His hair is freshly trimmed, the ash blond strands still slightly damp from his shower, pushed back messily from his forehead. The sleeves of his black compression shirt cling to his shoulders and arms while the expensive button-up he plans on wearing hangs neatly from the bathroom door beside pressed slacks he spent way too long picking out earlier. Even his watch sits carefully beside the sink instead of abandoned somewhere random like usual. The entire thing feels too deliberate. Too polished. Too much like he gives a shit.

Which he doesn’t.

Obviously.

Except his stomach has felt weird since he woke up this morning.

Not nervous. Definitely not nervous. 

He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he clocked off hero work or how much time he spent at the gym so he could show off a pump tonight, nor can he try to convince himself it isn’t for the reason he doesn’t want to admit. He just wants to look good.

And that’s it. Simple as it sounds. No reason for him to choke on stuttering breaths.

The razor scrapes harder against his jaw this time as he rinses it aggressively under the sink. Hot water rushes over his fingers, turning the tips of them pink.

The celebration dinner is stupid to begin with, if you ask him.

Shoto gets ranked top two after the downtown incident last month, Endeavor immediately turns it into some flashy media spectacle about family legacy and hero society, and somehow all of Class A gets invited because the public still eats up that “golden generation” garbage years later. Old classmates pretending they all still keep in touch more often than not. The entire thing sounds exhausting.

But you’re gonna be there.

That’s the problem.

For all he cares, it’s been—what? Three years?

Three fucking years since he’s properly seen you.

Not in passing through articles online. Not blurry photos people tag him in accidentally after hero events. Not hearing your name mentioned by Mina or Sero every couple of months when they gossip over drinks.

Actually seeing you.

As in, In person.

Close enough to touch.

Because when him and you were no more, instead of running back to him like you’d always do, you moved out of Japan, got a job somewhere else in the world. You blocked him on all socials, blocked his number —even the agency landline— and for a while, he didn’t care to contact you. He didn’t care to check up on you, because who checks up on someone who said they wished they never met you? He went out of your life as quietly as you went out of his. Not caring if his last words hurt you, like you did.

Katsuki braces both hands against the sink and stares downward as water drips steadily from the faucet. His reflection blurs at the edges from the steam still clouding the glass, turning him into something distorted and unfamiliar.

Pathetic.

The worst part is he doesn’t even know what version of you is walking through those doors tonight.

Maybe you’re angry.

Maybe you barely look at him.

Maybe you’ve become one of those calm, polished heroes that smile perfectly for cameras now, the kind that know exactly how to navigate crowded rooms without making enemies out of everyone in them.

Or maybe you’ll look through him entirely.

That thought digs somewhere unpleasant beneath his ribs.

Fair enough, honestly.

He earns that.

The memory still crawls up on him sometimes when it gets too quiet. Usually late at night after patrol when he’s too exhausted to keep his thoughts from wandering somewhere ugly.

In all honesty he did try to talk to you. Last year, after he found out he wasn’t blocked anymore. But he was angry, vulgar, everything you’ve ever said you hated about him. And for better or for worse you had only told him you knew he’d never change. And he had left it there, not pressing anymore, not needing anymore proof to accept you just weren’t coming back.

Maybe this is why he won’t wear the polished clothes he’s picked out for tonight. Maybe the Nike sweats he tumble dried this morning and a t-shirt will make him look more casual, put together in a way fancy clothes won’t.

Because tonight is casual to him. It should be, at least, amidst picking up Kirishima and Izuku in his new car. He shouldn’t even care that you’re going to be there.

He keeps staring at himself anyway.

Like maybe if he looks long enough, he’ll suddenly figure out why this feels so fucking strange.

The bathroom light washes his skin pale while steam curls slowly around the edges of the mirror, softening the sharpness of his reflection. Katsuki barely recognizes the version of himself standing there sometimes. Not because he looks different—he does, obviously, older and broader and rougher around the edges—but because somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-five, the anger inside him changed shape.

Less explosive.

Much more exhausting.

He reaches for the towel hanging off the counter and drags it roughly over his face before tossing it aside. The nick near his chin still stings faintly. Tiny. Irritating. His eyes flick toward the button-up hanging from the bathroom door again, then away immediately.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

The idea of showing up looking like he spent hours trying to impress you makes something hot crawl up his neck. It feels pathetic now. Worse now, somehow, after standing here spiraling like an idiot for nearly forty minutes over a dinner he doesn’t even want to attend.

Katsuki grabs the hanger off the door and shoves the expensive shirt deeper into the closet on his way back into the bedroom.

Fuck that.

The softer lighting from his room settles easier against his eyes compared to the harsh fluorescent buzz of the bathroom. Outside the windows, the city glows orange and blue beneath the darkening sky, traffic crawling between towering buildings while distant sirens echo somewhere far below. His apartment sits high enough that most nights the noise blends together into background static.

Tonight it all feels too loud.

He yanks open a drawer harder than necessary and pulls out the black t-shirt he wears for training. The fabric stretches tight across his shoulders when he changes, outlining muscle built from years of relentless schedules, combat drills, patrols, sleepless nights at the gym whenever his head gets too crowded to sit still inside his own apartment.

Not for you.

Obviously.

The thought comes so defensive it almost makes him scoff at himself.

The sweats are clean at least. Black Nike joggers fresh from the dryer this morning, soft at the inside, fitted enough that Kirishima once called them “boyfriend material clothes” before Katsuki threatened to blast him through a wall. Casual. Comfortable. Like he isn’t thinking about tonight at all.

Like he didn’t spend an embarrassing amount of time earlier deciding between watches.

His jaw tightens again.

This is ridiculous.

You’re just another person he used to know.

That’s it.

Three years changes people. Hell, maybe you aren’t even the same woman anymore. Maybe you cut your hair shorter now. Maybe you picked up some accent overseas since your Japanese seemed too weird the last time you talked. And— and maybe, like the thoughts that used to consume him before he ever reached out to you last year, there’s somebody else waiting for you back home after tonight, somebody softer than him. Somebody easier. Someone your shared friends know about but won’t let him know of.

That thought lands badly, like he woke a dragon from a millennial slumber. His chest immediately feels too tight for it.

Katsuki snatches his car keys off the counter before he can sit with the feeling any longer.

His hone buzzes again from the kitchen table as he passes by. Probably Kirishima. Maybe Deku. Maybe another last-minute reminder about tonight’s schedule.

He ignores it.

The kitchen still smells faintly like coffee from this morning, dishes abandoned beside the sink because he hasn’t had enough energy lately to care about cleaning immediately after meals. There’s protein powder spilled near the toaster from breakfast. A hoodie tossed over one of the dining chairs. Tiny signs of somebody actually living here instead of the spotless, polished apartment magazines keep trying to photograph whenever reporters sneak glimpses during interviews.

For a second, his eyes drift unconsciously toward the balcony.

You used to stand out there all the time. Especially during storms.

Wrapped in one of his hoodies with your arms folded over the railing while Musutafu lit up below you in blurred neon reflections. You always complained the city looked lonely from this high up.

Katsuki used to think that was stupid. Now he gets it.

His throat feels strangely dry.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath.

The worst part is he genuinely has no idea how tonight’s gonna go.

Maybe you’ll smile politely at him like he’s an old coworker and he’ll have to be casual about greeting you, though he doesn’t want to.

Maybe you’ll avoid him altogether.

Maybe Mina’ll force everybody into some obnoxious group photo and suddenly he’ll be standing beside you for the first time in years pretending his heart isn’t punching against his ribs hard enough to bruise merely at the thought of it all.

Or maybe—

Maybe you’ll just look heavenly good.

That’s the real problem, honestly.

Because he already knows you will.

Not because of makeup or clothes or whatever expensive shit pro heroes wear to these events now. You always looked good to him in ways that annoyed the hell out of him. Half-asleep in his shirts. Sitting on his kitchen counter eating takeout straight from the carton. Yelling at him from across the apartment while he ignored you on purpose just to hear you get louder.

Three years later and his body still remembers stupid things about you automatically.

The sound of your laugh.

The weight of your legs thrown over his lap.

The smell of your peachy shampoo lingering on his pillows after arguments where one of you stormed out dramatically only to come back two hours later.

Katsuki grips his keys tighter.

Nope.

He’s not doing this tonight. He’s not showing up already halfway dragged into the past because of somebody who made it painfully clear they didn’t want him in their life anymore.

That should matter.

It does matter.

And honestly, he understands why you left.

Back then he was still angry at everything. Angry at hero society. Angry at himself. Angry at how badly he wanted somebody and how terrified he is of needing them at the same time. Every conversation between you eventually turned into him snapping before you can get too close to whatever ugly thing sits underneath his ribs.

You called him cruel once.

Not loudly. Not even during a fight.

Just tired.

And somehow that had struck him worse than any screaming ever could. That’s when it clicked to him, that no matter how much you said you saw the good in him, you never truly could. Even if one of your last sentences to him was that you loved him, he didn’t believe you could ever love someone you thought was cruel, someone you wish you never met. 

Katsuki locks the apartment behind him harder than necessary before heading toward the elevator.

The hallway lights flicker softly overhead while he waits, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. His reflection stares back at him from the metal elevator doors—broad shoulders, tired eyes, black compression shirt clinging too tightly against muscle that suddenly feels more like armor than confidence.

Casual.

Tonight is casual.

Just old classmates catching up. Nothing more.

Then his phone vibrates again.

EIJIRO: don’t be weird tonight bro

A second message immediately follows; something about sitting shotgun in his new car.

Katsuki stares at the screen for a long moment. Then another vibration.

IZUKU: Kacchan are we still meeting downstairs in 20?

His jaw flexes hard enough to ache.

Because somehow, despite everything, despite all the years and silence and blocked numbers and ugly last conversations—

A part of him still feels twenty-two again. Twenty-two and convinced that no one could love the way he expressed himself.

______

By the time Katsuki parks outside the izakaya, the knot in his stomach has already settled into something meaner. Sharper. Musutafu glows around him and his friends in streaks of reflected neon against rain-dark pavement while a valet moves between cars beneath the izakaya entrance. The place itself is ridiculously upscale even if it is just traditional, all warm golden lighting spilling through enormous glass windows and polished black stone.

Kirishima lets out a low whistle from the passenger seat as he climbs out. “Can’t wait to see everyone.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki mutters automatically, already slamming the car door closed harder than necessary.

Cold evening air immediately brushes against the back of his neck. Somewhere nearby, traffic hums steadily through the city while muffled laughter spills from the izakaya entrance every time the doors open. Izuku smooths anxiously at the sleeves of his suit beside the car, glancing toward the building with that same nervous energy he’s carried since high school.

“Do we think Todoroki planned all this himself,” he starts, adjusting his tie, “or do you think Endeavor hired—”

“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts flatly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “if you start analyzing anything, i’m leaving.”

“I wasn’t gonna analyze the—”

“You literally were.”

Kirishima snorts loudly beside them, and normally the familiar bickering would loosen something in Katsuki’s chest. Tonight it barely registers because his attention keeps drifting toward the entrance before they even reach it, heartbeat strangely steady in a way that feels worse than panic. Like his body already knows something his brain is still trying to avoid.

The hostess opens the doors with a practiced smile, and warm air immediately wraps around them alongside the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The restaurant is crowded with heroes, old classmates that are lingering discreetly in sorted tables near the back, all surrounded by polished wood and amber lighting that makes everything glow soft and expensive.

Katsuki barely notices any of it.

His eyes find you almost instantly.

Of course they do.

You’re seated near the center of the room beside the girls, half-turned toward Mina while Ochaco laughs at something across the table. The lighting catches warmly against the side of your face, softening the curve of your expression while gold jewelry glints subtly against your skin every time you move. Your hair is longer now than the last time he saw you in person, falling over your shoulders while one hand curls loosely around a sake glass. You look comfortable there. Relaxed. Like you belong in rooms like this now.

And for one awful second, Katsuki genuinely forgets how to breathe.

Three years vanish instantly beneath the weight of recognition. His body remembers you before his brain does, something visceral and humiliating tightening beneath his ribs before he can stop it.

Fuck.

You look different, but not enough to feel unfamiliar. Older, maybe. Sharper around the edges in the way everybody becomes sharper with time. There’s confidence in the way you sit now that wasn’t fully there before, something steadier beneath your posture. You carry yourself like someone who’s finally learned how to exist without apologizing for taking up space.

Then Mina notices them entering.

“Oh my god, finally!” she calls immediately, waving dramatically across the room. “You guys are late as hell!”

Several heads turn at once.

Including yours.

Katsuki feels it immediately, that split second your eyes land on him from across the room. It happens so fast he almost convinces himself he imagined it. No widening. No visible surprise. No anger flashing across your face. Your gaze settles on him briefly before moving smoothly toward Kirishima instead.

“Oh, Eiji,” you smile warmly, standing slightly from your pillow as the group approaches. “Hi.”

The knot in Katsuki’s stomach twists tighter.

Kirishima grins instantly. “There she is. Damn, it’s been forever.”

“It literally has,” Mina groans dramatically. “This bitch abandoned us internationally.”

You laugh softly at that, embarrassed enough to duck your head slightly.

The sound lands somewhere dangerous in Katsuki’s chest.

Ochaco immediately stands to greet Izuku while the others start talking over each other all at once, greetings and questions colliding noisily together after years apart. You converse with everyone easily. Kirishima gets pulled into a quick side hug while you squeeze Ochaco’s hand excitedly across the table. You ask Izuku about agency work overseas, laugh when Kaminari nearly trips over a table trying to sit down, you smile politely at Jirou when she teases your accent sounding slightly different now.

But Katsuki gets nothing.

At first he tells himself maybe you just haven’t gotten there yet. Maybe it’s awkward. Maybe you’re nervous too and trying to settle into the conversation before acknowledging him properly.

Then Kirishima nudges him lightly with his elbow.

“Oi,” he mutters under his breath, “say hi, silly.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.

His eyes flick toward you again, but you’re already sitting back down beside Mina, smoothing your sleeve absentmindedly while listening to Momo speak. Completely relaxed. Completely normal.

Like he isn’t even there.

Something hot immediately crawls beneath his skin, but it doesn’t feel like anger. Anger would’ve been easier to deal with. Easier to understand. This feels uglier than that.

Because you aren’t being cold.

You aren’t glaring at him or avoiding eye contact dramatically or making the tension obvious for everyone else at the table.

You’re just indifferent.

Clean, casual, effortless indifference that makes it painfully obvious you’ve already figured out how to exist in the same room as him without it affecting you at all.

Katsuki pulls form to his seat harder than necessary across from Kirishima, the sharp scrape of the table flinching away from him against the floor briefly cutting through the table conversation. Nobody reacts except Mina, whose eyes dart toward him automatically before flicking carefully toward you.

You don’t even look up.

Jesus Christ.

His chest suddenly feels too tight.

“You look good, by the way,” Mina says suddenly, leaning dramatically against your shoulder. “Like suspiciously good. What the hell are they feeding you overseas?”

You laugh quietly, almost embarrassed by the attention. “Literally just less stress, probably.”

The joke lands casually around the table. Kaminari laughs. Jirou snorts into her drink. Ochaco starts teasing you immediately about abandoning Japanese work culture.

Nobody else notices anything strange about the comment.

But Katsuki does.

Of course he fucking does.

Less stress.

Like loving him had exhausted you so thoroughly that leaving the entire country became the healthiest thing you’d ever done for yourself.

His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the menu sitting untouched in front of him.

“Still working with that rescue agency?” Izuku asks curiously.

You nod. “Mostly disaster relief now, yeah. It’s quieter than here.”

“Quieter?” Kaminari repeats incredulously. “Why would you want quieter?”

“Because some people enjoy peace,” Jirou answers dryly.

“Exactly,” you laugh.

And there it is again, that strange feeling pressing heavier against Katsuki’s ribs every time you smile. Because you do seem peaceful now. Not forced. Not pretending. Actually peaceful.

Your posture stays relaxed through every conversation. Your smile comes easier than he remembers. Even your voice sounds lighter somehow, no longer carrying that constant tension that used to sit beneath your words whenever the two of you argued. Back then, loving each other always felt loud. Intense. Like every conversation teetered dangerously close to becoming a fight neither of you knew how to stop once it started.

Now you just seem… calm.

Katsuki suddenly feels too large in his seat. Too rough around the edges for this version of you. His broad shoulders, his obnoxiously loud voice, the constant restless energy simmering beneath his skin all feel painfully obvious in comparison to the quiet ease you carry now.

Mina notices it first.

Her eyes flick carefully between the two of you once. Then again.

Her smile falters slightly.

Because now it’s becoming noticeable to everybody else too.

You still haven’t acknowledged Katsuki properly once since they entered the izakaya.

Kirishima notices next, judging by the awkward way he shifts beside Katsuki before clearing his throat.

“So, uh…” he starts carefully, eyes darting between you both. “Crazy seeing everybody together again, huh?”

“Mm,” you hum politely before taking another sip of your drink.

That’s it.

No tension sharpens your voice. No bitterness leaks through your expression. Nothing about your reaction feels forced or emotional at all. Katsuki Bakugo has somehow become just another former classmate sitting at the table across from yours instead of the man you once shared a bed and apartment and entire future with. 

You used to tell each other that by the time you’re twenty-five you’d surprise your friends and old classmates by popping a kid out of the blue in one of these events. You used to laugh at the thought of him flaunting a baby bump on you, dreaming that you’d hide your engagement ring from everyone until it was the right time to announce you’d get married.

In another life, it may have been different.

Instead of that, you and him are forcibly strangers now; the realization settles, once again heavily in his stomach.

At least showing hatred towards him would mean he still mattered enough to ruin your evening.

This indifference feels like being erased entirely.

______________

The longer the night settles around the izakaya, the more Katsuki realizes he completely misjudged what this dinner was supposed to be.

Not some polished, high-class event packed with cameras and stiff hero society bullshit.

Just an izakaya. Despite how fancy it is.

A crowded, noisy, familiar little place tucked between glowing Musutafu storefronts where the tables are too close together and the air smells like grilled meat, fried oil, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke clinging faintly to old wood. Somebody in the back is laughing loud enough to echo over the music while waiters squeeze through narrow spaces carrying trays overloaded with skewers and drinks. Half the group’s jackets are already tossed carelessly everywhere.

Casual.

Comfortable.

The kind of place Class A used to practically live in after internships.

Which somehow makes this worse.

Because you fit into it too naturally even if you’ve missed the majority of it.

Time passes eerily as Katsuki watches from across the table while Mina complains dramatically about agency interns stealing her skincare products, and you laugh so easily at something dumb Kaminari says that for a split second it genuinely feels like no time has passed at all.

Except it has.

He notices it in tiny things.

You don’t interrupt people as much anymore. Back then you used to talk over everyone whenever you got excited, eyes bright and hands moving while you argued passionately about absolutely everything. Now you lean back when people speak, quieter in a way that feels more intentional than shy. You still smile the same, though. That part hits him unexpectedly hard.

Same slight squint around your eyes. Maybe a few subtle wrinkles now, that still manage to look good on you.

Same habit of hiding your laugh behind your drink or your hand sometimes.

It’s awful how quickly he notices all of it.

A waiter slides another round of drinks onto the table, glass clinking loudly against wood.

“Bakugo,” Sero grins from farther down the booth, already flushed pink from alcohol, “you’ve been weirdly quiet all night. You sick or somethin’?”

“I’m always quiet,” Katsuki answers flatly before taking a long sip of beer.

The table immediately erupts.

“That is literally not true,” Jirou snorts.

“Shut up! It is!”

“Me when I lie” Mina snorts.

“You used to start fights with strangers in restaurants,” Kaminari points out.

“Correction,” Kirishima says, grinning, “he used to start fights with strangers everywhere.”

“I remember that guy at karaoke—”

“He deserved it.”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Katsuki barely listens.

Because across the table, you’re smiling into your drink again, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter while Mina nearly falls sideways into Ochaco from laughing too hard.

And you still won’t look at him.

Not really.

Your gaze passes over him occasionally in that absent, polite way people acknowledge furniture in crowded rooms, but nothing lingers. No awkwardness. No tension. No visible effort to avoid him either still, which somehow stings too much.

It’s like you already adjusted to his presence within the first five minutes of arriving.

Meanwhile he feels painfully aware of every movement you make.

The way your rings tap softly against your glass.

The faint crease between your brows whenever you listen closely to someone speaking.

The small scar near your wrist he remembers kissing once while you laid half-asleep across his chest.

His stomach twists hard enough to make him irritated with himself all over again.

This is fucking ridiculous.

“Bakugo.”

His head lifts automatically.

Momo’s looking at him from across the table. “Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“I said,” she repeats patiently, “Shoto wants everyone at his agency anniversary event next month too.”

“Absolutely not,” Katsuki answers immediately.

Kaminari groans. “Dude, you say no to everything.”

“Because everything sounds terrible.”

“See?” Mina points accusingly toward you. “This is why our sweetie over here escaped the country. We’re emotionally exhausting.”

The comment is obviously meant as a joke and the table laughs.

Even you smile.

But Katsuki feels the words land somewhere unpleasant anyway.

Before he can stop himself, his eyes flick toward you.

For the first time all night, you finally look directly back at him.

It lasts maybe two seconds!?

Three, max.

Then, when Kirishima opens his mouth it’s as if he can’t stop being a moron. Like he never could have guessed what the context of ‘time and place’ is. He points at you, then Katsuki.

“Remember when you guys sneaked out during the winter festival and everyone thought you were kidnapped?”

The entire table immediately erupts.

“Oh my god.”

“They were gone for HOURS—”

“Because SOMEONE turned their phones off,” Kaminari wheezes.

“You guys came back looking guilty as hell,” Mina accuses dramatically.

Katsuki feels his shoulders tense instantly. He sees you shrink into a timely creature in your seat.

Back then, you’d dragged him behind the gym building because you were freezing and irritated and insisted his body temperature was “unnaturally useful.” He remembers pinning you against the wall afterward just to shut you up after you laughed at how red his ears got.

He remembers kissing you until neither of you could breathe properly. 

The memory hits hard enough to feel physical. Youthful kisses, teenage love— he remembers how it felt when he kissed you first and when he had kissed you then. He remembers making out in your dorm late at night when he should’ve been resting his injuries after the war.

Around the table, everyone’s still laughing.

Except you.

You’ve gone still beside Mina, fingers tightening almost invisibly around your drink before you take another sip.

Then, calmly, casually—

“So,” you interrupt smoothly, turning toward Ochaco and Tsuyu instead, “how’s hero life treating you two?”

Clean cut. Effortless for anyone who can’t read behind your eyes.

The conversation immediately shifts away from the topic entirely.

Like you did it on purpose. Like the memory embarrasses you now.

Katsuki drops whatever sits at the top of his tongue like it stung too much to be spoken out loud. Like he was given a sound reminder that his words are always unnecessary.

___________

Everyone eventually becomes too careless despite the fragility of the situation.

Alcohol warms the tables steadily, loosening voices and posture until conversations start overlapping loudly across the cramped izakaya booth. Kaminari is practically hanging halfway over Sero now while arguing about hero rankings nobody else cares about, and Kirishima’s laugh keeps booming loudly enough to earn irritated glances from nearby tables. Even more empty beer glasses crowd together beside greasy plates streaked with sauce while waiters weave expertly through the narrow aisles carrying fresh rounds of skewers and drinks.

Normally Katsuki would be right in the middle of it all.

Tonight he barely said a word, even if he found himself at your table for some reason.

Because every single time the conversation drifts naturally toward old memories involving the two of you, you choose to redirect it before it can fully land.

Always subtle enough most people probably don’t notice.

But he notices.

Every single time.

When Mina starts retelling the beach trip where the two of you once again disappeared from the bonfire for over an hour, you smoothly interrupt to ask Jirou about her latest music project overseas. When Kirishima almost brings up the apartment you used to share in the heart of the city, you casually wave down the waiter and ask if anyone wants another round of drinks before he can finish the sentence.

And the worst part is how effortless you make it look.

You aren’t visibly uncomfortable. You aren’t tense or bitter or awkward every time his name comes up paired with yours. You navigate around him cleanly, naturally, like you’ve already spent years learning exactly how to exist comfortably in spaces where even if Katsuki Bakugo is present, he can simply be erased.

The notion starts irritating him more with every passing minute. It sits tighter beneath his ribs by the second. Makes his heart beat in fragile, irregular beats.

A doctor had once told him to keep track of arhythmic beats like this. 

Tonight he does not. But usually, he does.

Across the table, you tilt your head back slightly while laughing at something Ochaco says, fingers still loosely wrapped around your glass. The soft amber lighting from the hanging lanterns catches against your face warmly enough that Katsuki immediately looks away afterward, jaw tightening hard.

Then your phone lights up beside your plate.

His eyes catch it automatically, assumption quick to replace every spec of vermilion in his irises.

A name flashes briefly across the screen before you casually turn the phone face down against the table.

It’s a nickname paired with a heart.

It could be a friend, but for that he’s unconvinced.

Something twists violently low in Katsuki’s stomach.

Immediate. Sharp enough to genuinely piss him off.

Three years.

