged softly, a whine escaping your lips.

"Keep making those noises and I'm taking you home..." he says with a chuckle before pulling away.

He stood back and admired his handiwork before saying

"alright— let's get going before everyone starts worrying doll,"

You nodded and smiled softly at him before saying

"always such a jealous man-"

"Only for you."

A/N: this is really rushed, especially the ending but it was a request so I had to get it done! Honestly writing this gave me some more confidence to write even more so (●’◡’●)ﾉ also suguru is so hawt omfg

Tags 🏷️: @raven66551 @lilithkleia @epicderpface hope this is to ur liking bbg💋