Obviously there’s somebody else now.

What the hell did he expect? That you spent years overseas grieving a relationship that ended with both of you saying things cruel enough to permanently carve into each other?

His fingers curl tighter around his beer glass.

Mina notices instantly.

Her eyes flick carefully between him and you before she awkwardly clears her throat. “Okay, wow,” she says carefully, trying to laugh through the tension, “this table energy’s getting kinda weird.”

“Only because your face gets louder every time you drink,” Jirou answers dryly without looking up from her glass.

“No, seriously,” Mina insists now, glancing more cautiously toward Katsuki. “Everybody’s acting strange.”

“Nobody’s acting strange,” you answer calmly before finally looking directly at Katsuki for the second time all night.

And somehow that feels worse.

You really are fine. Not pretending. Not secretly emotional underneath the surface. Fi—ne. Almost too cold.

You are completely, genuinely fine sitting across from him after three years apart.

Something reckless rises inside his chest almost immediately.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Katsuki asks suddenly, attention fully turned to you. “Then say it to my face.”

For once, he manages to keep your eyes in his.

The table quiets.

Not completely, but enough that nearby conversations and clinking glasses start bleeding awkwardly into the silence between your group.

Your brows pull together faintly before rising. “What?”

“You’ve barely looked at me all night.”

“Why would I?”

When you respond, Kirishima visibly winces beside him.

“Bakugo,” he mutters quietly under his breath.

An effort for calmness that pays out fruitless soil. Katsuki barely hears him now that the irritation’s already pushing its way out.

“No, seriously,” he continues, eyes locked onto yours. “What’s the deal?”

The atmosphere around the table shifts immediately.

Mina looks horrified. Izuku suddenly looks like he wants the floor to physically open beneath him—he hasn’t said anything about you up till now. Not on the phone, not in the car when Katsuki snapped like broken glass at every single thing. He didn’t even say anything about you when Katsuki told him that if he treats everyone like they’re special, then no one really is special to him. (When does Katsuki ever get so emotional?)

Even Kaminari goes quiet for once.

You stare at Katsuki from across the table for a long moment, expression unreadable beneath the warm restaurant lighting. Then you blink slowly before setting your drink down carefully against the table.

“…There’s no deal. You made sure of that.”

The calmness in your voice instantly makes his irritation worse.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“No,” you answer evenly, “I’ve been talking to everyone.”

“Except me.”

The silence afterward settles heavily between you both.

Around the table, nobody moves. The noise of the izakaya suddenly feels distant compared to the pressure building in the booth. You lean back slightly in your seat, eyes finally holding his properly instead of sliding politely past him like earlier.

“What exactly are you expecting from me here, Katsuki?”

The question catches him off guard immediately.

Not because of the words but because of the exhaustion in your tone that has completely replaced anger.

“I dunno,” he answers flatly, defensive before he can stop himself. “Basic acknowledgement maybe.”

You stare at him another second before letting out a small breath through your nose. Not dramatic. Not emotional. Just tired.

“I said hi when you walked in.”

“No,” Katsuki says immediately, “you said hi to Eijiro.”

Kaminari audibly mutters “oh my god, bets. Bets now!” under his breath before Mina immediately kicks him hard beneath the table.

Your fingers tap once lightly against your glass before stilling again completely.

Then, finally, something shifts in your expression.

And it’s not sadness.

Just plain right resignation. Like you’ve already given up.

“You want honesty?” you ask quietly.

Something inside Katsuki’s chest tightens instinctively.

Because now everybody at the table is looking literally anywhere except the two of you. Kirishima suddenly becomes very interested in his drink. Ochaco stares fixedly at the condensation sliding down her glass. Even Sero awkwardly clears his throat under his breath.

“Fuck yeah, stop playing games.”

You hold Katsuki’s gaze the entire time when you speak again.

“I ain’t got shit to say to you in front of everyone.” You say, bluntly, “but since you say we don’t have to play games, I didn’t ignore you because I hate you,” you continue. “I ignored you because every single time I look at you, I remember the last conversation we had.”

The words land directly against his sternum. Heavy. Sharp like a swirly blade and enough that for a second he genuinely forgets how to respond.

The memory crashes back immediately whether he wants it to or not.

Rain hammering against pavement outside the apartment.

You crying so hard your voice kept shaking despite how badly you tried hiding it.

Him saying things he knew would hurt before they even left his mouth.

You standing there afterward like he’d physically reached inside your chest and twisted something apart with his bare hands.

“I wish I never met you.”

Katsuki remembers that part perfectly.

Worse, he remembers exactly what he said right before to make you say it. Something cruel. Something calculated. Something along the lines of “you’re lying to yourself when you say you love me.”

Because back then hurting each other always came easier than admitting how badly neither of you wanted things to end.

Across the table, your expression remains composed, but now he notices the strain sitting carefully beneath it. The effort it’s taking you to stay this calm. To keep your voice level instead of letting old wounds split open in front of everyone.

“I’m not trying to make tonight uncomfortable,” you continue more quietly now. “I came because I’m back in Japan and I missed everyone. That’s all.”

Everyone.

But not specifically him.

The distinction settles ugly and heavy enough inside his chest that he and everyone else in this room are short of words

The atmosphere around the table changes only when the emergency hero alert rings on everyone’s phones.

Around you, everybody moves at once.

Years of training erase the awkwardness almost instantly. Drinks abandoned. Jackets pulled on. Conversations cut short mid-sentence while tables scrape across wood flooring. The emotional wreckage sitting between you and Katsuki gets shoved violently aside beneath instinct and urgency.

You stand automatically too.

And for one humiliating second, relief floods through you so fast it almost makes your knees weak. Because now you don’t have to stay sitting across from him anymore.

You don’t have to survive whatever expression is currently sitting on Katsuki’s face after what you just said.

You don’t have to keep pretending your heart isn’t beating so hard it physically hurts.

The group spills out into the cold Musutafu night in a rush of noise and movement. Sirens already echo faintly somewhere ahead, reflecting red against rain-slick pavement while civilians stop to stare at the sudden crowd of pro heroes flooding onto the sidewalk.

You breathe in sharply the second cold air hits your lungs.

It helps. Barely. Your hands still feel shaky and so fucking stupid..

Because the worst part—the genuinely humiliating part—is that none of what you said was a lie.

You did ignore Katsuki because looking at him hurts.

But not in the way everyone at that table probably assumed. Everyone, including him, thinks it’s because you stopped loving him.

And honestly that—would’ve been easier.

The problem is, that standing across from Katsuki after three years still feels dangerously close to standing too near an open flame. Like one wrong moment of weakness could drag you straight back into him before you remember all the reasons you left in the first place.

And God—you wanted to.

That’s the pathetic part.

The second he walked into the restaurant tonight, broad shoulders filling the doorway, looking so pretty even if all the boyish charm had abandoned his face for good, while his eyes immediately found yours across the room, something inside your chest reacted so violently you almost forgot how to breathe.

Three years.

Three whole fucking years.

And your body still recognized him instantly.

You hated that.

Hated how good he looked. Hated how familiar his voice sounded. Hated that even now, after everything, some traitorous part of you still wanted to walk straight across the room and touch him just to prove he was real. Kiss him so you at least be able to go back to your friends overseas and let them know you got the kiss of closure you’ve been wanting so desperately. 

But you knew better now.

You had to know better now.

Because loving Katsuki always felt like standing too close to an explosion and convincing yourself the heat wasn’t burning you alive.

You pull your hair back quickly while jogging after the others down the crowded sidewalk, the heels of your boots striking wet pavement hard enough to ground you back into the present. Neon signs blur overhead while people move aside hurriedly at the sight of pro heroes rushing past.

Beside you, Ochaco glances over briefly.

“You okay?”

The question is gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” you answer immediately.

Too quickly.

Ochaco’s expression softens in that awful way people look at wounded animals they aren’t sure how to help. That facade that all heroes put on when they’re helping a missing child find their mommy.

You look away to let her go before she can say anything else.

Ahead of the group, Katsuki is already moving faster than everyone else, irritation practically radiating off him in waves while sparks crackle faintly against his palms. The familiar sight hits somewhere deep in your chest with painful precision.

God.

There he is— Still carrying himself like the entire world personally offended him for existing.

And somehow you still love him enough it makes you feel sick.

You wonder briefly if he knows.

If he’s always known and if so, why he’s denying it.

Maybe that’s what made the breakup so unbearable in the first place. Katsuki understood exactly how much power he had over you, and every time he got scared of needing someone that badly in return, he lashed out before you could hurt him first.

________

The robbery cleanup drags longer than expected.

Statements. Damage reports. Civilians needing reassurance. Media helicopters circling overhead long enough to become irritating background noise.

By the time everything finally settles, the sky above Musutafu has turned that heavy shade of black and blue. The streets are quieter now, washed silver beneath streetlights while exhausted civilians slowly reclaim the sidewalks. Neon signs remain glowing in the background of it all.

Katsuki feels wrung out.

Not physically, though. Physically he’s fine. His heart, at least, has finally stopped palpitating. It’s everything else which isn’t his heart that's clawing at the inside of his chest that’s making him tired.

After an agonizing thirty minutes of broken communications on splitting the bill with everyone else, he gets dragged into easy conversation.

“Alright, alright,” Kaminari groans dramatically while stretching his arms over his head. “I’m officially declaring tonight cursed.”

“You declare everything cursed,” Mina replies instantly.

“Because everything is cursed.”

Kirishima snorts beside them while Izuku adjusts the strap of his gauntlets. “At least nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters distractedly, digging his car keys from his pocket.

His mind hasn’t stopped replaying the familiar sound of your voice through your conversation for the past twenty minutes. The kind of familiar that dug straight under his skin and stayed there.

Katsuki hates how much those words affected him. Hates that part of him wanted to turn around and ask what the hell that tone meant after everything that’s happened between you before leaving for his hero duties.

Instead, he shoved it down where everything else goes. The pit of his dropping stomach.

The group behind him, after enthusiastically rejoicing and pleading for even a sight of his car, reaches the parking structure entrance together with him, footsteps echoing faintly through the concrete levels while fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Mina’s still talking about how good the food was. Kirishima’s half-listening while Denki complains loudly about tomorrow’s paperwork.

Normal. Everything feels painfully normal again.

Izuku has already left to chase after Ochaco. Katsuki gets to go home with one less friend to lash out on and half a heart.

“Later, man,” Kirishima says to a far away Izuku raising a hand.

Katsuki barely listens while waving him off with a lazy flick of his hand.

Then he sees you. And every thought in his head immediately cuts clean in half.

You’re standing beside his car. leaning against it casually. Not waiting in some cinematic pose.

Just there.

Hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket while cool garage lighting spills softly across your face. You look tired now. More tired than you did at dinner. Hair slightly messy. Faint smudges of eyeliner still near the corners of your eyes.

Real. That’s the first thing that hits him. Just you. Waiting for him.

Kirishima notices you first from the whole group.

“Oh, hi.”

Mina stops talking.

Denki’s eyes widen slightly before darting rapidly between both of you like he accidentally walked into live explosives.

Katsuki’s pulse kicks hard once against his ribs and his neck.

You look at him quietly before speaking.

“…Can we talk?”

Simple words. Calm voice. And somehow they hit harder than that joke of an argument earlier.

Nobody moves for about two seconds. Then Katsuki clicks his tongue sharply without taking his eyes off you.

“Oi.”

Kirishima straightens immediately. “Yeah?”

“Get lost.”

Denki nearly chokes.

Mina looks openly offended. “Wow? Rude.”

“I said leave.”

“Actually,” Kaminari says nervously, already backing away, “I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

Kirishima hesitates longer.

Katsuki notices it instantly.

The concern. The don’t blow this up worse look sitting all over his face.

“Tch,” Katsuki mutters. “I’m not gonna start shit in a parking garage.”

“That’s not super reassuring when you phrase it like that,” Mina says.

You huff out the faintest breath beside the car—almost a laugh.

The sound catches Katsuki off guard badly enough that his eyes flick toward you automatically. Because he forgot for a second what it sounded like when your amusement wasn’t forced. He’s forgotten what it was like when he used to make you laugh, being so caught up in the destruction of it all.

Kirishima notices too. Something in his expression softens before he finally sighs heavily and throws his hands up. “Alright, alright. We’re leaving.”

“But if either of you commits emotional crimes,” Mina warns dramatically while walking backward toward the elevator, “I’m intervening.”

“You say that like you’re emotionally qualified to help anybody,” Katsuki shoots back automatically. “Or like you have to wait around here.”

“See? This is why therapy should be mandatory for heroes!”

The elevator doors of the garage close over the sound of Denki cackling.

And then they’re gone.

Silence settles almost immediately afterward. Not awkward exactly.

The parking structure hums quietly around you both, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead while distant traffic echoes faintly from outside. Somewhere farther down the level, water drips steadily from a pipe into concrete.

Katsuki shoves one hand into his pocket to stop himself from fidgeting.

You still haven’t moved from beside his car.

Up close now, he notices the exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes properly. The careful composure from dinner looks thinner somehow. Like tonight finally wore through it.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then—

“You really think I hate you?” you ask quietly.

The question lands so directly he almost flinches.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens automatically. “You ignored me for four fuckin’ hours.”

“I ignored you because I was trying not to ruin my own night.”

That catches him off guard enough to shut him up briefly.

You look away first, arms folding tighter across yourself.

“I spent three years trying to get over you,” you admit quietly. “Do you understand how humiliating it is that seeing you again almost reset all of it instantly?”

Katsuki feels something sharp twist low in his chest.

Because your voice still doesn't sound angry. It  sounds like you’re simple frustrated with yourself.

“I didn’t know what version of you was gonna walk into that restaurant tonight,” you continue. “And honestly? I was scared that if I talked to you normally for even five minutes, I’d forget why we broke up in the first place.”

The parking garage suddenly feels too small, too warm. Katsuki stares at you, heartbeat starting to thud harder beneath his ribs again in a way that has nothing to do with fighting anymore. He starts thinking of every single moment today where his thoughts remained the same as yours.

You laugh softly then, but there’s no humor in it.

“And the worst part is,” you murmur, eyes dropping briefly toward the concrete floor, “I still wanted you to come sit next to me. I keep thinking I want the goodbye kiss that I never got. I can never fully leave you behind and I think it’s just because I don’t want to. Last year when you messaged me, I found myself excited at the thought of us getting back together.

The words hit him harder than any fight tonight did.

Just honest enough to split something open clean down the middle.

Katsuki stares at you like he genuinely forgot how to move for a second. Because he’d prepared himself for anger; —resentment, perhaps. Even the mischellanious instant where you’d be maybe telling him you moved on and he was pathetic for still carrying pieces of this -you- around like shrapnel under his skin.

He didn’t prepare himself himself for this right now in any of his overthinking scenarios.

You standing in front of him at nearly two two in the morning, exhausted and vulnerable and still admitting you wanted him back once too. The million dollar question is: do you still?

The fluorescent lights of the parking lot above you the two of you flicker faintly.  Somewhere deeper in the garage, a car alarm chirps once before falling silent again—Katsuki barely hears any of it.

“When I saw your message,” you continue more quietly, “I remember staring at my phone like an idiot for an hour before answering.” A weak laugh leaves you. “My friend literally had to pry it out of my hands because I kept rereading it.”

His chest tightens painfully.

Because he remembers sending that message.

Sitting alone in his apartment after patrol with alcohol burning down his throat while he typed and deleted different versions of I miss you for nearly twenty minutes before settling on something colder instead. Something easier.

“Why would you fucking unblock me?”

Pathetic.

“You sounded angry,” you admit softly. “But I still kept hoping maybe underneath it… maybe you missed me enough to try again.”

Katsuki looks away sharply, jaw flexing hard.

He did.

That’s the worst fucking part.

He remembers pacing around his kitchen waiting for your replies like his life depended on them. Remembers the stupid spike of hope every time his phone buzzed. Remembers ruining the entire conversation because the second things started feeling vulnerable again, panic crawled viciously straight up his spine and turned everything mean.

Same old him as always.

“You told me I never changed,” he mutters roughly.

Your expression shifts slightly at that. Not regret exactly. Something sadder.

“Because you hadn’t.”

The honesty stings immediately because part of him knows you’re right. Back then he’d still been treating love like a fight he needed to win before somebody could abandon him first. Katsuki drags a hand hard down his face before laughing once under his breath. Bitter. Exhausted.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Probably deserved that one.”

Silence settles again after that. Raw, void of the hostility every other silence between you tonight. However, this time, the hostility of any previous silence between you tonight, is missing. Everything is raw and open like an oozing, fresh wound.

Had that been the case, he’d known better of.

You’re still standing near his car with your arms folded tightly across yourself like you’re physically holding your own chest together. Katsuki notices your fingers trembling slightly against your sleeves.

You’re nervous.

That realization hits unexpectedly hard too. Because he also forgot what it felt like knowing he could still affect you like this.

“I hated you for a while,” you admit suddenly, voice quieter now. “Or—I tried to, at least, at least.” You shake your head faintly. “I wanted to, anyway. It would’ve made moving on easier.”

Katsuki doesn’t interrupt.

Doesn’t trust himself to.

“But then stupid things kept happening,” you continue, eyes unfocused now like you’re talking more to yourself than him. “I’d hear someone laugh like you at work and my whole day would get weird after. Or somebody would burn coffee and suddenly I’d remember your apartment.” Another soft, embarrassed laugh. “There’s this hero overseas that yells exactly like you during meetings. I almost walked out the first time because I started tearing up.”

Something dangerously warm starts spreading low in Katsuki’s chest.

Not ego. Not satisfaction.

Something worse—Hope.

Small and so fragile and so, so terrifying. and plainly—

You finally look back up at him then, expression open in a way he hasn’t seen in years.

“And honestly?” you say quietly, “I think part of me kept waiting for you to come after me.”

That one nearly knocks the air clean out of him.

Because he wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

He remembers standing in airports during patrol assignments wondering what country you were in. Remembers opening your chat box dozens of times— knowing which one it was simply by how many weeks ago was your last conversation— just to close it again before typing anything. Remembers seeing your name finally appear in his Instagram chat box instead of ‘User’ and feeling his stomach drop so hard he had to sit down.

But wanting something and knowing how to hold onto it were always two different things for him.

Katsuki swallows hard before speaking.

“You said you wished you never met me.”

Your face changes instantly. Pain flickers there, between your worried brows so quickly he almost misses it.

“I know.”

“You meant it?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

Too fast for it to not be honest. Katsuki would crack up a cocky smile if the sound of its admission didn’t hook directly beneath his ribs.

You inhale shakily afterward, eyes dropping again.

“I said it because I wanted to hurt you back,” you admit. “And because you’d just spent an hour making me feel stupid and calling me a liar for telling you i loved you.”

The words land heavy between you both. Katsuki feels nausea twist unpleasantly in his stomach because he remembers that night perfectly now more than any other time.

Not just the fight.

Your face.

The way you looked at him like you were begging him to give you one reason to stay softer with each other instead of turning everything into a bloodbath.

And he had spectacularly failed, spectacularly.

“You really thought I didn’t love you?” you ask suddenly, quieter now.

And since the answer to your question is humiliating, Katsuki’s throat feels tight.

“…Yeah.”

You stare at him for a long moment after that. Then you laugh again, but this time it sounds closer to heartbreak.

“Katsuki,” you whisper softly, “I moved across the world and still couldn’t stop loving you properly.”

That one hurts.

Not in a bad way.

Worse.

Because suddenly all three years between you feel unbearably visible at once. Every missed call never made. Every airport not boarded. Every message typed and deleted. Every lonely apartment. Every night spent pretending this wasn’t still sitting unfinished between you both. It never actually had to be that way. 

Katsuki looks at you standing there beneath harsh garage lighting with tired eyes and shaky hands and too much honesty spilling out at once and realizes, with horrifying clarity, that if you were to claim your goodbye kiss; if you so as kissed him right now, he genuinely doesn’t think he’d survive it quietly.

Neither of you says anything for a while after that.

The parking garage hums quietly around you, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in uneven intervals while rainwater drips somewhere deeper in the structure with slow, hollow echoes. The city outside has started slipping into that strange hour between night and morning where everything feels softer around the edges. Traffic is thinner now. The distant sounds of Musutafu blur together into something low and tired beneath the concrete silence.

Katsuki can hear your breathing.

Not because the garage is particularly quiet, but because he’s standing too close to you again after three years and his body keeps locking onto every tiny thing automatically.

The way your shoulders rise slightly every time you inhale. The faint tremble still lingering in your fingers. The exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes.

You look nothing like the polished, untouchable version of yourself he built up in his head over the past few years. Standing here now, you just look human again.

Real enough to ache over.

To you… Does he look that way too?

“Let’s go, I’ll take you home.” Katsuki shifts his weight once before dragging a hand through his hair roughly. “We should probably get outta here before Mina decides to come back and interrogate us.”

The corner of your mouth twitches faintly. “That implies she never actually left.”

“She’s probably hiding behind a concrete pillar right now.”

“She absolutely is.”

The tiny bit of shared amusement loosens something dangerously fragile between you both.

Katsuki unlocks the car with a sharp click of the key fob. Then you glance toward the passenger side before looking back at him again, uncertainty flickering briefly across your expression like you’re second-guessing whether this is a good idea.

Honestly, he’s wondering the same thing.

Because every second around you tonight has felt like standing near something unstable with no self-control left to keep his hands off it.

Still, he opens the passenger door for you anyway.

You hesitate only a second before climbing inside.

The interior of the car smells faintly like leather, rain, and burnt caramel coffee from whatever drive-through Kirishima dragged him through earlier this week. Soft dashboard lights glow low against the dark while droplets of rain slide slowly down the windshield overhead. The city reflects across the glass in blurred streaks of neon and gold.

Katsuki rounds the front of the car slowly, pulse thudding heavier with every step.

By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, the air inside already feels too warm.

You’re sitting angled slightly toward the window, arms folded loosely across yourself while the glow from passing streetlights softens the side of your face. Your makeup’s mostly worn off by now. There’s still a faint smear of eyeliner and mascara at the corner of your eye.

He has to physically stop himself from reaching over to wipe it away.

Silence settles again, but it’s different inside the car.

The enclosed space presses everything tighter together until even breathing feels too noticeable.

Katsuki rests one hand against the steering wheel without starting the engine. “So what now?”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose before leaning your head back against the seat. “I don’t know.” you sigh “I didn’t really think this far ahead.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Me neither.”

Rain starts tapping lightly against concrete again. Thin at first. Then steadier.

Your eyes drift toward the sound automatically. “It always rains when we talk about serious shit.”

Katsuki snorts softly before he can stop himself. “That’s because you always picked fights during storms.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

A small laugh escapes you then, quieter than before but real enough that something in his chest twists painfully around it. God, he missed that sound. Missed sitting beside you while conversations slipped this easily between silence and teasing without either of you forcing it.

A newer realization scares him a little; It would be so easy to fall right back into this. Too easy.

You turn toward him slightly then, knees shifting against the seat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Tch. You usually do anyway.”

Your eyes narrow faintly at the automatic attitude, but there’s no real heat behind it now. “Why didn’t you come after me?”

The question settles heavily into the space between you both.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.

Outside, headlights slide briefly across the windshield before disappearing down the garage ramp. He watches the reflections fade instead of looking directly at you.

“Didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Of course it isn’t.

You were always annoyingly good at pulling honesty out of him even when he fought it.

Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose before speaking. “Because I thought if I showed up and you looked happier without me…” He laughs once under his breath, rough and humorless. “Didn’t think I could handle that. It’d just fucking prove i’m hard to love and you’re better without me.”

The space between you afterward feels fragile.

When he finally looks over, your expression has softened into something unbearably tender.

Fuck, fuck—Fuck.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur quietly.

There’s no cruelty in it. Maybe a tad of acceptance. A smear of sadness.

Your eyes flick downward briefly then back to his face, and suddenly Katsuki becomes painfully aware of how close you’re sitting. The center console feels too small now. The air feels thick with old history and exhaustion and everything neither of you managed to bury properly.

His gaze drops to your mouth before he can stop it.

He notices immediately when your breathing changes.

Slight.

Barely there.

But enough.

The tension inside the car shifts all at once after that.

Not explosive and immediate, like he’s used to. It’s slow and dangerous. Like something pulling tighter inch by inch.

Katsuki’s fingers flex once against the steering wheel. “Tell me to stop looking at you like that.”

Your throat moves subtly when you swallow.

“You first.”

Fuck. Shit!

The flirtiness in your tone hits him hard enough to feel somewhere low in his stomach.

Rain streaks slower down the windshield now, blurring neon lights outside into smeared ribbons of color while the heater hums faintly beneath the dashboard. The whole car feels suspended outside time somehow. Separate from the rest of the city. With nothing left to do but park at the side of the road, Katsuki swerves the steering wheel towards his new direction.

When he shuts off the engine, you’re the one who moves first.

Barely.

Just enough to lean a little closer and more tentative toward him. You’re giving him room to pull away if he wants to.

Katsuki doesn’t. Neither pull away, nor want to.

His hand reaches for your face almost automatically, rough palm settling carefully against your jaw like muscle memory never left him at all. The contact pulls a shaky breath from you instantly, and that sound alone nearly destroys whatever restraint he still has left.

He kisses you before he can think too hard about it.

And it feels exactly like coming home to something he convinced himself no longer existed.

Warm.

Familiar.

Devastating.

You make this tiny broken noise against his mouth the second the kiss lands properly, fingers grabbing instinctively at the front of his shirt like you need something solid to hold onto. Katsuki feels his entire chest cave inward around the feeling of you kissing him back just as desperately. His lips ache with buzzing numbness and he tries his very best to even remember the steps to a kiss he’s trained to fit perfectly into.

Three years of missing each other crashes together all at once inside that kiss.

His other hand slides against your waist, pulling you closer over the center console while rain drums steadily overhead. Your lips part against his almost immediately, breath shaky and uneven as the kiss deepens into something messier. Hungrier.

Katsuki kisses like he’s starving.

Always has.

Like every emotion he doesn’t know how to say properly gets forced violently through his hands and mouth instead.

You remember that instantly.

He feels it in the way your fingers tighten against him. The way your breathing starts breaking apart every time he kisses you harder. The way you lean into him like you missed this just as badly as he did.

When you finally pull back for air, neither of you gets very far.

Your forehead rests shakily against his while both of you breathe the same recycled air inside the dark car. Katsuki’s hand is still cupping your jaw. Your fingers are still twisted tightly into his shirt.

With one swift movement, Katsuki’s hand forces your jaw right into his, your lips slamming against each other's once again.

The kiss turns rough immediately.

Not careless —Never careless with you.

Katsuki’s just overwhelmed by the sheer force of finally having you this close again after years spent trying to convince himself he could survive without it.

Your breath catches sharply against his mouth when he kisses you deeper this time, fingers twisting harder into the front of his shirt while the center console digs awkwardly against your hip from how far you’ve leaned toward him. Rain continues sliding steadily down the windshield outside, blurring neon lights into streaks of gold and red across the dark interior of the car.

Katsuki barely notices any of it anymore.

All he can focus on is you.

The warmth of your mouth.

The familiar way you melt and tense at the same time whenever he kisses you too hard.

The shaky inhale you keep failing to steady every time his thumb brushes beneath your jaw.

His chest feels unbearably tight.

Because this isn’t nostalgia anymore.

It isn’t just memory. You’re actually here. Actually kissing him back with enough desperation that it almost hurts.

A strained sound escapes him before he can stop it, muffled against your lips while he pulls you even closer over the console. His hand slips from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling carefully at the base of your neck like he physically cannot stand another inch of distance between you both.

You break the kiss first this time, but only barely. Only enough for more air.

Your lips still brush his when you speak.

“Katsuki—”

His name falls apart halfway through your breath, soft enough that he nearly loses whatever remains of his self-control entirely.

Because you still say his name the same way.

But now he knows it means something. He can accept it means something.

Katsuki’s forehead presses hard against yours while he tries and fails to regulate his breathing. The inside of the car suddenly feels too hot, thick with condensation and recycled air and of unresolved feelings collapsing violently into each other all at once.

“You gotta stop lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters hoarsely.

Your brows pull together faintly. “Like what?”

“Like you and i will—” He cuts himself off immediately, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.

The words refuse to come out cleanly.

You stare at him for a second too long after that, your expression softening into something that almost looks painful.

“Katsuki,” you whisper quietly, “I literally just told you I couldn’t move on.”

Yeah. He knows.

And somehow hearing it still doesn’t feel real.

“But if we y’know—now,” he coughs “maybe you’ll regret it.”

His eyes search your face automatically like he’s trying to find evidence that this is temporary. That you’ll wake up tomorrow and realize kissing him again was a mistake. That eventually you’ll remember all the reasons loving him became unbearable in the first place.

The fear must show somewhere across his expression because your hand suddenly lifts toward his face.

Your fingertips brush against the side of his jaw where the faint razor burn still sits from earlier tonight, and the tenderness behind the touch nearly destroys him more effectively than the kissing did.

“Katsuki, are you talking about sex?” you murmur softly, whispering the last word extensively. 

A weak huff of laughter leaves him despite himself. His lower lip pouts out.

“You always get this line between your eyebrows whenever you get shy like this.”

Your thumb smooths unconsciously against the spot moments later like muscle memory. Katsuki feels his stomach twist painfully around the familiarity of it.

God.

He missed this.

Not even the kissing specifically. Not even the sex. (And he’s missed these two plenty)

Just this.

You knowing him so instinctively that his body reacts before his brain catches up.

“I wouldn’t regret it. I’ve wanted it so much even though I was convinced it’d never happen again. I can’t regret doing something that I want to do.”

Your words settle heavy enough in his chest that suddenly he needs to kiss you again before he says something humiliating.

His mouth crashes back against yours harder this time.

You make another soft noise into the kiss immediately, one that sounds dangerously close to heartbreak, and Katsuki swears he feels the sound straight through his ribs. His hand tightens carefully at the back of your neck while your fingers slide upward into his hair, slightly damp strands catching between your knuckles.

The angle is awkward across the center console.

Neither of you cares.

Your knee bumps clumsily against the gear shift while Katsuki leans further toward you, broad shoulders pressing you deeper into the passenger seat unintentionally from the sheer force of how badly he’s kissing you now. Every breath between you feels uneven. Messy. Shared.

Three years disappears frighteningly fast like this. Just temporarily drowned beneath the overwhelming relief of finally touching each other again.

Katsuki feels your hand trembling slightly where it cups the side of his face.

The realization makes him pull back barely enough to look at you.

Your lips are swollen now. Eyes glassy beneath the dashboard glow while your breathing comes apart in shallow bursts that mirror his almost exactly. Then your expression shifts suddenly, something vulnerable flickering across it fast enough to make his chest tighten again.

“What if we do this again?” you ask quietly. “What if we try again and it ruins us worse this time?”

The question lands hard because it’s real. Not dramatic or hypothetical. You’re genuinely afraid. Because it’s been over three years since you’ve kissed, even more since you were intimate with each other, since you held an actual conversation.

And honestly? So is he.

Katsuki stares at you in the dim car lighting while rain taps softly overhead, your fingers still resting against his jaw like you’re scared to let go completely.

Then, slowly, he turns his head just enough to press a kiss against the center of your palm,vermillion eyes locked in yours..

The gesture feels strangely vulnerable coming from him.

“I think,” he says roughly afterward, eyes still fixed on yours, too sceptical, “it already ruined us the first time.” His thumb brushes carefully against your waist, then, sensually across your ribs “Didn’t stop either of us from wanting it again.”

It feels strangely fragile now that the adrenaline of finally kissing each other has settled slightly. Not awkward exactly. Just painfully real in a way neither of you can hide from anymore. 

Neither of you seems fully willing to let go first.

You look mentally exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and bleeds across the surface of your skin; heart beating fast, eyes wide open and desperate. Katsuki, for worse luck despite it all, probably looks the same.

Your eyes drift downward briefly before you let out a small breath through your nose. “This is probably a terrible idea.”

Katsuki huffs quietly. “Yeah.”

“But I really don’t care right now.” you admit “do you?”

“Hell nah!”

Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //

Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3

the plaques in his hand feel heavier than they should. ‘for exceptional valor and strategic brilliance in the neutralization of villains” and “for outstanding contributions to civilian safety” bullshit.

all he did was what he always does: find the bad guys and blow them the hell up. but the cameras keep flashing, and a portly man in a too-tight tux is slapping his back and telling him he’s a credit to the nation. katsuki bares his teeth in what he hopes passes for a smile.

his agent, a harried-looking woman with a clipboard, had drilled it into him: “smile, dynamight. look approachable. you’re a brand.”

a brand. right now, he feels like a malfunctioning appliance about to short-circuit and take out a whole power grid. his eyes keep drifting away from the sponsor, scanning the opulent ballroom. it’s a sea of shimmering gowns and dark suits, of sparkling champagne flutes and forced smiles. but he only sees one thing. you.

you’re standing near one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights a glittering backdrop behind you. you’re not dressed in anything flashy, not like some of the other heroes here trying to outshine each other. your dress is a deep, muted blue, simple in its elegance, but it clings to you in all the right places.

your hair is swept up, exposing the long, graceful line of your neck that he has spent far too many nights thinking about. you look . . . ethereal. and completely, infuriatingly, absorbed in the man standing next to you.

the number two hero, is leaning in slightly, his voice a low murmur that katsuki can’t hear but can imagine. all calm and collected and fucking loquacious. and you’re nodding, your head tilted, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you swirl the red wine in your glass. you take a sip, and your eyes, bright and beautiful, never leave his face.

it’s the two weeks of silence that makes this unbearable. two weeks since the argument. two weeks since you walked out of his penthouse, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the sudden quiet.

he’d been an idiot. a complete, selfish bastard. he remembers it with crystal clarity. he’d gotten his ribs busted on a mission, nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a few days of mandatory rest. and you, being you, had descended upon his apartment like a force of nature.

“no, katsuki, you are not getting up. you’re going to lie on that couch and you’re going to let me take care of you.”

“i don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he’d snarled, trying to push himself up, wincing as the pain shot through his side.

“i’m not babysitting you, i’m making sure you don’t pop your stitches and bleed out on your ridiculously expensive couch because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re hurt,” you’d shot back, pressing a firm hand to his chest. “now lie down.”

he’d hated it. hated the feeling of being weak, of being managed. it reminded him too much of his mother, of all the times she’d fussed over him when he was a kid. and in a moment of frustration, laced with a fear he refused to acknowledge, he’d lashed out.

“quit nagging me, you’re not my mom or my damn girlfriend, so just back the fuck off!”

the words had hung in the air, ugly and so fucking sharp. he’d seen the change in your face instantly. the soft concern in your eyes had hardened. you’d straightened up, and your expression became unreadable.

“you’re right,” you’d said, your voice quiet and its cadence devoid of all its usual warmth. “i’m not.”

and just like that, you were gone. you didn’t yell back. you just . . . left. and the silence you left behind was louder than any explosion he could possibly ever create.

he’d told himself he was right. that you were overstepping. but the satisfaction he thought he’d feel never came. instead, there was just a hollow ache in his chest and the phantom scent of your vanilla perfume on his couch cushions.

he hadn’t texted. his pride was sacrosanct, and he couldn’t bring himself to be the first one to break the stalemate. he’d waited for you, checking his phone every five seconds like a pathetic loser. but your name never lit up his screen.

the days after the argument bled into a week, then two. the only communication he had from you was a group text about the gala, one sent to the whole old class 1-a crew. and tonight, seeing you here, looking so beautiful and so far away, it fucking hurt.

“bakugou? earth to bakugou?”

katsuki blinks, dragging his gaze away from you. kirishima is standing in front of him, his trademark sharp-toothed grin looking a little forced. sero is beside him, nursing a drink and looking around the room with a bored expression.

“the fuck do you want, shitty hair?” katsuki grunts, his voice rougher than he intended.

“whoa, easy there, man. just checking on you. you look like you’re about to set the whole place on fire,” kirishima says, holding up his hands placatingly. “which, you know, is kind of your deal, but maybe not tonight.”

sero follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on you and todoroki. he lets out a low whistle. “ahh. i see. that’s the problem.”

“shut the hell up,” katsuki warns, his knuckles white around his plaques. he can feel the heat prickling at his palms, a sizzle that he has to consciously suppress.

“look, man, i don’t know what happened,” kirishima says, lowering his voice. “but you’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. and you haven’t stopped staring at her and todoroki since they started talking. it’s been like, thirty minutes. maybe you should just . . .go talk to her?”

“and say what? ‘hey gorgeous, sorry i’m a colossal asshole but i get territorial when you talk to other guys’?” sero chimes in, earning himself a glare from katsuki. “what? it’s the truth.”

“it’s not like that,” katsuki lies through his teeth. it’s exactly like that. he’s a fucking caveman. he sees you with someone else and all he wants to do is drag you away, mark his territory, prove to everyone — but mostly to himself — that you’re his. except you’re not. and that’s the whole damn problem.

“then what’s it like?” kirishima pushes, his tone gentle. he’s the only one ( excluding you ) who can get away with this, the only one who knows how to navigate katsuki's landmines. “you guys are weird. you’re not together, but you’re always together. you stay at her place more than your own. you have her patrol route memorized. you text her more than you text us. but then you pull shit like this. it’s confusing for everyone, man. especially her.”

katsuki’s jaw ticks. he knows kirishima is right. he knows he’s been sending you mixed signals for years.

( it started wayyy back in kindergarten, when you were the only girl who didn’t annoy the shit out of him. the only one who stood up for deku when katsuki was picking on him he was being a pathetic crybaby, earning you grudging respect from katsuki even as he cussed you out for having a bleeding savior complex.

his mom had loved you, always saying how nice it would be to have a daughter like you, which had simultaneously embarrassed him and made him weirdly proud. you’d stayed close through all the chaos of ua, through internships and wars and the steady climb to becoming pro heroes. )

he’s always had a soft spot for you, a fact he’d rather die than admit out loud.

he likes taking care of you — he likes you taking care of him, even if he frames it as nagging. he likes knowing you’re safe, that you’ve eaten, that you’re drinking water instead of those disgusting energy drinks you love so damn much. he likes the way you leave your socks on his floor and the way you steal his hoodies. he likes all of it. and it terrifies him. it’s too much vulnerability and he doesn’t know how to handle it, so he defaults to what he knows: pushing you away before you can get close enough to see that he’s not worthy of you.

“i’m not talking to her,” katsuki says, rigidly “not tonight.”

“fine,” kirishima sighs, defeated. “but don’t come ranting to me when todoroki makes his move.”

katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. he just turns his back on his friends, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. you’ve just accepted your own award, a sleek thing for your humanitarian work, something about setting up a support network for young heroes with trauma. you’d given a short speech, and the applause had been incessant.

now, you’re back with todoroki, and he’s handing you another glass of wine. you touch his arm as you laugh at something he says, and katsuki feels a tiny spark in his palm. he shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists until the urge to blast something subsides.

he seethes as the night begins to wind down. deku and pink cheeks leave together, their heads close together, smiling. raccoon eyes is dragging sparky towards the bar again. he sees you talking to ponytail, pointing towards the exit. he knows you. you’re about to call a cab.

fuck that.

he’s been an idiot. he’s been a coward. he’s let you slip through his fingers because he’s too proud and too scared to admit what he wants. but he’ll be damned if he lets you leave here in some stranger's car when he’s right here. he’s not letting you go that easily.

without so much as thinking, he starts moving. he cuts a direct path through the dwindling crowd, his shoulders set, his expression a thundercloud. he doesn’t care who he has to shove out of his way to get to you.

you’re still talking to momo, your back to him, when he reaches you.

“let’s go.”

his voice cuts through your conversation roughly. you freeze, then turn slowly. your eyes, when they meet his, are wide with surprise, then they narrow with irritation.

“huh?” you ask, your voice laced with disbelief.

he stares at you, jaw set. “i said. let’s go.”

momo is looking between the two of you, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in intrigue. you cross your arms over your chest, defiantly

“and why, exactly, would i go anywhere with you?”

“are you gonna make me beg you or some shit”he shoots back, his patience wearing thin. he sees your mouth open to retort, but he doesn’t give you the chance. he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. he doesn’t wait for your permission, just turns and starts pulling you along with him.

“bakugou, what the hell are you doing? let go of me!” you’re squawking, stumbling a bit in your heels as you try to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“shut up and walk,” he growls, not even looking back at you. as he drags you away from the gala and out into the night.

the bickering starts the moment you hit the pavement. a verbal sparring match that’s as second-nature as breathing.

“you’re an asshole, you know that?”

“yeah? well you’re a stubborn pain in my ass.”

“i wouldn’t have to be stubborn if you weren’t such a neanderthal who thinks he can just manhandle people whenever he wants.”

“i wouldn’t have to manhandle you if you’d just listen when i fucking talk to you.”

“you haven’t ‘talked’ to me in two weeks, bakugou!”

“you haven’t talked to me either”

the argument dies on your lips as he leads you to the valet stand. he gives the attendant his ticket with a sharp nod, his hand still firmly on your wrist. the sleek black porsche pulls up a moment later, its engine a low, predatory purr. he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture so out of character it momentarily stuns you into silence.

“get in,” he orders, his voice clipped.

you glare at him, but you do it. you slide into the plush leather seat, grumbling under your breath about bossy, arrogant pro-heroes who think they own the world. he slams the door shut, rounding the hood to get in the driver’s side. the moment he’s behind the wheel, the atmosphere in the car shifts. the music blasts on, some thrash metal band screaming about death and destruction, so loud it makes your teeth ache.

he doesn’t say a word. he just grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords. he peels away from the curb, the tires screeching in protest. you press yourself back into the seat, staring at the dashboard, refusing to look at him. the city lights blur past the window, streaks of color in the darkness.

ten minutes pass in suffocating silence. the only sound is the aggressive music and the low hum of the engine. you can’t stand it. it’s worse than the fighting.

“you know,” you start “for someone with such great taste in cars, your music taste is absolute garbage.”

he grunts. but he reaches over, his fingers jabbing at the touchscreen on the console. the screaming metal cuts off abruptly, replaced by the soft strains of an indie band you love.

you shiver, a sudden chill raising goosebumps on your arms. the air conditioning is cranked up to arctic levels. he notices, of course he does. he just nods his head towards the back seat, where his suit jacket is carelessly tossed.

you hesitate for a second, then sigh, reaching back to grab it. you shrug it on, the heavy fabric immediately enveloping you. it smells like him. that woodsy, smoky cologne he wears, mixed his the unique scent. it’s simultaneously comforting and infuriating. he reaches down without a word and turns the ac down a few notches.

but he still doesn’t speak to you.

“can i ask you something, bakugou?” you ask,

the constant use of his last name hits him like a punch to the gut. so it’s like that now? he grits his teeth, his jaw ticking like a time bomb. “you just did, dumbass,” he scoffs.

“don’t be a smartass,” you snap, your voice rising. “why the hell did you make me come with you if you’re not going to talk to me?”

“you’re the one who didn’t say shit to me all night!” he retorts, “i walked in, saw you, and you looked right through me. not even a fucking ‘hi, katsuki’”

“maybe because you didn’t say shit to me all week!” you fire back, turning in your seat to face him. your eyes are blazing, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, he can see how beautiful you are when you’re angry.

“yeah? maybe because you fucking left!” he scoffs, his hand slamming on the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly.

“don’t act like i wanted to!” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration. “i took off because you can’t make up your damn mind! one minute you’re acting like we’re a . . . a thing, and the next you’re pushing me away and making me feel crazy for actually giving a damn about you!”

“what are you talking about?” he growls, his eyes glued to the road.

“oh, don’t play dumb, bakugou!” you exclaim, gesturing wildly. “you stay at my place and make me breakfast in the morning. you’re always showing up on my patrol route to ‘check in’. you’re always sending me texts, being all ‘don’t skip meals like a dumbass’ and ‘drink some fucking water today like a normal person’ and ‘don’t stay up all night watching those shitty rom-coms, you’ll be useless tomorrow’ ! you’re the one who acts like we’re a couple, and then you turn around and make me feel like i’m wrong for caring about you!”

he’s silent. the only sounds in his porsche are your ragged breathing and the soft music playing from the speakers. he just drives, his face a mask of stone. the silence is worse than the yelling. it feels like a dismissal.

“well?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “do you have anything to say?”

“well i’m trying to think,” he grits out, his voice low and strained.

but he hasn’t raised his voice. not once. through the entire tirade, he’s kept it level, controlled. because as pissed off as he is, as much as he wants to rage and scream, he can’t. he can’t scream at you. he can’t stay mad at you. not really. not when you look like this.

your glossy bottom lip is caught between your teeth, your brows are knitted together, your eyes are slanted with a fury that’s breathtakingly beautiful. your voice, high and pitched with emotion, is reverberating off the windows, filling the small space with your presence. he hates it. he loves it.

you look away from him, staring out the window, your shoulders slumping in defeat. and that’s when he breaks. one hand is still on the wheel, but the other moves, finding its way to your thigh. his touch is hesitant at first, then firm against the thin fabric of your dress.

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry, ‘kay?”

you scoff, not looking at him.

“i fucked up but that doesn’t mean you need to run off with someone else,” he says, his voice strained with jealousy he can no longer hide.

you let out a humorless laugh, finally turning back to him “i didn’t run off with anyone else.”

“you know what i mean,” he insists, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly.

“no, katsuki, i don’t think i do,” you say, “why don’t you spell it out for me?”

“i’m not gonna spell it out for ya,” he grunts, his eyes flicking to you before returning to the road. “it’s bad enough he was hogging you all night.”

“are you jealous, katsuki?” you ask, your voice softening, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes.

“huh?”

“are you jealous, katsuki?” you echo, enunciating each word clearly.

“the hell?” he sputters, his composure finally cracking.

“jealous. like the feeling you get when you’re scared of losing someone to someone else and—”

“i’m not scared of shit!” he snarls, cutting you off.

the car is low on gas, the warning light a small, glowing beacon on the dashboard. he spots a gas station up ahead and swerves into the lot, pulling up to a pump with a screech of tires. he cuts the engine. the music dies, plunging the car into a heavy silence that’s more deafening than the noise had been.

he turns to you then, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station.

“jealousy is for fucking losers who are scared of shit they can’t control,” he says, “that’s not what this is. this is me being pissed off because i had to watch the only person i actually give a damn about laugh at some half-and-half bastard’s shitty jokes. it made me want to put my fist through a goddamn wall.”

he takes a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel.

“i told you to quit nagging me because this is confusing,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t fucking know where i stand with you. and i’m not used to feeling like this. i never know what to do, and i’m always fucking up and pushing you away. but i’m not jealous. i’m fucking pissed with myself for being a damn coward.”

and with that, he shoves his door open and gets out of the car, leaving you alone with his words and the frantic beating of your own heart.

you watch him through the windshield as he jams the nozzle into the gas tank, his movements sharp and angry. he stares blankly ahead.

he fills the tank. he replaces the nozzle. he gets back in the car. he starts the engine. he turns to look at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.

and you’re done. you’re done with the fighting and the silence. you’re done with the uncertainty. you lean across the center console, the plastic digging into your abdomen, and you cup his face in your hands. his skin is warm, his stubble rough against your palms. his ears and cheeks flush instantly, a deep, burning red that rivals his crimson eyes. a deep red that you can see even in the dim light.

“the hell are you doing?” he manages to stutter, his eyes wide with shock.

you don’t answer. you just close the distance and press your lips to his.

it’s not gentle. it’s all the frustration and longing and unspoken feelings of the last two weeks finally exploding. it’s teeth and tongues and desperate, hungry kisses. one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, the other gripping the back of your neck, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to slip through his fingers. you get lost in it, in the taste of him, in the feel of him whimpering against your lips, until a loud, impatient honk from the car behind you shatters the moment.

you pull back, breathless, your lips swollen and tingling. he moans, a low, frustrated sound, and you can’t help but laugh. he looks like he’s about to get out of the car and start a fight, even though he’s the one blocking the pump.

“be patient for fucks sake!” he yells, winding down his window to flip the other driver off.

you’re still laughing as he pulls away from the pump and merges back onto the empty street. the sound of your laughter seems to quench some of his remaining anger, and a small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips.

“we left our conversation unfinished,” he says, his voice softer now. he glances over at you, and his eyes are funny. all soft and warm in a way you've never seen before. “can’t just kiss me out of the blue when we’re not done talking, dumbass”

“unfinished, huh?” you hum, a little flustered under his gaze. you can still feel the lingering sensation of his lips on yours, the ghost of his touch on your skin. “i thought we came to a pretty solid conclusion.”

he scoffs, but there’s no frustration in it. “we came to a conclusion about me being a coward. we still haven’t figured out what this is.” he gestures between the two of you. “i’m not good with labels and shit. and you’ve got so many expectations i probably won't meet. i’m guaranteed to fuck something up ‘cause i don’t know how to be all . . . lovey dovey,” he says the words like they taste bad, “but i know what i want.”

he pulls up to a red light and turns his body fully towards you. the soft glow of the traffic light paints his face in shades of crimson, making his eyes glow like embers.

“i want you to stop looking at icy-hot and other extras like they’ve got something to offer you,” he says, “cause they fucking don’t. i’m all you need and i’m done pretending this isn’t everything to me.”

the man who’s too proud to ask for anything is asking to be your everything.

“everything?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs.

he simply nods.

“define everything,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. you expect him to call you a brat, to accuse you of trying to rile him up. but it doesn’t come.

instead, he looks away from the road for a second, his gaze dropping to your hands, which are now tangled together on the center console. the red light bathes him in its unforgiving glow, and you see something shift in his expression. the defensiveness melts away, replaced by honesty that’s far more disarming.

“everything,” he repeats, his voice a low rumble, “is you living in my head rent fucking free.”

your smirk falters.

“it’s me getting pissed off for no goddamn reason when you’re not with me and i don’t know what the hell you’re doing. it’s me staring at my phone after that stupid argument, wanting to text you so bad my thumbs fucking hurt, but not knowing what the hell to say because i’m the asshole who made you to leave.”

he takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel now, as if confessing to it is easier than confessing to you.

“it’s me wanting to drag you away from icy-hot the second i saw you with him, not just because i was pissed, but because i’m greedy, okay? i want all that shit you watch in those dumb rom coms. i want an apartment, or a shitty little townhouse, i don’t give a fuck. i want to wake up and know you’re the first thing i’ll see. i want to cook for you because you seem to get off on neglecting yourself and someone’s gotta make sure you actually eat your goddamn three a day. i want to take care of you.”

he finally looks at you, and his eyes are burning with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

“that’s what everything is,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s selfish. it’s me wanting all of your time, all of your attention, all of your annoying, stubborn, fucking beautiful self. all to myself. it’s me wanting to be the one who makes you laugh. it’s me wanting to be the only one who gets to see you like this. so yeah. you’re everything to me.”

the light turns verdant. the car behind you honks. but neither of you moves. you’re frozen in this moment. static in this raw confession that has completely dismantled every defense he’s ever built around you. he didn’t just answer your teasing question; he laid his soul bare on the console between you, waiting for you to either take it or leave it.

the world shrinks to the space inside his car. the honking from behind fades into a distant, meaningless buzz. your teasing smirk is long gone, replaced by a slack-jawed awe. you’re not breathing. you’re not sure you even remember how.

katsuki bakugou — the boy who called you a bloody samaritan for standing up for deku. the teenager who scoffed at every romance movie you made him watch. the explosive hero who snarls at cameras and sneers at press conferences — just confessed to wanting a life so domestic, so tender with you. and it sounded just like something straight out of one of those ‘shitty rom coms’ he claims to hate.

a choked sound escapes your throat, something between a gasp and a sob. you’re not crying, not really, but your eyes are stinging. you squeeze his hand, your grip tight enough to make him look at you, really look at you.

“katsuki,” you breathe, and his name is a prayer on your lips. “you. . you really want all that?”

he flinches, just slightly, as if your disbelief physically hurts him. the vulnerability in his eyes hardens into that familiar, defensive glower. “i just laid my damn heart out for you and you’re gonna question me?” he starts to snap, his old reflexes kicking in.

“no,” you shake your head. you lean forward, closing the distance until your forehead is nearly touching his. “no, i’m not questioning you. i’m . . . trying to believe it’s real.”

the anger in his face dissolves instantly. he lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. “it’s real,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “it’s always been real.”

your heart stutters, then restarts at a frantic, pace. all the years of friendship, the bickering, the unspoken tension—it wasn’t in your head. it wasn’t just you wishing for something more. it was real for him, too.

“tsuki, i’ve wanted this forever” you whisper back, your voice trembling. it’s like you’ve just defused a bomb you’ve been carrying around for a decade. the last of the tension drains from his shoulders, and he sags against you, his forehead resting on yours. he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re the softest they’ve ever been and his pupils are blown so impossibly wide.

“me too” he breathes, reverently. “you have no idea.”

he finally starts driving again. you’re so close to your place now. rounding the corner onto your street. when he finally pulls up in front of your buildinh, he cuts the engine but doesn’t let go of your hand. he turns to you, his expression serious again

“i’m gonna say this once” he starts, his voice low. “so you better be listening.”

he leans in closer, “you’re not my mom. you’re not some random girl to me. you’re it. you’ve always been it. i was just too stupid to say it. so if i’m being a dumbass, you tell me. if i’m not taking care of myself, you nag me. if i’m pushing you away, push back harder. don’t you ever let me get away with that shit again. you hear me?”

“i hear you,” you whisper, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst.

“good,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again. it’s slower this time, deeper, a kiss that’s not born of frustration or desperation, it’s sealing of the deal.

when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “now,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “are you gonna invite me up, or are we gonna sit here all night? i didn’t fill up my tank to just drive you home and leave.”

a laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and airy. you pull back just enough to look at him, to see the hope mixed with his usual cocky assurance in his eyes.

“i mean. . “ you trail off, reaching up and tracing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, “after a speech like that, how could i possibly say no?”

he huffs, contently. he nips playfully at your thumb as it passes his lips. “don’t you fucking start with me,” he warns

you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “i’m starting” you whisper against his skin. “come make it up to me before i change my mind”

that’s all the encouragement he needs. he’s out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door with an urgency that makes your heart race. he offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet and into his arms right there on the sidewalk. he kicks the car door shut with his foot, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and then his arms are around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “god, you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice muffled.

you’re not sure how you make it from the car to your front door. it’s a blur of tangled limbs, laughter, and kisses that are more about staying connected than anything else. he presses you against your door. he’s fumbling for your keys, his hands clumsy with impatience, and you’re not helping, too busy nipping at his jawline.

“give me the damn keys,” he groans

you hand them over, and he manages to get the door open after a few tries. he practically kicks it open, scooping you up again and carrying you over the threshold like it’s your wedding night. he kicks the door shut behind him, plunging the entryway into darkness, save for the soft glow of the city filtering through your windows.

he sets you down gently, but he doesn’t let go. his hands are on your waist, his forehead resting against yours.

“katsuki,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his calloused fingers slip the straps of your dress down your arms.

“shh,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in the darkness. “no more talking baby”

and for the first time, you think you might actually be okay with that.

Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.

“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”

You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”

The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”

The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”

You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”

The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.

Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”

They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.

They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.

The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.

There he is.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.

You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.

His knife stops mid-cut.

The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.

Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.

You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”

The words hang in the air.

Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.

“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”

He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.

“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”

Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.

You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.

The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.

By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.

You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.

Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.

A gruff “Come in” came from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.

The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.

Then his crimson eyes flicked up.

The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.

You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.

“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”

He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.

“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”

His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.

“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.

“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.

“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”

He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.

You didn’t argue.

You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.

Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

That went badly.

You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.

Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.

You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?

If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.

You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?

It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.

You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.

The next morning arrived quietly.

You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.

You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.

You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.

About an hour later, the door opened.

Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.

For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.

“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”

You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.

“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”

Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.

“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”

You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”

He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”

You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”

Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.

“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”

But he didn’t ask you to leave.

You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.

It wasn’t much.

But it also wasn’t outright rejection.

You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.

Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.

“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”

You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.

“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”

The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.

You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”

Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”

He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.

You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.

This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.

But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.

You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.

Tomorrow it is.

The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.

You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.

You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.

They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.

You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.

A firm knock sounded at the door.

“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.

You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.

Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.

His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.

“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I said I would,” you replied simply.

He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.

You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”

You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.

The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.

Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.

“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.

You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.

“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”

The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.

The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.

Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.

You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.

Tonight was different.

Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.

A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”

Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”

You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.

“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”

“I thought she hated him…”

“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”

Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.

Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.

For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”

You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”

Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.

A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.

“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”

Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”

You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.

Suddenly, you were alone.

You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.

A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.

“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”

You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.

“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”

His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”

Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.

Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”

You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sukuna.

His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.

Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.

“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”

Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”

You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.

Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”

Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.

“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”

Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.

He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”

The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.

You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.

“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”

Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.

“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”

His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.

“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”

His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.

The music swelled again around you.

Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.

“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”

Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.

He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”

You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”

The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.

As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.

“Sukuna…” you started softly.

He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.

“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”

The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.

When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.

“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”

He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.

Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.

The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.

When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.

When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.

“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.

“Wait…”

Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.

You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"

The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.

Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.

“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”

He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.

“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.

Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.

“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”

He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”

He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.

The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.

His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.

Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.

“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”

He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.

“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.

You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.

You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.

Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.

You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.

For a long second he just stared.

Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.

You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.

The silence was heavy.

“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”

He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”

Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.

The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.

Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”

He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.

Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.

For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.

Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.

“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.

Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.

“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”

Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”

Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.

He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”

You didn’t make him wait long.

You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.

“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”

A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.

Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.

The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.

Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.

“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”

You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.

There was no point in holding back anymore. 

“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.

“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”

You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.

“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.

“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”

His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”

His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.

“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”

The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.

Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.

You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.

“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.

“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”

His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.

“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.

Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.

“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”

He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.

“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”

His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.

Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.

“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”

You didn’t hesitate any longer.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.

Then he took control.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.

You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.

“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.

“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”

He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.

“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”

You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.

“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”

His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.

You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.

He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”

One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”

He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.

He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.

“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”

He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.

The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.

You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”

He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”

His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.

It snapped.

You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.

He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.

He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.

“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”

You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.

“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”

He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.

You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.

Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.

He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.

“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”

He pushed forward slowly.

The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.

“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”

He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.

You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”

He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.

“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.

You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.

“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.

“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.

You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.

“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”

“Good girl.”

He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.

The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.

“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”

“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”

It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”

He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.

“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”

Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.

Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”

He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.

Sukuna went feral.

He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.

You were cockdrunk almost immediately.

Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.

He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.

“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.

Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”

You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”

Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.

“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.

Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.

“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.

He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.

“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”

He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.

You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.

Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”

You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”

He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.

You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.

“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”

He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.

Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.

But he didn’t let go.

a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

toji didn’t know how mean it was, but he started paying attention to his son’s rants just recently, only because nine times out of ten, he’ll mention his homeroom teacher. the one that called him in earlier in this year after megumi got into a fight.

it was bothersome. kids fight. for heavens sake, that’s his job, however, when megumi came back with a note insisting that his parents come speak to her, and not an assistant or nanny, is when toji dragged his ass from the gym to his sons little middle school. toji never really bothered with megumi’s school life, occasionally asking if his grades were up and listening when the boy rants a couple times about his idiot friends.

toji wasn’t negligent, he obviously cares deeply about his son, hell, his son is the only thing he cares about. so of course as his only provider, he needs to take care of him, give him the best life he could ask for, especially knowing how toji grew up, he only ever wants the very best for his only child. in other words, he doesn’t have much time to visit his son’s school all that much because of his very demanding career.

anyways, megumi was waiting by the front of the school, as toji walked up. sitting beside him was the same pink-haired kid that was always over at his house. his eyes brightened when he saw the fighter.

“hi mr. toji!” yuuji was definitely toji’s biggest fan.

“kid.” the acknowledgment was enough for yuuji to smile even brighter. “where am i supposed to go?” toji’s hands were deep in his pockets. he didn’t even bother changing out of his sweaty gym clothes, and he still had some bandaids wrapped around his knuckles.

megumi glanced up, eyes narrow. “did you even shower?”

“you said 3:30.”

“it’s 4 now.”

toji stared blankly. “show me the way or I’m leaving.” megumi stood up, yuuji bouncing up to follow too.

“hey mr. toji, you should’ve showered,” yuuji says walking backwards, his hands behind his head. toji raises a brow at his smug attitude. yuuji shrugs, continuing on. “ms. l/n likes things that smell good,” he says raising a finger. “like flowers, and chocolates and candy and maybe the ocean, and she’s really pretty, so if you smell sweaty then she’ll probably be upset.”

idiots, toji rolls his eyes. “well it’s too late now.” yuuji shrugs, looking at megumi who shrugs as well. this peaks toji’s sudden suspicion. since when was megumi aware of things like that?

toji watches as megumi and yuuji skip up to the door labeled 6C. they peak through the door window before swinging it open.

“hi ms. l/n!” yuuji shouts.

there’s a distant laugh, as toji follows the kids inside. “what’re you still doing here?”

oh shit.

toji felt like time stopped, and a wave of pink and fuzzy flowers hit him.

you were sitting cross legged at the desk as yuuji leaned over the table, and megumi leaned against the board beside you. both boys so naturally in their element it almost felt like you knew them better than he did. which might be true.

his eyes rack up, not really knowing what to say. he’d met megumi’s teachers in elementary school, but none of them looked like this. he didn’t say anything for a moment, until your eyes perk up catching him standing by the door.

“oh, you must be megumi’s dad,” you quickly stand up, your dress naturally falling perfectly, as you extend a hand out for him. “it’s great to finally meet you.”

your eyes were as bright as your voice, looking directly into his dark emerald eyes, it threw him for a loop. he glanced down at your hand before gently grasping it, his hand easily dwarfing yours.

when he touched your hand, there were noticeable callouses on his palm and fingers. you knew who he was, but you also knew that it was your job to take care of these kids. he studied your skin for a moment, noticing how smooth it was. he tried to keep his touch light somehow hyper aware now of how clammy his hands are, and that he probably stinks.

“likewise.” he replies, his voice deep and a bit raspy, matching his appearance.

you turn to look at megumi and yuuji by your desk, it gave you a momentary chance to catch your breath as you feel how warm your cheeks are. “okay boys, go wait outside, I need to talk to your dad alone.”

yuuji sighs dramatically, but the two hum walking away, but megumi briefly stops beside you, his eyes saying just enough for you to understand. toji raises a brow, but megumi ignores him, disappearing outside. brat.

you motion toji to sit at one of the desks in front which he obliges. the material of his black sweats stretch over his thighs as he sits. why the hell are you even taking note of that! this is harder than you expected.

you sit at your chair, your dress rests right above your knees, it wasn’t the kind of dress he sees on the women at his matches. it was an adorable little sun dress that fit a middle school teacher, yet it was still tight around the waist and breasts, hugging you so well he so desperately wanted to press a hand right on your tummy to see how big his palm was compared to you and yet he found himself getting irked that he definitely smells bad. fucking brats were right, he should’ve showered.

“megumi is a sweet boy. he’s very smart and soft-spoken,” you praise, “however, he also doesn’t seem to understand that we should keep our hands to ourselves. especially at school.” toji nods along, thankful he can keep his mind distracted from his son’s surprisingly attractive school teacher, “I think I wrote on the note, but he got into a fight with the upperclassman boys during lunch and he gave them both black eyes. we’re lucky he didn’t break their noses.”

his arms are crossed over his chest, his black compression shirt stretching around his large biceps, your mind blanking for a moment as you see the thick veins. you should have dress codes for these meeting because his arms were so beautifully structured, definitely for fighting and for—

toji nods at your comment. he knew megumi had a habit of getting into fights with older kids, but maybe having him as a father was rubbing off on him in the wrong way.

“I can imagine gumi was defending himself. he usually gets into fights when they’re messing with him.”

“I understand defending yourself, but causing these upperclassmen to bleed from their mouths and noses and sending them to the hospital is highly unacceptable,” your brows pinch as you speak. you’ve heard comments from the other teachers about megumi’s father. his whole life is about fighting, but you had to get through to him about his eleven year old son. “I understand things may be different at home, but megumi should learn that this isn’t the right way to solve problems.”

your eyes were so big and adorable. he leans back in his seat slightly, he had a hard time thinking anything else other than the adorable expression on your face. you were determined to get your point across, and the way your brows scrunched slightly had him reeling.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” he hums, voice low. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially when it came to megumi, but he’ll concede. just this once.

your eyes seem to light up immediately. you definitely expected that to be much harder than it was. his other teachers have said they’ve tried tooth and nail to get meetings with megumi’s dad but failed.

“that’s great!” you laugh lightly. “I was expecting a little more of a fight.” you confess.

he raised a brow, tilting his head slightly — fuck that was hot. “and why would you think that?”

“most parents get defensive,” you stand up, fixing your dress again, his eyes glance over your figure again.

“well I’m glad I’m not like most parents,” he leans forward. he’s seen his fair share of women, but this time it felt wrong. ogling at your figure and seeing your slightly low neckline felt like it was forbidden territory. who was he kidding, you were his son’s teacher and you definitely look much younger than the other teachers around here. “how do you like teaching?”

you tilt your head in surprise, gaze slowly wandering around the classroom walls. “it’s nice.” you smile to yourself. “i never took myself seriously, and would’ve never thought I’d be teaching middle schoolers, but now that i am it’s nice.” your eyes find his again, blushing slightly when you realize he never took his eyes off you.

“I wouldn’t have expected a pretty young girl teaching a bunch of bratty middle schoolers though.”

your cheeks flush at the compliment, laughing lightly. “most of them are not so bad.”

“most of them,” he raises a brow, making you laugh a little louder. his heart souring at the sound.

“they can be pretty mean sometimes,” you confess with a laugh, almost like you’re talking to a friend now. he lets out a low chuckle, leaning back in the chair, stretching out his muscular legs as he relaxed. normally he hated parent-teacher meetings, but this was much more comfortable than he expected, especially since it was you in front of him and not some old lady nagging him about his son’s behavior.

“I don’t doubt that.” he said with a slight nod, “I’ve gotten my fair share of glares and insults from gumi.”

your eyes widen. “megumi? really?”

he quirks a brow, “is it that shocking?”

“yes!” you’re pressed against the front of the desk, leaning forward as you hold the edge of your desk now, shocked. “i mean he gets into fights with some of the kids, but he’s always so respectful to the teachers.”

he raises his brow, “he might be respectful, but that could just be because it’s you.” his eyes follow the way your expression softens, fixing yourself on the desk. every little move you make catches his attention. it was addicting just watching you be you. no wonder those two brats were all over you. it should be criminal for a woman like you to be stuck as a teacher. “I can’t imagine anyone being mean to you.”

it was so easy pulling a smile from you, and yet he felt like he was the only one that should see the way your eyes dart away from his, pretending like you weren’t affected by his compliments. you were trying to stay professional, which made the idea of getting you flustered more appealing.

“you’d think,” you manage to respond. “middle schoolers are moody kids. they’ve definitely made some other teachers cry.”

he chuckled again, making you flush a little hotter just by the sound. it was so low, and you hate to sound like a stupid girl, but it was manly. you’ve seen your fair share of attractive parents, but there was just something about this man in particular that set your heart racing, but he’s also a very well known athlete, even though you haven’t seen any of his matches. everyone probably reacts the same considering he’s basically a celebrity.

“and have they made you cry?”

his dark green eyes were intense, and you met them with a light hearted smile, resisting the urge to absolutely melt. “no.”

he let out an amused sound at your answer. “not even once?” he teased, his smirk widening slightly. “not a single kid has ever been able to make you cry?”

you lean back on the desk, absolutely letting every single guard down as your dress rises a couple inches up your thigh. it felt so natural speaking to him. maybe subconsciously knowing exactly how he’s looking at you right now gave you more confidence.

“maybe I’m lucky, or I’m just not sensitive.” you glance up at the ceiling for a moment. his jaw clenched slightly, his eyes taking in the fat of your thighs just imagining the thought of pushing his body between your legs, hands grabbing at the flesh as you lay flat on your desk. do school teachers wear shorts or only panties underneath…

your eyes suddenly light up. “one kid a couple weeks ago got mad at me for giving him detention and he said i only did that because I’m not married so I have no reason to go home. that hurt my pride a bit.” you laugh.

“damnn, that’s pretty cruel.” but he doesn’t miss a second to add. “not married, really?” he hums. “no husband waiting at home for you?”

you laugh shaking your head. “no, definitely not. I’m just a baby.”

and he couldn’t help but feel relieved hearing you say that, the idea of someone else coming home to you didn’t sit right with him. “boyfriend then?” he asked, eyes burning into you. he wanted to know that no one else was there. he honestly didn’t know why he needed to know so badly, it would’ve been better if you did have someone, that way he could control himself. and yet just the thought of that made him nauseous. if there was someone else hearing your laughs in private, making you smile, kissing your lips, touching your soft skin—

“nope, just me.”

thank god!

“that’s hard to believe.”

you roll your eyes at the flattery. “no seriously. maybe that’s why I’m okay with this job taking up all my time.” you laugh, trying to mask the slight embarrassment, because you don’t exactly know if you’re being judged right now. you’re still in your early twenties, it’s not that hard to believe that you’re single—

“if it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you teach all these kids if you were single,” he’s looking at you intently.

your cheeks feel warm as you watch him sit straight, but you egg him on. “why?”

he looks at you as if you’d just asked a stupid question. “nothing,” he stood up. you were beautiful, sweet, and speaking to you right now, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t think other students dads were thinking the same lewd thoughts he was having right now. the teacher their students love is an absolute catch and she doesn’t seem to like being a teacher that much anyways.

so many taboo lines could be crossed. “so your dream is to teach kids?”

your lips part in shock. you hesitate. “no. but it’s not bad.” you feel slightly offended, almost getting defensive right now. does it show that you’d rather have a different occupation? you love these kids but…

he raises a brow, stepping in front of the desk, hands deep in his pockets. even though you were leaning against the desk, having him standing in front of you just made the height difference even more obvious. “then what is your dream, sweetheart.”

you bite your cheek, heart beating a little quicker, not even fully processing what he called you. he smirked when you accepted it, too focused on his question—

“how much longer!?” the loud yell startled you both. you stand up straight as you look over at megumi and yuuji by the open door. toji nearly forgot they were waiting. almost wishing the brats were kidnapped. his eyes dart away from you, a scowl forming on his face.

“we have practice, dad”.

he let out a light huff, his eyes darting back over to you for a moment before focusing his gaze on the two kids.

“go wait in the hallway,” he huffs, he wanted to hear what you had to say.

“it’s fine. we’re finished.” you hop off the desk, smiling gently at toji as you resume your role as his son’s teacher. he resisted the urge to push back because the way you were looking at him immediately had him submitting. “it was great finally meeting you, and thank you for coming in today, mr. fushiguro.“

he gave a slight nod, the eye contact overwhelming, so much so that you had to look away.

“now i already spoke to you megumi, and you’re gonna listen, right?” your sweet voice was absolutely mouth watering.

megumi grimaced, biting his cheek as he avoided your gaze until a rough hand landed on his head. “he better, I’ll make sure of it, teach.”

toji’s wink sent a flustered swarm breaking inside you. your cheeks stinging as your eyes go wide. a glint sparked in his gaze at your reaction.

yuuji lunged as well, wrapping his arm around megumi’s shoulder. “don’t worry ms. l/n, I’ll keep megumi in check!” his loud boisterous laugh made you laugh, especially when megumi elbowed him, grumbling about how he always needs to take care of yuuji, not the other way around.

toji let out a scoff as the two boys playfully argued with each other, megumi always seemed annoyed by yuuji, but they both knew how much they cared about each other. so instead, toji grabbed them both by the collar, dragging them to the door. the two boys were kicking each other, but the weight of the two twelve year old boys was nothing to toji, and you couldn’t help but laugh as a small heat spread across your cheeks as his large form retreated away from you.

“till next time. and ya better have an answer then,” his eyes bore into yours, the sounds of the boys looking up and asking what answer repeatedly didn’t stop you from humming, a little more energetic than you should be. he somehow had a way of breaking past your walls in a single conversation. hopefully that doesn’t make you seem easy…

“that’s if I ever you come again,” the small tease had a smirk pulling at his lips. somehow the idea of not seeing you again actually bothered him more than he realized.

“we’ll see about that.”

and with that he left. dragging the two boys who continued bickering and grabbing at the man, asking what that whole exchange meant. especially megumi who was wondering if he was in trouble or not.

however the second he left your sight, you were covering your face. your face beyond hot as your mind spun. never before had a parent had this sort of affect on you.

the way he looked at you.

the way he spoke.

he was so attractive, he was so big, his biceps were the size of your face. so beyond different from every other parent you ever spoke to. he could probably pick you up with one arm.

his presence alone was enough to have you feeling dizzy. and when he shook your hand, the way his wrapped effortlessly around yours, the calloused palm rubbing against you, his scent invading your nose.

and if that wasn’t as bad as it already was, the way he called you sweetheart had you absolutely melting between your legs!

but you have to get over it. you do.

however, unlike you, toji sits on the bench on the soccer field, only thinking about how he’ll see you again. when is parent teacher conferences, do they still have parents night in middle school? is there a talent show megumi has that he can force him to do so he can come and see you??

—

the following week, megumi stands frozen by the door. “what’re you doing?”

toji looks up, shoes tied. “dropping you off.”

“why?”

“because.”

“because why?”

“because—because—“ toji’s stuttering was ticking him off as he meets megumi’s very skeptical expression. “you’re a kid, you don’t ask questions.”

“I only ask questions,” megumi grabs his bag, watching his father intently as he looks over his surprisingly clean dress pants, along with the casual lose buttons on his dress shirt and rolled up sleeves. “i thought you were gonna be at the gym all day?”

“i am.” toji pauses, megumi’s brow is raised high. “I have a meeting before.”

“since when?”

toji’s nerve throbs, grabbing megumi’s bag and pulling him out of the house. “you ask too many fucking questions.”

the moment toji pulls up in front of the school, his eyes scan the entire lot in seconds. his hands immediately turning.

“what? what’re you doing?! Im gonna be late,” megumi shouts as toji drives around the entire school again.

“zip it kid, i had an arm spasm.” megumi glares at his dad, slouching in the passenger seat. the loop around takes another five minutes until they pull up again.

and toji will definitely lie and say it’s fate and not him purposely driving slow, because walking up the pavement is the only person he’s been thinking about for the entire week.

“finally,” megumi grumbles as he yanks the door handle swinging it open. toji being the fein he is barks a loud.

“no fights alright!”

megumi flinches.

why did he yell that?! and why now?! all the kids around start snickering and staring as they walk past them, getting a look at his dad as well, which gets a few more murmurs out.

megumi slams the door shut, pissed as he glares at his father. but that’s when a certain young teacher comes along, toji’s eyes lighting up.

“good morning, megumi,” your sweet delicate voice had megumi flushing with embarrassment. you definitely came over because you heard his dad shouting like a crazy person, and not because all those little middle school girls were ogling at megumi’s father…

“good mornin, teach.”

the low rumble of his voice had you glancing up. there was no harm in coming to say good morning. you just met with him last week, it would be impolite if you ignored that.

“mr. fushiguro,” you acknowledge, and that definitely made the man’s entire day. megumi licks his teeth in annoyance. “it looks like you both talked.” you glance at megumi with a gentle smile causing the boy to smile up at you. toji snickers. practically leaning over the passenger seat to speak to you. he knew that he was being ridiculous, but he could care less.

his smile widened as you looked up at him, his eyes staring intently, fuck he missed those eyes. “we did. gave him a good talking to, he won’t get into any fights — unless they start them.”

he leaned over the wheel, his arms resting against it, causing his shirt to tighten around his biceps. he looked good, you felt your face heat up. you should leave, and yet you find yourself staying a little longer.

fantasizing about him was one thing, but seeing him again here was making your heart race.

“i hope you guys weren’t late to megumi’s practice the other week.”

megumi is about to answer until toji cuts him off, ignoring megumi’s annoyed glare. “we weren’t, don’t worry. megumi and the other kid—“

“yuuji.” megumi mutters.

“they’re always late on their own.”

you laugh under your breath, your hand falling gently on top of megumi’s head. “are you sure it’s not because you’re taking them there?”

he huffed leaning back, “positive, besides the meeting we had was important”.

you hum, “it was.” toji smiles, eyes lighting up as he draws you closer to the passenger window as you both continue speaking not even realizing megumi has slipped away and into the school.

toji loved the way you easily spoke, the way your sweet voice filled his ears. he somehow managed to have you walk around the car to his side, so he can show you something on his phone.

your smile lights up when he shows you a picture of a three year old megumi sitting on his shoulders after he won his first title in light-heavyweight.

“oh my god, is that megumi, he’s so cute.”

toji snickers. “ya it was before he turned into an annoying brat.”

“don’t say that,” you laugh. toji’s arm was propped on the windowsill, your scent flooding his senses as you leaned close, looking at the picture. he could practically feel your soft skin touch his arm, the heat radiating off your body. if he only knew his son’s teacher was a seductress. “you look so young too.”

he chuckled again, “this was probably around 10 years ago. do i look that old now?”

you shake your head, turning to look at him. “no, you don’t. I don’t see any grey hairs.”

“is that the only indicator?” he tilts his head, staring at you so intently that you can’t break eye contact either. the green eyes were so deep and overwhelming, you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies. you feel the heat crawling up your neck because you can see that he looks older and more mature here than in the picture. but he still has a youth about him that makes your skin hot.

his eyes are still as beautiful as they are in the picture.

“you think my eyes are beautiful?”

your eyes go wide. “wha—“ you feel like a schoolgirl now, your face feeling so unbelievably hot especially when he leans a little closer, still leaning his arm on the window. now staring right up at you with his face so close to yours.

“i just…” never before have you been so tongue tied. your eyes so big as they glance everywhere in the car, heat flooding your ears.

his laugh fills your ear as he leans back into his seat, his palm gently coming up to fix your hair, thumb brushing your cheekbone only to get your attention back to him. “don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t tease you too much.”

whaaaat?!

you were dumbstruck. did he just say that?

your skin feels so hot as you fiddle with your necklace trying to cool down. “how kind of you.” you sarcastically remark, trying to save some face as you feel his hand continue caressing your cheek.

if any parent or teacher saw what was happening you have no idea how you would explain yourself, but you didn’t even have time to think about it because toji’s phone suddenly went off.

you notice his jaw clenching, making you somehow swell with pride, but also relief because he turns his attention away from you to his phone, answering.

he stares up at you, hand not leaving your cheek as he listens to the shouting on the other end.

where the fuck are you! you were supposed to be here at six! you’re not on a bender right—

“I was dropping megumi at school—“

doesn’t he take the bus?!!!

“he asked. I’ll be there —“

NOW!!

“alright!” toji hangs up aggressively, and notices that you’ve stepped back, a smile pulling at your lips.

he tsks, upset he’s no longer feeling your warm skin. “our conversations are always interrupted.”

you don’t know why him looking dejected makes you dance inside. you’re definitely reading too much into it.

you hum, “they are.” you laugh lightly, which somehow makes him want to descend into the heavens. “I should also head inside, the bells about to ring.” toji is left speechless as you fix your bag on your shoulder, offering him the most precious smile ever. “I’ll see you later.”

he just sat there and nodded, watching you walk into the school. he let out a long breath when you disappeared through the doors. his heart was hammering in his chest and his ears were hot.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

what followed after was no surprise. toji was dropping megumi off and picking him up every. single. day.

megumi definitely grew to despise it because all anyone would talk about in school now was how they saw his dad this morning, or how he came an hour early to pick him up. what made things worse is that they told their parents, and some would drop their kids off just to catch a glimpse of the famous A-list athlete. some even having the gall to ask for a photo or autograph.

what toji didn’t realize though is that he’s not going to see you every time. sometimes he’d wait a little longer in the car line to see if you were coming up, but most of the time he’d get yelled at by another teacher to keep the line moving. megumi would often rush him after school to get him and yuuji to practice. it was frustrating. especially when toji was also getting an ear full when he’d come to the gym late.

but when he would see you, he’d flirt talk to you. and just learning more about you like these were little dates to him so that you occupied his mind every single second of every hour. he finally learned your age after pushing you to answer when you graduated high school. and then some more about your favorite food. but all these conversations would last less than five minutes because you’d have to run back inside and he’s have to head back to the gym to train.

that was all before his golden ticket came in with his son.

“a field trip?”

megumi hums sitting on the bench at the gym. “ya, just sign it for me. yuuji wants to find some turtles at the beach near there.”

“ya its gonna be so much fun!” yuuji jumps beside him. both kids not bothering to talk about the history behind the location of their school trip or any of the important stuff—

toji’s eyes widen. “it says they need chaperones for the boys.”

megumi looks up, brow raised. “ya so?”

“is your dad chaperoning yuuji?”

megumi feels a weird energy surround his dad, his eyes almost look manic as yuuji shakes his head still playing on megumi’s Nintendo. “nah he’s taking choso to look at colleges.”

toji feels jittery, and nothing is stopping him now.

—

your hand was struggling in your bag as you looked around for your keys. it was getting a little late and you didn’t like staying at the school after sundown. you push the doors open. a large figure comes at you making you scream.

“It’s just me!” toji laughs, you hit him with your bag. hard. “ow!” he laughs harder.

“what the fuck, that scared me to death.” you gasp, catching your breath. toji whistles, making you glance up, annoyed.

he has to hold in a laugh. “aw come on, it was an accident.” a smirk slowly forms on his lips as you huff out a sigh, reluctantly easing up. you were so damn cute right now.

“you should know not to sneak up on women at night,” you huff feeling how hot your cheeks are, slightly embarrassed about your reaction, but still annoyed.

he smirked, watching the way you tried to fix your hair.

“sorry sweetheart,” he said in a low mumble. he could see your flushed cheeks, it made you look just so adorable right now and he almost wanted to make you more flustered.

your body tensed as he knelt down in front of you. his shoulder brushed against your leg making your cheeks flood pink. his hair looked damp, and unkept, he probably took a shower before coming here. you got a whiff as he passed down. fuck he smelled so good, but you almost missed his raw scent the first time you met.

toji could practically feel the heat radiating off your body as he picked up your keys. you must’ve dropped them when he came outta nowhere. he stood back up, towering over you, his eyes never leaving your face. he felt his smirk widen, he leaned down, your faces now a few inches apart. he felt your hands shake as he placed it back into your small palm.

“thanks,” you mutter. It was like he was stealing each breath out of you. you weren’t even registering the questions you should be asking, because you couldn’t stop looking at his face. his deep green eyes, the hypnotizing scar on his lip. he was so addicting to look at. you wanted to know what it feels like to kiss him.

he liked the way you mumbled, your voice sounding so incredibly soft. he felt his body grow hot. something slowly building up inside him, because damnit you were so unbelievably cute right now. he had to resist the urge to pull you closer, to press your body against his, he wanted to—

the door suddenly clicked behind you, making you both jump back for a second. it was just one of the janitors, you smile politely bidding him goodnight as you turn back to toji.

“sorry um—“

cursing inwardly at the disruption, he took out the paper from his pocket and handed it to you.

“megumi’s field trip.”

“oh,” you take the paper, “you could’ve waited until tomorrow and megumi could’ve brought it in.”

he shrugged, his eyes practically burning into yours right now. “maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to you.”

you freeze momentarily, well that was blunt. you rub your cheek, laughing lightly. that’s when you notice the additional document attached to the note.

“wait this is just for…”

“chaperone’s.”

you look up.

oh fuck me.

the days following were absolute chaos. well only for you. every night you went to sleep all you thought about was the fact that toji fushiguro was coming on a school trip with you. when you were in the shower you thought about him, when you walked to the grocery store you thought about him. when you were packing your bag, you thought about him!

then it finally came.

DAY 1

the entire seventh grade was going on the trip. it was also your first time chaperoning on an overnight trip so you did your best to follow your superiors leads. every teacher was assigned one parent chaperone to help on the 4 hour bus ride and then…

“I’ll go with ms. l/n,” toji didn’t even wait for himself to be assigned. your eyes go wide. you don’t notice some of the other teachers were looking at you. one of the older teacher’s who was about to read the assigned list pauses…

“oh mr. fushiguro, we had you assigned with—“

“I’d rather stay with my son’s bus. is that a problem?”

you bite your cheek. it definitely would be a problem since the contract he signed stated that he’ll be assigned the group given to him, but that is also if you’re not a celebrity as big as him.

he knew damn well that he was breaking a rule, but he couldn’t have cared less. he wanted to sit with you, he wanted to be near you, he needed to be near you. and if that meant he had to be a bit of a dick, then that’s what he had to do. he sat down on the bus, a smirk forming on his lips as he watched you place your bag on the seat beside him across the aisle.

you stood at the front of the bus as you clapped your hands twice and the students mimicked you, well not all, but most.

“okay guys, I’m just gonna say one more time. We’re gonna have 4 stops for bathrooms, so please use them when you have the chance so we don’t have a delay. okay?”

he watched you intently as you spoke to the students, his eyes not once leaving your face. you looked beautiful and he had to force himself to stop staring at you. but he couldn’t, not when you were so close to him, he could also smell your flowery fragrance that made him slightly dizzy.

“I’m going to do roll call one more time, raise your hand and answer when I call you,” you start reading your list. once all the students respond, the bus starts up and you take your seat. you couldn’t ignore him either, so you turned to toji. “I’m sure you read the email, mr. fushiguro, but I’ll just go over some really quick things with you since we have the time—“

“toji.” he blurts. you pause for a moment but then nod. you begin going over procedures for the students in case of an emergency, also how he should keep his ringer on in case a student needs to get in contact.

however the more you speak the less and less he cares about these formalities and just wants to know more about you.

“so we’ll be together for most of the time?” he asks.

you pause, your lips part for a moment. before you hum, “yes, but that’s if the students have all successfully made an itinerary with their group, since the purpose of this trip is to give them responsibility and just complete the assignments throughout these 3 days.”

“then shouldn’t we make our own itinerary?”

you laugh shaking your head, “no I don’t think so. we’ll tag along with groups here and there.”

he pouts slightly, his smirk slowly disappearing from his face when you chuckle at his idea. and you find it slightly flustering to see him upset at your response. did he seriously come on this trip to be around you? there’s no way?

he hums, shifting in his seat once more. “but the students will be all broken up into groups, isn’t that right? I’ll find something to do.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, but the bus ride continued. it was quite enjoyable, minus the screaming that you had to continuously go back to silence. megumi came up a couple times asking for chips from his dad, and Yuuji would always come up to the front, until they just decided to sit up with you and some of the other kids came and joined as you all laughed and played. it was funny playing mafia with a bunch of middle schoolers. toji never played it before so it was amusing hearing nobara, one of the other girls, and megumi explain it to him.

“let’s just start playing!” yuuji whines, growing impatient.

toji raises a confused brow in your direction and you stifle a laugh, shrugging.

it was funny hearing nobara narrate the story, and it was even more funny when toji and you opened your eyes. he gave you a confused look.

‘we are the killers’ you mouth trying not to make a sound to not give yourself away.

and still he managed to give himself away since the first person he killed in the game wasn’t his son and it was common knowledge among the students that you either make megumi a killer, or doctor, if not you kill him right away because he always manages to end the game in two rounds because he guesses who everyone is. which was exactly what happened. toji was voted off easily and you in the next. it was impressive.

the students continued playing, they had a lot of energy, toji was even more impressed how fast you were keeping up with all of them. you also were getting some work done of your own. answering texts from other teachers.

“Okay guys, last bathroom break!” the students all file out, pushing past you as they run to the bathrooms, some heading to the little convenience store. “calmly guys!” you shout after them. you put your hands on your hips, your eyes scanning the desolate rest stop.

toji comes up behind you, “are we first or last?”

you look over your shoulder, “last, mrs. tanaka said they were able to miss the traffic we hit.” you frown scrolling through your phone as you check the messages that most of the buses already arrived at the hotel.

toji leans down, his presence overwhelming as you feel him reading your messages.

“are you worried?”

“what? no,” you close your phone, forcing out a smile as you pat his arm. woah! your cheeks flush feeling his large biceps. your hand retracts when you realize your hand actually stayed on his arm.

his tongue pokes his cheek, trying hard not to smile, because he can already feel how hot his cheeks are. “you can keep your hands on me, I don’t mind.”

your face burns. “i—I’m gonna use the bathroom.” you quickly scurry off, glancing back watching toji lean back on his heels stuffing his big hands into his pocket as he smiles back at you. fuck!

the students bring you back to reality as they fool around in the rest stop. you call the ones in the store as they load up the bus. “toji?”

he looks up at you, his green eyes so attentive you wanted to pat his head. you flush at the thought, patting a grown man’s head, as if he isn’t older than you and has a child. “can you check the boys bathroom? we’re missing two.”

toji hums, his hands come out of his pockets as he walks to the bathroom. your eyes track his large figure as he walks away. the expanse of his shoulders made your cheeks flush, imagining what he’d look like shirtless, muscles moving under your palm as he rails into you.

ahh stop it! you cover your face.

“ms. l/n, are you okay?” nobara is staring at you with a weird look.

“wha-yea im fine, hope on the bus,” you gently push her towards the bus which she immediately skips onto. you follow suite doing another head count before two other boys run onto the bus followed by toji.

he sighs, “one of them was throwing up.” your eyes grow wide, “he’s fine, i think he’s just sick of the long ride.”

you immediately move to the back of the bus to speak to the student, he allows you to bring him to the front of the bus so the motion sickness isn’t as bad. eventually the bus continues, the students fall silent. the traffic horrendous, most of you end of falling asleep, and that includes you.

only a few students were awake, but as for the rest they were dead silent. the seats were slightly uncomfortable, but toji turned to look at you.

he notices the way your head bangs against the bus window, his eyes squinting as he grows more and more concerned you’ll get a concussion, that’s a little dramatic, but still, how could you blame him, you looked so delicate. he gently moves the bag in the seat beside you and sits down. he carefully lifts the arm rest and moves his hand to cup your head. he’s careful not to disturb your sleep when he puts his coat between the window and you.

well that is until you shift your body to rest your head on his shoulder.

toji feels your body relax, sleeping peacefully on his strong shoulder. your soft breaths like music to his ears, as he rests his head back. sleep not coming easy for him he stays awake, and watches over the bus in your stead.

another hour passes until the bus comes to halt. the day now night as the kids start to wake up. you’re still fast asleep, and toji couldn’t help the swell in his chest seeing how heavy of a sleeper you are. but he should probably wake you up, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when he’s seeing your calm features resting so adorably.

“we’re here!” yuuji’s loud yell like a morning alarm.

toji flinched, suppressing an angry bark when you stirred awake from the call. you sigh softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you wake up.

a low whistle has you blinking. the first thing you see is toji looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite read, and then standing around is some kids as they simultaneously ooo and laugh.

“teach was sleeping on mr. fushiguro!”

“teach and mister sitting on a treeee K I S—“

the taunting kids make you roll your eyes as you sit up.

“everyone back to your seats!” you huff, shooing them as you stand up, only to see the large coat slip down. he catches it, eyes boring up at you.

“sleep well?” he smiles, and it absolutely breaks your heart, this man!! you internally scream, his green eyes and the twitch of his scar, the dark black hair over his eyes had you meltinggg. and the way he’s looking up at you, an immediate blush takes over your entire body.

“mhm,” you reply softly, and his eyes glint with something you have to turn away from.

you do another roll call before getting off the bus. the kids flood into the hotel and luckily some other teachers waited for you and helped with rooms for the kids. everyone was sent on their way and you felt a relief once you unlocked the key to your room, closing it behind you—

“teach.”

you whip around to see toji standing at the doorway, holding the door open with his strong hand.

“yes?”

toji’s eyes fell to your lips, back to your eyes, pretending like you didn’t see that, but you did. “you left this on the table,” he says, extending your packet of the schedule. you really must be tired.

“oh! thank you, oh my god, that would’ve been sooo bad if I lost that,” you laugh, taking the packet. but he doesn’t let go. your brows crease adorably as you look up at him. and he’s looking at you with that look again. “mr. fus—“

“if you need anything else, let me know. okay?” his firm request sent flutters breaking inside you. you nod, and he lets go. “good night, sweetheart.”

“g-good night.”

you watch the door close, until you feel your hand reaching out and then your body is coming out as you call him. he barely took a few steps as he turns at your voice. “i uh…” what’re you doing? why did you even call him? but you’re hypnotized by his presence, you almost didn’t want him to go. what’re you talking about? you’ll see him in the morning—

“gonna finish your sentence, honey?”

you mentally slap yourself. “it slipped my mind. nevermind. goodnight.” you disappear back to your room, missing the smirk that splits the fighters face. fucking adorable. it was on the tip of your tongue.

the next morning was packed, the students came down for breakfast, they were placed in their groups and the entire class went to mandatory orientation, then to a museum as they filled out packets, before lunch came and it was finally free time. the students all splitting into their groups and exploring the small historical town. yuuji led megumi, nobara, and junpei to the beach he’s been waiting to see.

“how’re you holding up?” toji appears beside you. you slump, sighing heavily.

“I didn’t know school trips were this exhausting when I was in school,” you complain just a little. toji chuckles, his hand coming up, carefully fixing the hair from your cheek. his eyes glance down at your lips again, then back into your eyes. “it’s just day one,” he teases.

“yay,” you fake enthusiasm, as he laughs with you, still brushing your cheek with his thumb. “we should check with some of the kids.”

“shouldn’t they be figuring out that shit themselves?” toji doesn’t let you escape. “ya, but what else—“ toji’s hand slips down to yours and takes it as he leads you in a direction. “where are we going?”

“I don’t know, let’s explore,” he pulls you closer to him and if anyone looked over they would think you were a couple, and to be honest, you loved that thought. your hand didn’t even try to break away from his, embracing how he basically engulfs your small palm in his. you mindlessly follow him around until something catches your eye and you go there then there, pointing and explaining random facts.

“how do you know that?”

“oh i studied architecture and art history,” you explain as you’re standing at a shrine. toji has a hand on your lower back as he leans over looking at the statue you’re pointing at. you’ve gotten used to smelling his cologne, but with the long day his natural musk is mixed in making you dizzy. he’s gently stroking a thumb on your lower back, almost like he always wants you to be conscious of his touch.

ding ding ding

you check your phone. on the chat, yuuji sent multiple photos of his group by the water on the beach, along with the turtles they found. your eyes widen, “yuuji actually found them.”

“we’re close by them,” toji looks over, and he immediately takes your hand and you both head to the beach. when you arrive most of the groups came, everyone having the same idea. it wouldn’t be bad for toji, that is until you retract your hand. your eyes flicker over his, a silent apology.

you don’t necessarily know what you’re apologizing about, but still. the rest of the day was spent with the kids playing with the turtles. you and a few teachers explaining the wild life here, along with the turtles. then you conclude with a circle on the beach with each group presenting what they learned today and so on.

dinner came at a perfect time. the kids all filing into the hotel restaurant, taking their seats and of course toji sitting with you and a few other teachers.

honestly, looking at himself, toji thought he was a good sport. entertaining these other teachers and chaperons even after the kids went back to their rooms to sleep and you all stayed for a few light drinks. they asked him questions he definitely hated answering, but when your sole attention was on him, he made due with it.

“are ya thinkin of retiring anytime?” one of the other dads asked, fully invested in toji.

toji licked his teeth, clearly annoyed as the questions got a little more intrusive. “we’ll see,” his clipped reply almost only seemed to clock in on your part as you sensed his mood shift. especially as the questions got more intimidate asking if megumi takes after him, or if he’ll allow him to start fighting early.

that’s when you decided to stand up, covering your mouth with a fake yawn. “It’s getting pretty late. I’m gonna knock out.” you speak to the table, but give toji a brief glance, inviting him to take the out, which he immediately does.

“I’m knocking in too then,” he stands up, easily leading you both out of the restaurant, unbothered by the looks the adults give him.

“fuck, they’re nosy as shit,” he mutters to you as you both step out and into the elevators.

“yea, sorry,” you cringe, but he shakes it off.

“no need for you to apologize,” he shrugs, rubbing his nose. you glance over at him, smiling as you rest a hand on his forearm.

“thank you again for volunteering. honestly, it’s premature since we still have two more days, but you’ve been a big help so far,” you say, and toji can’t help cracking a smile.

“it’s my pleasure. spending time with you doesn’t feel like work,” he coolly replies, allowing you to look him over with your adorable eyes.

“of course that’s not what I meant,” you mutter, he can see you trying not to smile.

“don’t tell me the best part of the day wasn’t walking with me?” he leans closer to you. “do you hold hands with every student’s dad?”

“no.”

“so am I special?” he pushes, hand gently playing with your hand.

the elevator stops on your floor. you sigh as you bring a hand up to his chest.

“our floor.”

“our room?”

“no,” you brush him as he follows you with a smirk. hands deep in his pockets as he looks at you from behind.

“you can have the extra key to my room,” he waves it to you as he walks you to your room.

“and why would I take it?” your smirk widens, glancing up at him.

“of course for safety. in case you feel like you need a strong man to protect the model teacher who’s all alone at night in an unknown town,” he smiles, hand against your door caging you in.

“yeah?” your tone was low and breathy, only luring him down to your eye level, humming deep in his chest. “but then I won’t be comfortable sleepin’,” you pull him in with your words.

his voice drops, taking the bait, “and why’s that?”

“well because I sleep with a t-shirt,” you pause, “only.”

Toji’s smile cracks, heat flooding his ears as he drops his gaze to your lips. “that’s not a problem for me.”

you can’t believe you’re actually flirting with a student’s dad. you didn’t feel like a teacher, no, you really felt like a girl in her twenties (which you well are) easily teasing a man into bed.

“having a stranger so close to me in bed?” you whisper, smiling when his lips hovers so close to you. “that’s scary.”

“nah, it’s for safety,” he leans in, breath fanning against your face.

unfortunately, when his lips hovered over yours, the booming footsteps and shouting immediately pulled you apart. toji pulled away as you both looked over to your right seeing four boys racing through the hotel floor.

“hey, boys!” you whisper shout, sliding by toji as you speed walk to the boys. all but leaving the six foot-five fighter pressing his face into the door.

after sending the boys back to their rooms with a heavy lecture, you walk back to your room slightly disappointed when toji wasn’t there. it was a long day, you didn’t blame him for going to bed early. but when you saw his room card in front of your door when you stepped inside you couldn’t contain you the heat that spread across your cheeks.

… DAY 2 …

most women found toji attractive. hell even men were jealous of his physique and face card. but does any of that excuse the slight annoyance you felt going through the aquarium and seeing the workers near the starfish flirt with toji as the kids in your group stuck their hands in the tank to pet the starfish and other aquatic creatures. probably not, but fuck it.

the small disgusting twist in your gut that came up when you saw toji smile and let out a laugh almost had you rolling your eyes. so being the pity twenty-four year old, you decided to open your mouth.

“toji,” you call his name before you can think twice about it. you force a smile when he turns to look at you. “can you come help me over here,” you call out from across the tank.

“oh, I can help you miss,” another worker at aquarium pops next to you making you jump from the surprise.

toji continues looking at you and he notices the way you shake your head. “oh sorry, it’s has to do with the students…paperwork…I mean,” you clear your throat nodding your head as the worker gives you an odd look that you can immediately note was a ‘she’s weird’. but at least you don’t catch the way toji is biting back a smirk as you call him again.

he easily struts over, his black t-shirt and black cargos, hugging his frame so when he stood beside you you were almost thankful that he blocked your view from the workers.

“yes, teach?” you can hear the smug smile in his voice before you even look at him.

“well,” you start, subtly glancing around for some lie you can make up, but toji crossing his big muscular arms showing off his veins and giving you a look you don’t even want to begin to decipher, wasn’t fucking helping. “just stay here. I forgot what I needed, but if I need something…just be near me,” you clear your throat looking up at him with confidence. “that’s your job…as a parent chaperon, okay?”

“okay,” he says with the biggest smile.

maybe you should’ve just let him talk to the workers, but you’d never admit that it made you jealous that this thirty-something year old man was focused on something that isn’t you. even when you both were walking behind the students on a hike to some shrines in the mountains, you were glad as fuck that he stayed right beside you and not upfront with the guides.

“you could’ve just said you didn’t want me talking to other girls and I would’ve listened,” Toji’s voice slips on the air as he walks beside you.

you scoff, “well that’d be ridiculous to say, especially because that wasn’t why I said it. if you remember, it said on the parent slip it that chaperons are the teachers assistants, basically.” you glance confidently at toji and he’s kissing his teeth as he holds back a smirk. you were a fucking brat. he definitely would’ve lost that bet. “so just stay near me.”

“I was near you at the aquarium,” he pushes, because shit, he’ll always tease the bait.

“you were distracted, that’s not being present, and it’s against the rules,” you roll your eyes, moving to tie your hair up the longer up the mountain you’re going. you loved a good hike, but the heat was a death sentence, so was this windbreaker.

“i was just asking the sweet worker about the starfish…to educate the kids of course,” his choice of words was definitely on purpose.

the group makes it to the shrine as they all scramble to look around.

you turn on your heel looking up at toji. “it didn’t look like that.” you try to hold back your criticism, not realizing that he’s trying to get a rise out of you because this revelation he’s discovered is definitely not something he’s gonna let go of.

“what did it look like then, hm?” he leans in, crossing his arms as he pushes his hair back, the sweat from the heat making his hair shine and his muscles constrict in his tight shirt. “did it look like i was flirting with her?”

you deadpan, “yeah, it did.”

“is that an issue?” he pushes.

“if it’s when you’re working, then yes it is,” your words are clipped, he was almost getting a hard-on with your attitude.

“so if it’s not in front of you or the kids?” he muses.

“yes.”

“because you’ll get jealous then,” his words once again make a vein unironically bulge from your forehead. you cup your cheeks.

“that’s not why—I just said why,” you exhale, and he finds it hilarious how well you control your emotions with your students but when it’s with him, you have to take some deep breaths. “I’m not jealous.” you state. “it’s professionalism.”

“so us holding hands is?—“

your eyes narrow.

“I’m not complaining, I just don’t know if I should also be holding Mrs. Takada’s hand too?” he doesn’t loose eye contact as you stare into his soul. “tell me what I can and can’t do, teach, I’m a good listener, I just need to be told what do to.” you were frustrated because you couldn’t tell if his choice of words were purposely submissive, especially with that smug look on his face as you tried hard to read him.

“you can’t hold anyone else’s hand,” you finally mutter, not before rubbing your cheek as you turn to look at the other students circling the guide as the other teachers tell them to quiet up and listen. “you’re my assistant, so that’s the reason.”

“understood,” his reply is punctuated by a step towards you, his lips ghosting you ear as his other hand sneaks around your waist. “I’ll keep my hands on you, so I don’t get you all mad at me again.” his cool voice went straight into your core as you felt your face burn red.

“I wasn’t mad,” you push his hand off you; finally distancing yourself from the shameless man.

however, toji listened. he was polite with the other teachers, curt and short with the female guide that tried to talk to him more when the students were roaming around the shrine, but it was pretty easy for him to side-step her and follow megumi and his friends as the huddled around a lizard they found.

“woahh is he gonna shapeshift?” Yuuji reaches out for the lizard only for it to run away. toji stays around the kids especially when they continue their hike up to another shrine at the top of the mountain. of course, it was fun hanging out with his son and his friends. but it also made your attitude more obvious the longer the hike went on.

especially when there was a broken step and toji was helping the kids up, only for your turn to come and you telling him you can go up yourself.

he had to bite back a scoff, he almost forgot you were basically straight out of college, and definitely stubborn as shit. but still his hand hovered behind you as you climbed up and you didn’t look back once. it was almost making him want to rub himself because of how fucking bratty you’re being. but still he continued to flirt with you, because why else did he come on this trip.

“dad?“

toji looks behind him to see megumi and yuuji still by the shrine while the rest of the group is already heading back down the mountain.

“yeah?” tojj raises a brow for megumi to continue. that’s when yuuji interrupts with your name.

“she went looking for nobara, but they’re not back yet,” yuuji shakes his head like a dramatic eleven year old. “I told nobara there’s no bathrooms behind the shrine, but she just went anyways.”

toji concerned now glances behind him to see the group now fully gone and the sun setting. now that he thinks back, he hasn’t seen you since they entered the shrine for a tour. “when did the girl leave?”

“like awhile ago,” yuuji sighs again dramatically, not fully grasping that that’s not a very helpful answer.

toji looks at megumi.

“it was around twenty minutes ago, when teacher followed after her,” megumi answers.

“you’re just repeating what I said,” yuuji narrows his eyes at megumi who brushes him off as he looks up at his dad who’s glancing around the empty shrine. the stand was already closed and it was getting dark.

“stay with me, kay, hold my hand,” toji extends his left hand for megumi to take, while yuuji held onto megumi’s hand. toji quickly pulled out his phone to text the WhatsApp chat with the other chaperons and teachers letting them know he was with two other students and will be down. right after he called you. with one ring it immediately went to voicemail. “are you fuckin’ with me right now?”

he walks around the shrine with megumi and yuuji in tow as he called again and same thing. your phone was definitely dead because you always answered your phone. that or—

now with the sun completely set, toji pulled out the flashlight from megumi’s bag as he went deeper into the woods behind the shrine. yuuji was clutching megumi’s arm as megumi held on his dad’s shirt. toji called your name, a little louder the deeper they went in.

“dad?” megumi glances up to, but toji ignores his worries as he continues shouting your name and yuuji easily mimics toji’s concern as he shouts for nobara.

“nobara!!”

after another fifteen minutes in the woods, toji receives a call from one of the teachers and immediately answers.

“hello, just checking if you guys are still up there?” she asks, and includes if you and nobara are with him because your phone had died the moment you arrived at the shrine.

“I have megumi and yuuji, but we’re looking for the other two,” toji’s voice was strained. he really should’ve listened to you and stayed by your side then this wouldn’t have happened. it makes it worse when the teacher on the line starts panicking. toji can overhear the tour guide speaking to the teacher saying they’ll send someone back up, but it’ll take them thirty minutes to walk back up.

“mr. fushiguro you should come back down the mountain so you and the boys don’t get lost-“

toji hangs up.

“mr. tojj i heard something,” yuuji yelps, suddenly clutching toji’s other arm and going on a rant from the nerves. “megumi was talking about the spirits and how they’re hiding in places where no one lives anymore and-and we passed by those broken shacks on the way up.”

toji’s jaw clenches, eye shutting as he exhales. “I told you not to watch that shit horror movie ‘gumi.”

megumi cringes, “I didn’t—“

“we did last night—AH!” the sudden crack behind them sends yuuji flying ten feet in the air and megumi clutching his dad even tighter almost pissing his pants.

toji turns abruptly at the noise, holding onto yuuji who’s basically on top of his shoulders and megumi wrapped under his arm, face smushed into his side clutching his shirt.

“toji?”

the familiar voice sends a flood of relief rushing through toji as he immediately moves forward as two black blobs turn into you and megumi’s friend. yuuji and megumi’s are still holding onto toji like they might die, but he’s still able to make it over to you, his hand coming up to cheek as he shines his flashlight on your face making you hiss pushing it away.

“shut up, I’m seein’ if you’re hurt,” he grunts pushing your hand away.

“I’m fine, just forgot my phone died when I went after nobara,” you say, but still letting toji examine your face before he kneels down to check on the girl.

“you still don’t fucking go off by yourself,” he grunts brushing the girls cheek as she crosses her arms.

“why can megumi’s dad say fuck, but I get in trouble, miss?” nobara snaps, making you frown down at her,

“because I’m not a little girl that ran off into the woods by herself and almost got lost,” toji clips back, having a harsh stare off with the girl who frowns even more, but eventually averts her gaze.

“I had to use the bathroom,” she mutters.

“I told you there was no bathroom!” yuuji points at nobara suddenly interrupting as he still holds on toji,

“you’ve never been here, how the heck would you know??” nobara scoffs.

“because I know everything, I told you that,” yuuji tsks.

“you’re an idiot,” nobara frowns, annoyed and already embarrassed about getting lost.

you sigh stepping in, “okay, enough guys. we don’t call each other names, we’re not in elementary school.” you gently tap toji’s shoulder and he stands up. the flashlight was pointed at the ground, but the shadows that contrasted his face made him look even more handsome. “let’s head down,” you look away, “you remember the way?”

“course.”

maybe toji should’ve called the teachers the second he found you and nobara, but it slipped his mind since he had to lead you and the three kids back down the mountain. especially with how scared yuuji and megumi were after watching that horror movie in the hotel room last night. nobara on the other hand was picking on them to make herself feel better about causing this whole mess. and you, you did your best to keep them close to toji, because even you were holding onto him to keep yourself from tripping on the unbalanced steps made over six centuries ago. but at least all that masked the underlying tension between you and your students father, especially when you held onto his arm a little longer after his arm wrapped around your waist before you tripped on a large tree root.

“thanks,” you sigh, catching your breath.

“I can pick you up if you’re tired,” he leans close, and you would say he’s teasing, but the way he’s looking at you even in the dark, you knew it wasn’t a joke.

“funny,” you say, but still hold his arm as you continue walking. the three kids right in front of you both.

“oh I see the gate!” yuuji jumps, grasping onto both nobara and megumi.

easy to say, once you arrived back at the hotel and the kids all filed into the hotel restaurant for dinner, you received an ear full privately from two of the teachers. you couldn’t really pinpoint what you’d done wrong, you went after Nobara the second you counted your kids again to see she wasn’t there then to hear from yuuji and megumi that she went off alone. maybe you should’ve told another teacher, hell toji first, and had a charged phone before going, that would’ve been smart.

okay, you deserved the lecture.

afterwards, you decided to head to your room. you weren’t that hungry anymore, and the other teachers would send the kids off to bed.

the second day was brutal. the early morning walk, then the aquarium, and then the shrine visits, then getting lost in the woods—

“fuck,” you groan, growing exhausted from just thinking about the day as you crawl into the covers after a much needed shower. unfortunately for you a loud knock hits your hotel door.

you want to ignore it, give an excuse in the morning that you’d already fallen asleep, but there’s another knock and it’s followed by a deep voice calling your name. it almost sent shivers down your spine as you stood up and walked to open the door.

“you didn’t eat?” his eyes fixate on your cute face, eyes half blinking with exhaustion, but then he lets his eyes roam further down. shamelessly checking you out.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you answer, leaning against the door as you hold it partially open, aware of any other teacher or parent that could pass by and see you in your old university shirt and skims boy shorts. “is everyone else heading back up?”

“most of the kids finished eating and went to bed. gonna check on megs and yuu to make sure they’re not watching another r rated movie,” toji says, still looking at you like you’re made of sin, though it’s not far off from the truth. “you normally let parents see ya like this?”

you try not to let the heat in your core take over, especially with the way that he’s eyeing your lips and leaning against the doorframe. his hand reaches out, holding the hem of your shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. he says the name of your university. “when did you graduate?”

you’re desperately trying not to show how flustered his casual demeanor is making you, but feeling his knuckles skim over your exposed skin. he was towering over you, still in his cargo and tshirt from earlier. his shoulders were even more sculpted and because you showered, you can smell his musk even clearer. you’ve always had a sensitive nose, but something about how manly he smelled, the mix of his worn cologne and natural woody smell made you blush.

“you’re exhausted,” he interrupts, making you blink up at him. he chuckles lightly, and you’re beyond thankful that he didn’t realize you were thinking about something completely different. especially when his hand lets go of your shirt to take a step back. you’re almost surprised he’s the one putting space between you both, and you almost feel like you’re being rejected right now. you didn’t even stop to think if he was bothered with your attitude today. were you crossing a line? “goodnight, sweetheart.” he gives you one last smile, turning around.

“toji?” you stop him.

“hmm?” he turns. his undivided attention on you.

“thank you for today. with me and Nobara in the woods, we definitely would’ve been lost if you didn’t come looking for us,” your voice was light, and soft. he almost found it amusing how you’re a sweet girl one second and the other you’re giving him attitude. but still he lets a smile take over his face and you almost have to look away because the dimples that appear on his cheeks was too hypnotizing you could feel your face catch on fire.

“stop thanking me. plus I should’ve stayed by you like you said, then you wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

you frown, “it was my fault.”

toji smiles, “goodnight, ma.”

you flush at the new nickname. fuck, why are you so easy to please. especially when he’s walking away and waves his room key over his shoulder.

“Room 322, no need to knock.”

Unfortunately for you. you immediately crashed into bed once you closed your door. the exhausting day easily luring you into a deep sleep.

…DAY 3…

the multiple meetings you had with the teachers this month leading up to the trip all warned about day 3. it was going to be the longest day. not only were you guys going to an interactive zoo, you also had another hike near the lake with kayaking, and a final nighttime hike from a short astronomy lesson.

“everyone head down for breakfast,” you knock on all the hotel doors. some kids luckily already awake as they immediately popped out and started heading down with their backpacks.

you hesitated, but eventually knocked on toji’s door. no reply. biting your lip, you knock again, and that’s when the door wings open, and you’re met with a bare naked toji—

well he had a towel wrapped very loosely around his waist, he was basically naked. especially with your reaction that you had no way of controlling. your eyes couldn’t not follow the multiple water droplets that ran down his huge pecs, down to his very sculpted and ripped torso, and even further down his pelvis. his happy trail glistened from the water as the hairs grew thicker the lower—

a low whistle suddenly had your eyes snapping up. staring back at you was the very handsome man with the most shit eating smirk as his looked down at you.

“you wanna come in?” he teases, but his own ears turn red when you just stare into his eyes like you were actually considering what he’d just said.

“y-“ you clear your throat, coming back to your senses as you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes still scanning down his body, especially with the way his body filled the entire door frame. his huge veiny hand lazily holding the front of the towel so it doesn’t fall…it was so loose, he hurried out of the shower when he heard the door. “were you on a run again?” you could’ve easily ended this heated interaction by getting straight to the point, but the dumb twenty four year old part of your brain couldn’t help, but talk to the hot parent that’s basically been flirting with you non-stop for the last few months. especially when he looked like this right now.

“ya, can’t loose myself on this trip or my team will have my fuckin’ head,” toji thinks about how much arguing and convincing he had to do with his best friend/coach sukuna to let him chaperone this trip.

“pretty strict, do you not get any vacations?” your curious, and you lean against the doorframe, pretending like you don’t notice the way toji is holding back a smile.

“no I get vacations, but if there’s a match in a few months then it’s training 24/7. even during trips,” he answers, “you ever been to a match?”

your lips part, “no. I’ve watched some on tv. mainly in high school since my dad is a huge fan.”

“and you’re not a fan?” his teasing is intrusive, maybe because he wants you to admit to liking him, even if it’s just his image first—

“I’d have to see a match first before saying anything,” the light shrugged you had only made him even more attracted to you.

he raises a brow, “you can just tell me you want to come to my game. no need to tip toe around it.”

your cheeks flush, “that’s not—“ your cheeks blow up as toji breaks out laughing, leaning forward to meet you at the level. his huge body towering over you, his eyes scanning over your face.

“I’ll get you vip seats, but I have’ta get somethin’ in return.”

your chin tips out just a little so you can lock eyes, raising a brow, telling him to go on then.

you were killing him, without even realizing it, his fist clenched around his towel, feeling his blood filling up his dick, he had to refrain from making it show.

“a date.”

oh.

your lips part. you didn’t know why you were shocked. maybe because he’s been flirting with you for months, you probably thought deep down inside he wasn’t the type to take women out on dates. maybe it was just a bar and a fuck, not that you were complaining if that was the case. but still, his answer seemed to make your face even hotter than before, and you felt little stupid.

“i don’t know if that’s appropriate…” you mutter, almost defeated, his eyes glanced over yours as you looked away.

“you’re not gonna be megumi’s teacher forever. just another two months until school’s out,” his voice was deep, you hadn’t realized he’d been bending closer. your back pressed against the doorframe as his hand came up, firmly caressing your waist. “one date when we get back. let me treat you, you’d like that?”

you bite your cheek, back arched against the doorframe as you glance back at him. his hooded eyes and deep face, his handsome features practically seducing you.

“one date,” you repeat.

“and more if you like me so much,” he smirks, face inches from yours.

your voice is breathy, heart racing because he smells so good, so clean, “f-fine,” your cheeks flush at the stutter but he only smiles. his hand travels up to cup your cheek.

“you flustered?” his canines are hard to hide when he’s smiling like that.

“no-“ you push his hand away, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. “g-get changed or you won’t have time for breakfast,” you huff, stepping away and speed walking away from him.

toji licks his teeth, shutting the door once you disappear. he’ll just grab an apple before leaving, because now he has to handle this mess. he clenches his jaw as he drops his towel, firm hand grabbing the base of his hard cock. “fuck.”

—

similar to the aquarium, at the zoo you had to keep an eye on your students while the zoo workers gave the lessons to the groups. they lead you to different sections, giving brief lessons on the different species so the kids can fill out their packets.

on the other hand, you were enjoying how close toji was. always an arms length away. the only time you separated is when one of the zookeepers asked if you wanted to feed the giraffe to give a demonstration to the students before it was their turn.

your face lit up as you stepped up.

“Up here, sweeetheart,” the zookeeper easily flirts as he helps you up on the platform, a hand resting on your lower back as he places your palm over his putting some food in it. “Now you’re just gonna extend it out, and he’ll come right to you,” he smiles as you hum.

little did you know that toji was practically seething. his jaw set tight, muscles tensing at the way this shitkeeper was drooling over you. anyone would fucking drool over a hot school teacher, especially if they looked like you.

“here he comes,” the zookeeper points, all the students ooo as the giraffe leans down, then eats from your hand. you gasp at the odd feeling, backing into the zookeeper on accident, pressing yourself against him.

“sorry—“ you chirp, still afraid of the giraffe as he tries to lean in for more.

the zookeeper laughs, “it’s alright,” his arm holds your waist, and toji is rolling his eyes so hard.

“give me a break,” he mutters.

megumi standing in front of him looks up. “what?”

toji doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes zeroed in on you feeding the giraffe again, totally fine with the zookeeper all over you, literally.

“what the fuck,” his nails dig into his bicep, the expression on his face was not subtle at all that even yuuji is cackling.

“mr. toji are you jealous? do you wanna feed the giraffe too?” yuuji blurts, making nobara beside him turn and cackle too, pointing at megumi’s dad. a few of the other students in your group laugh at toji.

toji glares down at the children, not catching the subtle way you’re shifting on the platform. you place a hand over the zookeepers wrist as you step away. “okay, I think that’s it,” you say, the hairs on your body standing up the second the zookeeper kept himself pressed against you when you bumped into him.

“you can feed him so more-“-

“no I’m good—Toji!” you blurt, cutting the conversation off quick because toji’s head snaps back up to you. “i need some help getting down.”

any command that slips past your lips is so easily executed. toji was standing in front of you in seconds as you kneel down on the platform. toji easily grabs your waist as you place yours on his shoulders and he carries you. his brow quirks up at you.

“fucking keeper is a freak,” you mutter to him as he places you on the ground. and though internally toji is ecstatic about that, another part is seething at the fact that the keeper puts his hands all over you and made you very uncomfortable that you had to call toji to pick you up even though the latter was right beside you.

you stood beside toji, arms crossed as two students went up the platform, one at a time to feed the giraffes.

“I can have a word with him,” toji leans down, his hand on your lower back, rubbing gentle circles.

you barely give a laugh, “I’d rather not cause a scene.”

“it would be a word.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine.” toji licks his teeth nodding.

but when you went to the next section. and the zookeeper wasn’t following you or toji, you already knew what must’ve happened when another keeper came to your group.

“I said it was fine,” you tell him.

“well I wasn’t fine,” he shrugs easily, his eyes glancing down at you, ready to brush your cheek before realizing where the fuck he is.

the rest of the day was hell.

pure hell.

the zoo was long, lunch only energized the kids for the two hour hike. it was a great view, but there was another bathroom problem and the kids had to take turns going in the woods. then the last thing before lunch was kayaking.

everyone was excited, a few kids sat out with another teacher since they were too scared even if they were given a life vest. but everyone else was way to excited to head into the water. maybe that’s why most, if not all the kids ended up tipping into the water.

“everyone grab onto your kayaks,” the tour guide exclamined, but the kids were laughing and splashing. some bopping up and down in their life vests.

you were almost thankful for yours not tipping until it did. the students were laughing their asses off even more.

“miss.l/n fell into the water!!” they all laugh.

everyone but toji, because when everyone makes it back to shore. they’re drenched head to toe. including toji who jumped in after a student who said they knew how to swim but didn’t.

but what wasn’t funny was seeing your t-shirt stuck to your chest, showcasing your figure for all the parent chaperones to see. specifically some other dads on this trip. fuck.

“I hate wet jeans,” you grumble, as you squeeze the ends of your baggy jeans as the water pools down. you clip your wet hair up as you hold onto toji’s arm. “thanks for getting tyler, he should’ve taken a life vest.”

toji hums.

“is everything okay?” you stand up straight now. and that’s when you notice toji eyeing your chest. you flush, but also scoff.

“there’s other people looking,” he huffs.

“jus’ you.”

“not jus’ me, others,” he eyes the other parents helping the kids dry off before loading back on the bus to get dinner then go on the night hike back at the hotel.

“yeah yeah,” you wave him off, walking away. but toji remains close, guarding you. he didn’t calm down until you got changed before dinner. your modest skirt, tight cleavage covering top, and cardigan. it was adorable.

“mrs. jackson and mr. white said they’re getting us drinks after the hike,” one of the other teachers, ally, cheers to you as you’re on the night hike. Mrs. jackson and mr. white are the oldest of the teachers and usually offer up drinks to celebrate a successful hard working field trip.

“oh really?” your eyes are wide.

Ally nods enthusiastic, “this was such a fun field trip, but I’ve been dying for a drink.” she’s practically buzzing, even though she’s very happily married and in her mid thirties, you don’t fully regret what you’re about to say until you do.

“I think I’ll pass,” you say.

“what?”

“I’ve never been a fan of drinking,” you admit, toji overhearing a few paces behind you with another parent chaperon.

“what?! you’re the youngest here, though!” Ally is unbelievably put off by your response that you have to salvage it, until she adds. “well at least have one drink with us. it was your first field trip as one of the teachers here, and we just want to celebrate. you don’t even need to get another drink. okay? Okay.”

you bite your cheek nodding.

“yay!!”

and that’s how you ended up here. sitting at the center of the ten seat table with all the young teachers and parent chaperons. completely fucking wasted.

“this w-was such a fuuun trip,” you hiccup as the table is laughing and drinking. you were all laughing. “I’m like so happy—“

the table is cackling and toji seated beside you is realizing in seconds. “you’re a fuckin’ light weight,” he clocks. the other teachers laugh noting that as well.

“nuh-uh, I-i can drink another,” you hiccup again, taking his drink and gulping another few sips until he’s clicking his tongue.

“Christ,” he slides a water to you, “drink.”

and the night went on with you tipsy and the others getting unbelievably drunk into the night. even toji was getting tipsy. he had too, with all the parents asking too many fucking questions about his life that he needed something to take the edge off before his fist collided with one of their faces. but when you went to grab the drinks from the bar for the table, and tripping on your way back, toji realized maybe it was time to call it night.

“what? but we’re still having fun,” you whine as toji lifts you up, arm wrapped around your waist, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder.

“fun until you’re puking all over yourself, if ya drink more,” toji stumbles himself. not realizing he’s just as drunk until he’s tapping your key into door, easily dragging you to your bed. “get some rest,” he sighs, lips coming to plant a kiss on your forehead. your eyes are bright, almost too bright as you watch him trudge out.

fuck he’s glad he can at least walk back to his room.

which left you peeling your clothes off and pressing your face into the bed as you rolled around in your pajamas. you weren’t tired. not at all. today was long and exhausting, you were completely exhausted during dinner, but now. now you’re feeling alone…

you turned your head on the pillow, when you caught something on your nightstand.

toji’s room key.

he laid back on his bed, hand pressed to his face, he felt good, but he knew in the morning the headache will come and his moves will be lazy. fuck, he really should’ve cut it after his third drink, but the only reason he kept going was because you were still there.

even though he’d got what he wanted. you agreed on a date. he still couldn’t bare to rip himself away from you. especially when he saw how adorable and talkative you get when you’re drunk. you already had the sweet teacher thing going, plus the bratty attitude underneath, but you drunk was all of that plus a little more unfiltered shit that he just couldn’t miss. and he couldn’t leave you alone with those creeps gawking at you again.

and when you leaned against him because you were laughing. fuck he almost flipped a table when one of the parents kept eyeing your chest. even though you couldn’t see any skin on the shirt, it was so tight hugging your breasts—

that’s when he heard his hotel door click.

his brow rose, leaning up.

the light poured in from the hallway, but the wall still covered who was at the door.

the door slowly creaked shut, and toji was about to sit up even more when—

“toji?”

shit.

“teach?” toji responds.

that’s when your face peaks out as you step further into the room so the wall couldn’t hide you. toji’s eyes immediately scan your figure, eyes locking in on your bare thighs in those skims boyshorts and university tee.

“I thought you were crashing for the night?” toji rubs his face because he’s unsure now. unsure if you or him are sober enough for this. even when you slowly kneel at the foot of the bed.

you hum, “wasn’t tired. and I got lonely and…scared,” you exhale crawling up, until you stopped right at his bent feet, his back reclined against the stack of pillow, arm behind his head as he watched you. “I used your key.”

“I can see that,” toji stretched out his legs only dressed in loose black sweats, he pats his lap. “come’ere.”

and you fucking do.

you slowly crawl up his lap, until you’re straddling him and pressing your hands on his stomach, cautious at first.

“scared?” he starts, hand hesitating, before easing it onto your bare thigh. and just that contact with your smooth skin, made his cock start to ache. “i thought you said you don’t get scared sleeping alone.”

you shrug, cute soft hands still feeling the ridges of his abs, your cheeks flush as you hum. “does it matter why i came?”

“not really. I’d just like to know, would you mind telling me?”

your lips purse as you glance at him and his cheeky smile, “i was lonely…and i saw your key and i thought of you so I came to see you. there, full truth.”

he raised a brow, hand easing up under your shirt to hold your waist, thumb caressing absentmindedly. “there’s something else.”

you lean down shaking your head. breath hot against his face.

“we can’t,” toji speaks lowly, your faces so close he has to stop his hips from adjusting underneath you.

“why not?”

“you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he continues to feel your body. definitely not listening to himself especially when your arching your back to press your chest against his, hands all over his shoulders.

you shake your head, “I’m not.”

“you are, because if you weren’t, you definitely wouldn’t be here,” he gives your side a squeeze, desperately holding back. “crawlin’ on one of your students’ parents’ lap, in thin shorts and a tee…”

“they’re my pajamas,” you sigh flawlessly with a delicate tilt to your head and your lashes half lidded as you gazed at him.

his son’s teacher was a natural slut.

you were definitely acting like your age now. the back talk, the way you’re trying to seduce him, it all came like second nature to you, even if you didn’t fully notice it, toji definitely does. he’s been the victim to many women batting their lashes and flaunting themselves, but you stood out. easily.

toji bites back a groan.

“you’re drunk too, toji,” you lean in, eyes heavy.

he hums, struggling to conceal his smile as your lips hover over his.

“do you not wanna kiss me anymore?” you whisper, feigning rejection.

he exhales laughing, “anymore?”

you hum, sliding just a little further up his lap, so your face was hovering over his. your hair slides gently to one side, concealing this taboo interaction with a private curtain so the only thing toji was seeing was you.

his skin was hot, and his big hands holding your torso wasn’t stabilizing him at all when you were looking at him like that.

“you’ve been wanting to kiss me every night…and this morning,” you reveal, because of course you caught his hints. you were playing with him. “it was inappropriate.”

“and this isn’t?” he cautiously puts one hand back on your thigh, massaging the bare flesh. your skin was so smooth, so soft, he’d been craving you, thinking about you in the most inappropriate ways, so to have you so easily throwing yourself onto him.

you shake your head. “ it is…but…” your lips skim over his again, breathing heavily. “tonight…I can’t go to sleep without a reward.”

toji snorts, “reward?”

you nod, letting a small whine escape before swallowing it. “I’ve been holding myself back, taking the high road, being responsible, n-now…now I want a kiss, that’s it.” fuck, this is exactly why toji was a fucking whore when he was younger. the age group you’re in right now switched from bratty attitude to spoiled brat in seconds. never choosing between dominant or submissive and it’s so fucking hot.

“you want me to praise you?” toji leans up, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh electing the softest whine from the back of your throat. you nod, desperate. “want me to tell you how much of a good girl you’ve been not caving in?” he smiles, you nod again.

“please.”

fuck.

“you’re so spoiled,” he licks his scar, and you feel his tongue skim yours briefly, you’re so close.

“mmm!” toji grunts as you finally crash your lips against his.

he holds back a vicious laugh, because you’re so unbelievably desperate with this kiss he has to hold the back of your head to guide you. your whine came automatic, feeling his tongue push your lips open, allowing it to slip in your mouth.

he dominated the kiss, his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly. in this moment, he had you completely at his mercy. and you let him.

he almost couldn't believe that this was the same woman who taught his son. the one who kept avoiding his very obvious advances and would get flustered whenever he insinuated something vulgar. but now here she was, sitting on his lap and whimpering for more. it almost made his head spin.

you pull away briefly, catching your breath, your spit collects on your lip as toji glances over your flushed face.

this is wrong. you’re drunk.

but your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him again. this time longer, messier. your back arches, hips grinding down against his bulge, electing a moan from you. your tongue was selfish as you fought with his, the alcohol on his breath mixed with yours. finger tangling in his dark locks as you scratch his nape making him shiver.

“taste good,” you sigh with a lazy smile, and he can’t help but chuckle. low and deep, chest shaking making you flush. he’s so hot. his scent overflows and overwhelms. you kiss his scar, tongue running over it. “how’d you get this?” you kiss it again and again, moaning so gently, sending shivers down his spine.

“it’ll ruin the mood,” he says, hands grounding your hips down, grunting just a bit when you really start rocking on his fat bulge. his fingers digging into your flesh, sighing once your lips continue to trail down his neck, hands exploring his chest again.

“i’s okay,” you mutter, sucking gentle kisses on his nape, moving to his Adam’s apple, as he snorts.

there’s a beat before— “my old man did it.”

your eyes flick up. you pull away. your eyes suddenly less hazy and he can tell, because his lip curls into a smirk. “told ya it’d ruin the mood—“

his breath hitched.

your thumb gently touching his scar, eyes swimming with something he can’t recognize.

“how old were you?”

his grip on your hips tighten, subconsciously grounding himself.

“twelve,” he answers. eyes falling to your lips then back up to your doe eyes and the way your brows gently knit together was something he’ll never forget. “it was a long time ago.” he tries to ease your concerns because he was not passing up on this opportunity because the mood was ruined by his shitty childhood.

“i’m sorry,” your words are soft, not an apology he’s heard before, or at least when it came from you, it felt genuine. even if it was a long time ago and he’s long put that behind, he can’t help the sudden flutter deep in his chest.

you lean down, pecking his scar. not like before more gentle, “i thought it was because of a fight or training or somethin’,” you admit.

toji cracks a smile, “ya, that’s what everyone thinks,” he easily strokes your hips. “how ‘bout I get another kiss from ya’. make me feel better.”

unlike his previous flirtatious remarks that earn him a flustered look on your face. you embrace it, gently holding his jaw, maintaining eye contact that he doesn’t break from, his deep green orbs syncing with yours as you control the kiss. tilting his head and meeting his lips with yours meet. tongues colliding, back arching as you dominate and lead the kiss.

the room fills with sounds of your lips smacking. your spit connecting with his as your tongue runs across his bottom lip. you tongue his scar again, making his grip tighten on your waist, heat crawling up his neck. this was a much more passionate kiss than before. your heart was pounding as you continued with the deep sensual make-out.

you started rocking back against his bulge feeling it grow bigger between your legs. your heart was pounding as you pressed down, not fully grasping the consequences of said action because toji pulled away briefly as a deep husky groan escaped his lips.

you weren’t wearing any panties. the shorts clung to your wet folds like thin cloth.

“you’re killin’ me,” he grunts, hands sliding down from your waist to your full ass. his touch once cautious, easily turns desperate as he grabs a handful of your ass, grunting even more when the pads of his fingers spreads your cheeks up, feeling your folds spread behind your shorts, his hips bucking to grind you back down.

you whine, eyes fluttering as you grip his shoulder, nails digging in, rocking against him.

“I should stop…,” your voice was slightly hoarse from the kissing and toji had to contain the sudden urge to lose every ounce of self-control he’s been holding. your concern was mixed with your own hazy and needy twenties side. your lips hover over his, and he can feel the heat coming from you, because he also doesn’t want to lose this proximity to you.

“your call, sweetheart,” toji licks his lips, large hands grounded on your ass permanently. your eyes flick over his face, landing on his swollen lip-bitten lips, and you know you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to.

your tongues clashed once again, and that bratty side of you came out again, but slightly more dominating as you pressed your fingers into his jaw, so your lips can trail down his neck.

“shit—“ toji grunts, hips bucking in surprise when you palm his bulge.

“more,” you whisper against his lips, the need just itching out.

toji slides his hand up to grab your face. a deep husky chuckle escapes him as he glances your flushed features. you were far from a respectable adorable middle school teacher. your lust filled expression was everything and more.

“you want a parent’s cock in y’r pussy?” his vulgar question sent a unknown heat break deep in your chest.

you glance away, embarrassed.

“don’t put it like that.”

“am i wrong?” his loud boisterous chuckle has you flushing beyond belief.

“shut up! I’m—I just,” you break into a whine, burying your face in his shoulder.

“am i embarrassing you?” he teases further.

you grunt in response.

“is this the brattiude again? aren’t’chu a teacher, use your big girl words, or did we forget how?” his teasing was infinite.

“brattiude? I don’t have whatever that is,” you scoff.

“you do, it comes out when you get like this,” he eyes you up and down, and finds it even more amusing when you quirk a questioning, albeit annoyed, look. so he elaborates. “when you don’t get what you want…you get all snappy, and self-centered…just like a spoiled little brat.”

“I’ve never caught an attitude,” you gasp, staring incredulously at him.

he hums, sarcastically, “sure.”

you frown, but he could tell easily that it was just your brattiude, because you were still all up on his lap, squirming even more because even he could feel the puddle you’re making on his lap.

his hand finds your jaw again, turning your face back to him. his pupils dilate at the flushed look on your face. would you cry if he teases you further? what if he bullies his fat cock in over and over—

“did i hurt your feelings, teach?” he coos so softly it was obvious he was teasing but you tsk, like an annoyed brat. “would you feel better if i touch you down here?”

the gasp was enough of a reaction for him to see just how much you wanted him. the simple touch of his hand cupping you over your shorts and pressing his palm against your clit had your eyes fluttering.

toji curses under his breath, letting another exhale, as he continues rubbing you, “these shorts are all ruined, and you looked so fuckin’ cute in ‘em,” he chuckles when you bite a whimper back.

but your patience for your students isn’t something that extends beyond that, because now your pawing his waistband eager for more, and impatience making you shaky.

he tsks, grabbing your wrist and pulling it up to his face.

“what’re ya thinking?”

“i want it…” the frown plus the whine isn’t a sight for any man that would easily buckle and fuck you stupid could handle.

his jaw clenches, holding back. “let me take a look first.”

your brows pinch, “what do you mean—wha!” you squeak, your world tipping over in seconds, now laying on your back with your legs pushed up. toji swiftly and skillfully pulls your shorts off in one go. your heart is racing, preparing yourself, until toji pushes your thighs up and apart, kneeling his face close to your heated puckering core, eyes staring like saucers.

“what’re you doing?!” you immediately cover yourself, face bright and hot.

“taking a look,” he pushes your hand out of the way, his thumbs slipping into your folds before pulling them apart, “you’re soaked.” his pupils dilate at the sight of your sticky arousal, slipping out.

“toji—“ you push his shoulder, trying to get his face away, but he only leans his face closer, like your pussy was some hypnosis, and his tongue falls right on the mess, licking a bold wet strip up. your juices collect on his tongue as you flood his taste buds. “angh—“ you whine out, head tipping back and back arching, because fuck, you really did miss getting your pussy eaten.

“fuck, you’re so sweet,” toji groans, lapping the mess you made before tonguing the source. your eyes were on him the entire time, his back muscles moving as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, dipping his head again to suck and clean all your juices, before sucking your little bundle of nerves.

your eyes bulge once he starts giving your clit some attention, hand curling in his raven hair as your thighs twitching as he sucks.

his own body reacting to every mewl and whimper you let out, eyes flicking up to see the way you were gasping. his free hand came up, pushing your university tee up, hand flat on your stomach before your tits came into view, and he nearly came.

your eyelids flutter as you stare at him, chest heaving, you can feel how hot you’re body is getting as he feels your stomach.

“fuck me,” his body sits ups slowly, hovering over you, your legs slip around his torso as he dips his head to your tits. you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating when his tongue lulls out and takes a wet lap of your nipple. his rough palm gropes your boob, squeezing the flesh making you react just the way he’d imagine.

your back arching and a stifled moan coming out.

“i don’t think teachers should be this slutty,” he licks his lips, tonguing your nipple again before he admittedly starts sucking.

“toji,” you moan, hand pressing into his nape as he hums around you. his fingers pinch and twist your other nipple making you gasp, letting out a higher pitched moan. you can feel his smirk, but you don’t have time to comment because he presses a finger against your hole.

“let’s see how much i needa stretch y’out,” his face is flushed, your reactions were enough to get him off.

your eyes glance down as he slips two thick veiny fingers into your core.

“shit,” toji exhales.

you whine, gasping when he pumps his fingers in to get them deep.

“you’re unbelievable,” his comment leaves you feeling bright pink. “when was the last time you had sex, baby?”

his question was confusing to you until he adds on.

“or are you still a virgin?”

“I’m not a virgin!” you gasp, offended, even though it wouldn’t have been embarrassing if it was a true. but still. you were flustered, especially when he leans his face close to yours.

“you sure?” he snarks, “because this pussy—“ he puts emphasis with a sharp thrust of his fingers making your head fall back. “is too fuckin’ tight,” he groans as you squeeze around him.

“I’ve had sex, like—five months ago,” you confess.

“five months,” he repeats, eyes narrowing when you glance away, and that’s when the light bulb goes off and he has to hold back a snort, because it was sweet. “and why five months?” he teases.

you hold back, too stubborn to expose your reasons, but he doesn’t make it easy when he starts sucking your neck, taking his time learning your body, until he finds the spot that makes you moan just a bit more uncontrolled and his fingers pick up speed. “does it have to do with me?”

his fingers piston into you and an unrelenting pace that he slips in another finger, groaning at the squelching that fills the air, your face pressing into his arm that rests beside your head. “cmon,” he slows his pace, electing a cute whine from you. “you’re really actin’ spoiled. expecting me to please you without anything in return.”

the guilt trip had your dumb brain glancing widely at him.

“I’m not—we’re gonna have sex now,” your face is bright with heat, eyes just a bit glassy from the pleasure.

“you think an old man like me gets off on just pussy?” though that was a big chunk of it, it still elected a cute reaction from you. “you needa to talk to me.”

your eyes are wide, almost like this was inconceivable to you, but nonetheless your lips part. “you’re not that old,” you comment with a slight snark.

he snorts, “you being cute?”

you shrug, squirming when he rubs his palm against your clit. “just a little,” you maintain eye contact. and he has to hold back a snort. his lips hover over yours, his hot breath fanning against your face, you instinctively lean up to kiss him but he easily dodges it, tucking his face into your side, lips ghosting over your ear.

“just tell me you didn’t let anyone near this pussy after our meeting,” his words sent a shiver running down your spine. “admit it.”

“it was coincidental,” you admit, whining when he curls his fingers inside, your legs closing around his hand but he only pushes both legs up, you squeal when he starts fingering you at an unrelenting pace, your face pressed to the side, gasping as you feel your orgasm taking over your body.

“coincident my fuckin’ ass,” he tsks, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he slips them out and puts them up to his mouth sucking them dry. your chest is uneven as you stare up at him. he moves to pull your shirt off, leaving you completely naked while he’s still in his sweats. “you’re gonna have’ta make it up to me.”

“why?” you snap back. his brows rise, it was intimidating. the look of an annoyed adult, but it had your core clenching around nothing.

“you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on ya,” he chides, his palm cups your pussy, making you shiver. “I should shut you up for good,” he palms himself.

you nod, the blush and smile giving yourself away.

he can’t help but snort, “you wanna be punished?”

you flush, “I didn’t say that,” you mutter.

he leans over you again, hand caressing your face, it was slightly rough, thumb playing with your lips, eyes honed in on how wet and kiss bitten they are. “you said you wanted your mouth to be shut,” he smirks. “this little pussy would make you pass out if I put my dick in it .”

your brows furrow as you frown, “you don’t know that,” you argue.

“you could barely take three fingers,” he coos, but that only seems to make your dumb cock filled head more upset.

“but I did, you don’t know anything,” you scoff, “you don’t know what I can handle.”

“you telling me you a slut?”

“that’s not what I said,” you flush, “I can take you, that’s what I’m telling you,” you huff, but it turns into a pout, one that has him chuckling. especially when he moves off the bed. you watch him standing beside the bed as you sit up.

his fingers hook around his sweats and easily slips them down, letting them pool on the floor before kicking it aside.

to say you felt your heart drop to your ass was an understatement. your entire body burned red and goosebumps broke out everywhere.

the dark happy trail that led down to his base was not enough of a warning for the sight of his large and thick cock, hanging between his legs. the tip was already shiny from the pre that spread everywhere. his hand came down, squeezing the base, groaning lowly at the sight of you sitting up on the bed staring wide-eyed. he could fuck your pretty face and have no complaints. your lips were parted in frozen terror.

toji put a knee on the mattress, biting his lip in calculated self-control. he couldn’t react yet, not when his son’s poor little teacher was still grappling with the fact that she said she could take his fat cock not knowing what she got herself into.

“I—“ your voice cracks, lips parting at the sight of his weighty length in his palm. he lazily grips the base. the veins looked like they would pop if he squeezed any more.

“you’re acting real fuckin’ cute,” toji groans, leaning down and kissing your lips. not realizing that that comment sent you spiraling. he was still standing, so you were leaning slightly up. your head tilted, eyes fluttering up. “it’s okay, I won’t tease ya’ about your comments earlier,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his gently. “just be a good girl, and I’ll be gentle,” he sighs, guiding your hand to wrap around his cock. “fuck.”

his head tipped to rest on your shoulder, his hand rubbed your thigh. your grip on his cock grew tighter as you continued jerking him off, you couldn’t believe how big it was in your palm. your mind was overheating just thinking about how this thing could fit in you. that’s until you felt your back hit the mattress, again. your body immediately pulled to the edge of the bed as he hoisted your legs around his waist.

“can’t wait any longer,” he grunts, laying his fat cock on your stomach. his eyes dilating at the sight of how far he’d reach you.

“w-wait—“ you press a hand to his sweaty pec, eyes slightly wide as you swallow thickly. “I don’t think—I know what I said—“

however, toji breaks out into a loud laugh. one that has your skin heating up again, and your lips parting in shock. “t-toji!” you scold.

“sorry, sorry,” he laughs, leaning over as he kisses a cute gentle kiss to your cheek that once again leaves you speechless. you would’ve never expected him to be so gentle in the bedroom. “I can teach you how to take a big dick like this,” he starts moving his hips, sliding his length through your folds, a low grunt escaping as your juices squelch around and coat him.

“you’re getting cocky,” you mutter, the confidence you once had, just hanging by a thread now.

he snorts, “just a little. haveta make sure I’m just as good of a teacher as you are,” he angles his tip to press against your clit, smiling when your body jolts. your fingers lazily digging into his biceps. “plus, it’s not everyday i get to take a teachers virginity.”

you flush, “I’m not a virgin!”

toji smirks, “you are when it comes to me,” he rubs his cock head against your puckering hole, “gonna stretch you out real good, every other dick that’s been in ‘ere will be gone from your memory.”

you tense up as you feel the first push in. your eyes flying open as your jaw goes slack. the stretch was filthy, delicious, your chest felt hot—

“easy, baby,” he coos, all cocky, and it only seems to make you even more turned on as you clench around him. “shit.”

his grip on the sheets tighten, jaw clenched. “don’t squeeze me like that.”

“not my fault,” you whimper, his hand pushing your thigh higher as he sinks himself deeper. your breath catches, nails digging into his shoulder. “too much—angh!”

your whining and moaning, fails to deter toji from the task at hand. his cheeks are flushed, muscles tense as he controls his strength. unlike you, he really hasn’t had sex with anyone in awhile. it seemed to only be a yearly ritual for him. so having someone he’s been chasing for months now, someone he definitely developed a strong attraction for squeezing him to absolute heaven definitely wasn’t making it any easier for him.

“you’re so—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, pulling out and thrusting back in. your back arched, hips rising off the bed as he places a knee on the bed , groaning as he pushes more of himself in. your eyes bulge even more, tears squeezing at the corner of your eyes. “still got more.”

“what?!” you shriek, eyes bulging as he snaps more of his chubby girth inside your gummy walls. your pussy weeping, gasping for air as he starts picking up the pace.

“don’t be so dumb,” toji coos, “you saw how much i was gonna shove in,” he emphasis it with a hand pressed to your belly button. “you’ll know you’re full when you feel it right here.”

to say you get dumb on dick is an understatement.

by the time he’s fucking his full length inside you, you’re a completely different person.

“angh, you’re so fuckin’ good,” toji grunts, his hips snapping, he has one foot planted on the mattress, drilling his cock inside you hitting your cervix until your crying out. “good fuckin’ pussy,” his hand comes down your ass.

“toji—gun’ gunna come—ahh-!”

“again?” he snorts, but his own composure breaks when you’re drooling, his thumb collecting it and putting it back in your mouth as you suck. your back arches as his cock slides against your gummy walls pressing against your sweet spot making you see stars. his veins bulge from his arms, watching your eyes rolls back and moan around his thumb.

fuck, he wasn’t gonna cum just yet.

once you’d come undone, you pressed a hand to his chest.

“tapping out.”

you shake your head. “I’m on top.”

you sit up, pushing him back until he’s slipping out a shiver runs down your spine at the emptiness. but you immediately flush when you glance at toji. it was a sight.

his chest covered in a layer of sweat, your juices coated his heavy hanging cock and dark hair at his base. toji chuckled darkly as you grabbed his wrist pulling him back on the bed, laying him against the headboard. his hand lifted up, you easily took it as you stood up and slowly lowered yourself on his abs. pussy easily settling on the hard ridges making him groan.

“gonna teach me a lesson?” he bites his lip, watching you closely.

you laugh lightly, almost like he couldn’t feel the way your pussy clenched when he said that. your lips hovering over his. “teasing me every second and now you wanna learn something,” you kiss his jaw, a low hum escaping his lips. finding himself back in the same position you both started in, but this time you definitely weren’t holding back. his hands easily came to your ass, until you sat up. “no touching.”

his brow raised.

“I thought you wanted a lesson,” you test, his eyes boring into yours.

with an amused exhale, he raises both his hands in defeat, easily tucking them behind his head, muscles flexing casually. you ignore the flush that runs through you at the sight of his biceps flexing and the layer of sweat on his slightly hairy chest.

“now,” you start, turning around so your ass was on full display facing him, a low whistle slips past his lips. your feet press over his pelvis while one hand was positioned on the mattress for balance, your hair sliding to one side, you look over your shoulder and it was fucking beautiful.

toji flushed as he saw the arch of your spine, his eyes traveling down your deep line of you back until he noticed it. toji swears under his breath.

“because you called me a virgin,” you raise your hips, your free hand coming to press his wet cock against your twitching hole, slapping it over your clit a few times making you both hum and groan. “I’ll give you a little show,” you slide back down on his dick. his breath hitching as you take him in one go, no whining or crying like the rounds before. even though you clenched around him when he bottomed out, his jaw ticking, you still persevered.

you lean forward, arching your back as you raise your hips, only his tip still inside as you slam down again. the bulging ridges of his fat cock sliding against your walls had you drooling.

“christ,” he grunts. abs clenching, staring at the sticky cum from earlier start to create little wet cobwebs that attach to his pelvis and your ass.

“angh fuck, toji,” your moans are breathier and needier. It was the fact that you weren’t facing a him that made it easier for you to let go and enjoy the sex all the more, especially when you’re putting on a show for him with the way you’re riding his dick.

“shit—ngh, i take back what i said,” he grunts, biting another groan because he was desperately trying to see how this plays out by keeping his hands behind him. but you were really riding him like a cock drunken slut. “wanted to shake y’r ass for me—mmm this whole time.”

he subtly slides his muscular thighs apart, angling his hips just a bit knowing that this angle was much better for you. and of course your dumb little brain didn’t even notice but your eyes flutter back as does your pussy. “angh toji—“ it was quite endearing the way your actions and voice didn’t line up, the sluttiest thing he’s received and yet he’s hearing the sweetest voice chanting his name over and over.

“taking me so well, ya like riding this cock, hmm?” he bites his cheek, preventing a pathetic noise from slipping out when he watches the way your pussy stretches around him. he was so close.

“so big, toji—fuck—angh fee’—good, hngh ahh—“

“Mmm, shit just like that, dirty fuckin’ pussy,” the messy squelching and breathy moans you were letting out was messing with his head.

and he couldn’t help it when you leaned forward even more, grasping the sheets and getting more air to bounce faster. picking up the pace which immediately had him exhaling loudly and reaching out a hand, unable to stop himself, because you definitely would make him cum. “should’ve told me how desperate this pussy was for a big cock to stuff her,” he groans as you let out a loud whine. a snort escaping, “fuck.”

his palm slid across your ass, all the way to the fucking tramp stamp he hadn’t noticed until you’d turned around for him. his cock twitched when your back arched on instinct when he pressed a finger against the tattoo.

“fuck fuh—angh i said no touchin—“ you whine, it felt so good bouncing on such a big cock. you’d never had something so big inside you, and you couldn’t hold back.

“wanted to tell ya how much I’m lovin’ this fuckin’ lesson from you teach,” he groans, the low rumble from his chest has you angling your hips so you were only taking his tip. “shiit—“ his jaw went slack.

“it’s ah—a punishment,” you pant as you bounce only on the few inches of his tip, letting your juices drizzle down his creamy messy base. his eyes were like saucers seeing your hole take him and he could feel himself getting closer, his grip tightening on your waist.

“cmon baby,” he lets out a noise that you could only think was a whine, if it wasn’t for your own moans and loud squelching.

god why did it feel good being tortured like this. his cock was going to burst, but you were edging him like crazy like this.

“d-don’t baby me—“ you bite your lip, but he clearly hears your whimper. your shoulders shaking. you were close. “I’m—I’m in charge.”

his neck rolled back, lashes fluttering. your pussy felt so good, riding his cock until he bursts inside you, and yet, “is that usually how it is?” he slides both hands to hold your torso.

“what do you m—angh!! toji!”

his hands grasp your waist, and with no hesitation, he plants both feet on the mattress and thrusts up. your eyes bulge, finding yourself laying against his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder as he bites at your neck, thrusting up at an unrelenting pace.

“I’m not gonna let a pretty girl like you do all the work,” he grunts, hand falling to your clit, rubbing tight circles, making your legs shake as tears form immediately. “there we go—ngh squeeze my dick like a good girl.”

you were definitely going to loose consciousness, the pleasure overwhelming. “toji,” your moans were getting loud.

“are ya only gonna moan my name?” he teased, mimicking your gasps as if he wasn’t desperately controlling the pace fighting your own bucks to pick up the pace because he refused to cum right now. “shiit—baby,” he presses his face to your side, his instincts couldn’t stop him from absolutely wrecking you.

maybe that’s why when he had you back on your hands and knees, shaking and whining that he didn’t stop thrusting until he felt you cum again, but this time with a messier gush.

“shit—“ he groans, being forced out as you squirt on his cock. “you’re full of surprises, princess.”

you were absolutely delirious, tilting your head, arms stretching out grasping the sheets. “cu-cum in me.”

his jaw clenches, his brain frying as you look at him with those big glassy eyes. all pleading and fucked out.

“don’t,” he thrusts into you, it was getting sloppy, your hand was stretching back for him.

“want y-you to—ah ha—cum in me—please ngh please—“ you desperately match him, thrusting back against him, making him groan.

“don’t say that,” he brings a hand down on your ass, it was as hard, but enough to make you whine even more.

“want you to make me feel full, toji,” you plead, hand rubbing your tummy feeling the bulge he was creating. his cock threatening to burst with the way you’re acting. he leans forward, hands planted beside your head, as he drives his cock harder and faster.

“fuck, should’ve known you’d be a fuckin’ slut,” he grunts with each thrust, you were whining, face pressed against the mattress as you reached back to hold his head, his face coming close to yours.

“want it—I’m—I’m good,” you slur, the gasps and moans coming out. his muscles flexing as he felt his legs begin to shake and your own body squeezing him, clearly on the edge yourself.

“want me to breed this pussy on our first fuck,” he clearly already made his choice as his thrusts grew sloppier. his breathing getting uneven and louder as he drilled his pulsing cock into your warm gooey walls.

“yes-want it all—“ you gasp, his lips crash onto yours. and the deep rumble of him moaning into your mouth immediately sent you over the edge again and him following after.

he hissed, his balls clenching as he shot ropes of warm cum into your walls. you were clenching him nails digging into his nape, as he continued thrusting deep and holding as more cum shot into his son’s hot middle school teacher.

you were whining, especially when his hand wouldn’t leave your clit, making you squirt more. he pulled out, biting his lip as he saw the mess he created, and selfishly, he pulled you back on your knees, spreading your pussy apart to get a better look. and you were too fucked out to feel embarrassed.

“should’ve gotten a warning that you were this dirty,” he teases, slipping a middle finger into the mess and his cum oozing out of your puffy overstimulated pussy hole. he slowly thrusts his fingers in, and your hips reluctantly try to move away. “Look at’cha,” he sighs, mesmerized when you start crying and shaking as you squirt some more, his cock aching at the sight.

he didn’t stop, until you were rolling to your side, pushing his hands away. “c-angh toji,” your cheek is pressed against the mattress, eyes glossy and pleading.

“had enough, pretty girl?” he coos.

you nod, completely exhausted.

“you sure you don’t wanna give me more,” he gently soothes a hand across your ass as he leans down to press a kiss to your lower back. “is that enough for my bratty girl?”

you nod again. eyes doting up at him as if that wasn’t both the cutest and filthiest sight he’s ever seen. he trails soft kissed up your spine, gently rolling you to your back, brushing the messy hair from your beautiful face.

your body weak, but still responsive, brushes a hand across his jaw. eyeing his scarred lips, he leans forward, hovering over yours as you sigh blissfully.

“my dream…” you whisper. “is dumb.”

his emerald eyes widen slightly before settling. hand caressing the top of your head, thumb rubbing your forehead as he remains close, the intimacy was unlike anything you’d ever felt. fucks absolutely stupid that this closeness has dropped all your walls.

especially when this man who’s been following you for three days and stopped to talk to you almost every morning after dropping off his son. you felt it was okay to be a little insecure.

“I’m definitely not someone to judge if something’s dumb or not, pretty,” his voice was just above a whisper, matching your tone. a gentle smirk pulling at his lips as he reassures you.

and for once, you don’t look away. you maintain eye contact, voicing your dumb dreams to the man that asked you a few months ago.

“I wanted to write…for awhile,” you hesitate for a moment. “still do…but I—don’t tell people.”

“like books?”

you shake your head. finger lazily stroking his jaw tracing his features mindlessly. “no,” you whisper, “shows…I went to school for that…film and tv, graduated with a BFA,” you glance at his lips, touching his scar again.

toji remains silent, but his caresses don’t stop. gently reassuring you to continue talking, it was similar to the way he talks to megumi, giving him gentle reminders that’s it’s safe space. it took him awhile to understand what it means to sit and listen, but he likes to think he’s gotten better, especially when you sigh gently.

“but it’s been two years since I graduated…and writing jobs are difficult,” your thumb trails back to his neck, “like really hard,” you mutter.

“you still apply to things?” his tone was identical to yours, not wanting to think he’s pushing. and you nod, licking your glossy bitten lips.

“ya, applied for a few writing programs a few weeks ago for the summer…” you trail off. “…it’s…just embarrassing,” your voice is much lower. you take a deep breath, your exhale is slightly shaky and your little smile was almost heartbreaking as his brows furrow.

“teaching isn’t bad…still gives me time to write, and make my portfolio more appealing,” you confess. you sigh, glancing back into his inviting eyes. a small smile appears on your face. “that’s it.”

toji couldn’t describe the way his chest tightened up. It made him feel like he couldn’t say the right thing but his lips parted.

“when I had megumi,” he starts, speaking just as soft. “i wasn’t in a good place. i was young,” he clears his throat. “i can’t even remember his mom…i was pretty sleazy back then,” he confesses, making you crack an amused smile. “but i had no goals or a job or money, so when megumi was thrown at my doorstep I couldn’t throw him out.” he itches his jaw, you could tell it was difficult for him to speak about this. but he quickly gets to the point. “it took me awhile to get my shit together, and I made a fuck ton of mistakes, but eventually thing began to work. I forced myself to believe they’ll work out because of gumi.”

toji exhales as he brushes your forehead again. it felt like he could see through you.

“you’re a baby,” he whispers. “two years isn’t a long time, you have a goal, and you haven’t given up, right?”

you nod which he makes him crack a wider smirk.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he soothes, “most people would be jealous, I certainly am.” you scoff, and he raises a brow. “you think I’m lyin’?”

“no,” you mutter. “but like—“

“but nothing,” he grabs your jaw, angling your head up, eyes meeting. “it’ll happen. that’s it, okay?”

you bite your cheek, and his heart clenched even more when your eyes filled with tears. your bottom lip pouting just a bit, trying to hold them back from slipping.

“okay?” his voice more gentle.

and your response is just as sweet as you are, with a gentle tilt forward, your lips pressing against his. eyes closing with exhaustion and some slight ounce of comfort for your worries you hum against his lips. “okay.”

toji caresses your jaw as your worries slip into the night, letting this man kiss you to sleep.

—

the nights events afterwards was a blur, all you could feel when you woke the next morning was the full body ache and slight weight off your chest. you had almost thought it was all a dream, because your body that was covered in the post-sex mess was completely clean, and as were the sheets. but the bruises and bite marks that littered your body was a tell sign and the fact that you, along with the large man sleeping peacefully beside you were still fully naked.

his back rose and fell evenly, he looked peaceful as he slept beside you. the early morning sunrise casting a gentle orange glow across his features, softening him.

you were in awe.

he was so beautiful, it was hard to believe he’s a total sadist in bed, but even that mind blowing sex couldn’t make you forget how gentle he was afterwards. his teasing was something you doubt you’ve ever come across, and maybe it was because he was older, but his words made you feel more reassured.

your eyes followed the deep scratches that littered his biceps, nape and shoulders that your own face began to burn slightly. “ow,” you mutter.

“taking in the view?” his rasp voice had your eyes snapping back to his face. his eyes now half lidded gazing tiredly at you.

“I didn’t mean too,” you gently rub over the scratches on his shoulder, your own voice slightly hoarse from the crying and moaning from last night. toji glances at his biceps not even reacting to the marks, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“I doubt that,” he scoffs.

your eyes widen, “honest! I don’t—leave marks like this,” you flush, glancing at him with pleading eyes.

he chuckles, rolling to his side inviting you to come closer, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he pulls you with his strong arm. pressing his face into your shoulder as he exhales. “it’s hot, so shut up.”

“they look like they hurt though,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“they do sting.”

you pull away with even wider eyes full of concern now that he can’t help but break out into a boisterous full body laugh. his chest shaking making you roll your eyes. “you’re joking.”

“nope, they do sting.”

“toji,” your cute brows are pinched together making him laugh even more.

“do you always scrunch that face when y’r worried,” he squishes your cheek. “it’s cute, feels like ya do it on purpose.”

“I’m literally just upset,” you pout because he was squishing your cheeks where it was slightly hard to talk. “does it actually sting—like a lot?” your eyes have a little mischief.

“Mmm, makes me hard thinkin’ bout how they got there,” he cracks a smirk as you stutter, hand coming to his face.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes.

“does anyone else know about this slutty tattoo?” he puts emphasis with his hand splayed on your lower back, rubbing the spot. “that their teacher actually rides cock like a certified slut.”

“you can’t say that,” you huff, more embarrassed than you’d like to admit because he was pulling your closer to him as his hand grabbed a handful of your ass.

“just did—am i gonna get punished again,” he throws your words back at, and it only helped to get you even more speechless. “i confess, i would love to get punished again,” he spreads your ass making you arch into his chest. his lips hovering over your ear. “you were moaning like a little slut.” his lips part as he mimics your moans, “toji angh—“ you slap his chest, making him laugh.

you sit up holding the blanket to your chest as you glare down at him. clearly getting embarrassed, which serves to entertain the older man. he smirks up at you, hand caressing your smaller wrist.

“stop talking about last night,” you deadpan.

“how can i not, you surprised me,” he confesses making you glare at him.

“what did you expect?” you raise a skeptical brow. that attitude of yours was definitely something that had him holding back a whimper. god, your immaturity coming out around him made him hard.

“expected you to be a little vanilla. not that I would’ve minded, I’d get you to do other stuff, but the way you wanted to take me yourself, just to show me your pussy stretching nice a big—“ toji had no shame being vulgar with his words. Especially when you pressed a hand to his mouth, flushed beyond belief.

“stop talking!” you press your face to his shoulder. he doesn’t though, instead he pulls your hand away easily and looks up.

“and your messy pussy gushing everywhere, were ya’ always a squirter?” he chuckles because he’d successfully fried your brain where your jaw was slack. your hands came to yours cheeks because you needed to cool down. the blanket slipping to reveal your breasts just a bit.

“you can’t ask me that,” you whine softly, head down.

he leans up, hand pressed on the mattress beside your thigh, his face popping up in front of you, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “show me some confidence, pretty girl,” he teases, and earns a hand on his face pushing him away.

“you’re making fun of me!” you huff, face burning.

“I’m complimenting you,” he laughs.

“well stop laughing, then,” you snap.

he snorts, laughing still, “can’t help it. just like you can’t help spraying on my dick.”

“toji!”

he laughs again, as you shove his shoulder back making him fall back on the mattress. he pulls your wrist so you’re falling over him. his hand holding your nape. it took less than five seconds for you both to start making out. his gruff voice coming into small grunts as you hum in pleasure.

“I haveta get back to my room before everyone wakes up,” you say between kisses.

“Mmm,” toji continues kissing, “in a few.” he’s seating against the headboard, holding your face as you continue making out. it was messy and sloppy, but that’s all you would do, your hand holding his wrist that attempted to sneak into your pussy from behind. “a pretty girl should cum every morning.”

“not when she’s working,” you mutter, licking his tongue, salvia mixing with his as he groans. his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.

his hands continued to wander, allowing him to grope your boobs, twisting your nipple as you sigh in pleasure—

THUMP THUMP THUMP

the loud thumping at the door has you jolting,

“who’s that?” you whisper, glancing at the clock. it was still two hours before everyone needed to wake up.

toji shrugs, unsure too as he pulls you back to his lips. “keep kissing me, pretty.” you follow his pull, lips coming together again until the knocks get louder followed by—

“dad! are you awake?!” megumi’s little voice yells on the other side. now both you and toji are frozen, you more panicky than him, as he keeps you on his lap when you try to get off. “dad!”

“mr. toji!” yuuji’s voice chimes in only adding to your confusion and slight corner you’re stuck in now.

but that’s when the light bulb goes off in toji’s head, “oh.”

“what?” you whisper.

“promised them I’d take them on my run in the morning,” he glances at the clock, “didn’t think gumi would actually get up though.”

you get a little more panicky, but toji easily chuckles. “get in the bathroom, I’ll tell them I just needa change first.”

you nod, sliding off his lap. he slips his sweats on fixing himself in his boxers as you slip on his tshirt and rush into the bathroom earning a gentle tap on the ass by toji as he tries to squeeze it when he walks past you to the door. “stop,” you squeal, running away and finally closing the bathroom shut.

he licks his lips, biting a groan before swinging the door open, mind you the knocking didn’t stop.

“what took you so long?” megumi frowns up at him. both boys wearing their shorts, megumi opting for a navy t shirt and yuuji with his bright red tank top.

“it took forever to wake megumi up! but you were the one that woke up late so we get the ten dollars, you promised, you promised!” Yuuji blurts.

toji scratches his hair. “yeah yeah, let me change quickly and I’ll meet you boys in your room—“

“we’ll just wait with you,” megumi easily slips inside his dad’s room followed by yuuji who skips to the large windows.

“woahhh your view is better than ours,” he presses his face to the glass. “and it’s ten dollars each, not together!”

toji licks his teeth, glancing at the bathroom.

“okay stay put, im gonna take piss and come out,” toji subtly picks up your clothes from the floor along with his own change of clothes before slipping into the bathroom.

his brows raise when he sees an empty room. he quietly whispers your name, walking up the shower and pulling the curtains back to see you sitting. “they’re still here?” you mouth. he chuckles, nodding.

“I’ll leave with them and then you can slip back to your room after,” he pets your head all cocky, making you slap his hand away with a huff, to which he laughs and walks to the toilet.

you patiently wait in the bathroom until he finishes changing and grabs your jaw, planting a wet kiss against your lips. you hum in shock, whining when he skillfully plays with your tongue groaning. “we’re still going on that date when we get back,” he says licking his lips and you can just nod.

he gives you one last wink before slipping out.

fuck.

unfortunately for you, sleeping with a student’s parent is exactly how you’d picture it going. him teasing you every chance he gets under his breath. subtle touches when no one is looking, and of course, gentle reminders of last nights events when you’re sitting on the buses back to the school.

“you need to behave yourself,” you scold him, getting up and sitting on the other side of the aisle. he frowns rolling his eyes.

however things weren’t fully realized until you got to the last rest stop. and all the kids flooded out all needing to use the bathroom. toji and you being the first to finish, when toji decided to corner you against the bus.

his hand gently caressing your waist over your top, while the other tilted your chin to the side.

“you did a good job covering this up,” he rubs the spot where he remembers leaving a pretty dark hickey. “I can leave another one down here,” he drops his hand to the front of your top, pulling the fabric down just a bit.

“toji,” you say sternly, as if you aren’t beyond flustered.

he cracks a smile, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you, “kidding…so give me a kiss,” he whispers against your lips. “before the kids comes.”

you flush. he’s so needy. it was a pleasant surprise, but also messed with your head.

“just a kiss,” he softly coos, eyes half lidded, hands caressing you like you were all he needed to continue another two hours on this god forsaken bus with a bunch of middle schoolers. so you grant him it.

the kiss was soft, innocent, his hand pulling you flush against his body, “so sweet,” he sighs, slipping his tongue in, as he does, you’ve come to realize—

“WHAT!” a loud shout has you and toji flinching and whipping to look at the source and of course it’s the mischievous little nobara. “you were kissing Miss. L/N!!” she shouts so loudly as more of the kids flooded out of the bathrooms.

yuuji who was standing behind her the whole time has his jaw permanently nailed to the ground.

“nobara,” you laugh nervously, trying to defuse the situation, but she’s already chanting you and mr.toji sitting in a tree K.I—. and the other kids follow suite.

yuuji is still sat on the bus with his jaw slack, megumi in a similar state but more of a glare as they surround you both on the seats. toji raises a brow at his kid, almost testing his glare. “have somethin’ to say—“

but yuuji immediately stands up, pointing at you. “why would mr. toji kiss you! you don’t like stinky things and mr. toji is SO STINKY!” yuuji’s cry has you flushing eyes wide.

“yuuji,” you start, but nobara is laughing.

“they’re in loveeee so it doesn’t matter,” she chuckles and this leaves you and toji stunned.

“in love?!” Megumi now shouts. “miss is super super sweet and my dad is—“ he looks back at his dad frowning. toji puzzled raises a brow.

“your dad is what?” he tests him.

your sweating, laughing, “okay guys, this isn’t the time—“

“my dad is grumpy and not sweet,” megumi frowns, not scared at standing up to his dad.

the sixth graders all listening and enjoying the show, ooo at the same time. some were on nobara’s side of gushing over their sweet lovely teacher with a strong man like toji who they’ve spent most of the trip with. and the other side was on yuuji and megumi’s who are in disbelief that their sweet lovely teacher like you could be with a grumpy fighter like toji.

“I’m not sweet?” toji cocks his head.

megumi hums and yuuji agrees along with a few other boys.

“so when I drive you to school? or take care of ya when y’r sick and whining, or drive you both to practice, or go on runs with you slow-pokes, or buy ya sweets, or take care of you—what’s all that then?” toji has the entire bus silent.

megumi and yuuji frown, embarrassed.

“ya that’s what I thought,” toji rubs more salt on the wound and your chest clenches as you look at the boys.

“toji was a big help with all of you guys, and he’s very sweet for volunteering to come along,” you try to reason with your class who all pout while others gush. “and uh—“ you look at the boys who are all upset. “you kids are obviously the sweetest,” a few of them blink up at you. kids love praise. “you all made this year amazing and toji agrees with me too. you all brought us all together and definitely were better than the other classes,” you put a finger to your lips. “but don’t tell them I said that.”

the kids all laugh together nodding.

“I told you we were the better class,” yuuji cheers, stunning his tongue out. “it’s because of your class president,” he slaps his chest. megumi laughs, especially when Nobara starts arguing with him.

“no it’s because I’m CO-President!” she huffs and the two go back n forth immediately changing the subject for the rest of the bus ride.

and once you settle back into your seat toji gives you smirk. you raise a brow.

he shrugs.

you tilt your head. weird.

but all toji was doing was admiring you. simple.

a/n: this was longer than I intended, but hopefully you guys enjoyed it. I definitely spent months coming in and out of this story, haven’t written smut in a few months so I had to find my style again lol!

time moves on, as it does. the miyas --- once loud, persistent, almost impossible to ignore --- become just another fond blur tucked away in the past.

so when your old friend kita shinsuke messages you out of the blue, asking to catch up, you don't think much of it.

he tells you to come by onigiri miya. you do.

your meeting with shinsuke isn't the problem. the two of you reminisce over favorite teachers and late night study sessions, catch up on life after graduation --- he's pleased to hear you're doing well. no, shinsuke isn't the problem at all.

the problem is him.

"y/n! long time no see," miya osamu greets as you walk through the door --- all fitted tee, toned arms, and those dark, droning eyes. "remember me?"

you huff a laugh. "just barely."

duty calls, and osamu leaves his seniors to talk alone. two hours pass in warm, easy chatter before shinsuke excuses himself for the night. you stay behind, having promised your roommates to bring back some of your junior's best menu.

it's 15 minutes to closing, meaning the last of his customers have trickled out, and osamu and you are the only two people left in his store. you're perched at the bar, swinging your legs as you watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease.

"i feel like i can finally tell you the truth!" you announce. "atsumu was always my favorite."

in front of you, osamu chuckles, unfazed, "aw man, well i'm not telling him you said that." his hands move deftly as he wraps your food. "you said your friends wanted two grilled salmon, two tuna mayo?" he turns to you.

"mmhm," you hum amidst reapplying lipstick. you press your lips together with a steady pop!

and then you catch it again.

for the first time in years.

that stare.

osamu's always been the calmer, "better" twin --- everyone knows that. but for some reason, you've never quite bought it.

it's the same reason you knew all those years ago, back in high school, that osamu liked you. and sometime after, you just figured his brother did too.

because miya osamu has no shame.

because miya osamu has absolutely no shame simply staring at the things he likes --- and always with that same blank look on his face.

right now, you think he's taken a particular liking to your lips.

"while we're telling the truth..." your junior starts, "tsumu and i actually had huge crushes on you back in high school." he grins to himself, "we thought you were so cool."

"oh, i know," you quip. "why’d you think atsumu was my favorite? all my friends thought he was trouble, but in reality, you’re just as bad --- just better at hiding it," you shrug, "at least respect how earnest he is, right?"

osamu just stares at you, clearly amused. "sure."

"i mean, i saw the way you two looked at me," you continue. "always thought you were kinda like little dogs."

"whoa. ouch, y/n," osamu jokes, pressing a hand to his heart. "now, i'm wounded."

"well you don't have to be," you offer, tapping a thoughtful finger to your freshly painted mouth, "recently, i've come to realize i like dogs. they're actually pretty cute."

osamu laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "dogs? or men that act like dogs?"

"both," you snicker. "when you grow up, you realize the best men in this world are the ones willing to literally bark for you."

you watch as his gaze leaves your lips and settles directly on your eyes, dark, grey, plotting.

"woof," he says, finally.

when he finally settles between your legs, his cock looks obscene against your smaller frame. thick, heavy, already glistening. you tense again the second you feel the blunt head nudge your entrance.

“breathe,” he says, one hand stroking your thigh. he’s trying so hard to be gentle, but his voice is strained. “i’m not gonna shove it in. not like that.”

he rubs the head up and down your slit, coating himself in your wetness. you’re soaked despite the nerves, and that small fact makes him groan low in his throat. still, he goes slow—pushing in just the tip first, jaw clenched tight.

“fuck… you’re tight,” he hisses. his hips twitch, instinct screaming at him to thrust, but he forces himself still. “too much?”

you shake your head, eyes still closed. “keep going… please.”

toji pushes in another inch, then another, cursing under his breath the whole time. every time you whimper he freezes, big hand rubbing clumsy circles on your hip. he feels too big, too rough, too much for someone as anxious as you. but you’re taking him so well, stretching around his thick cock, and it’s driving him crazy.

halfway in, he leans down and presses his forehead to yours. his voice comes out rough but surprisingly soft. “you’re doing good, baby. so fucking good for me.”

when he finally bottoms out, buried to the hilt, you both moan. he stays still for a long moment, letting you adjust, even though his arms are shaking with the effort of holding back.

then he starts moving—slow, shallow thrusts at first, trying not to be too rough. but toji has never been gentle in his life, and it shows. his hips snap a little harder than he means, the slap of skin louder than he wants. every time he catches himself he curses and slows down again, kissing you messily to make up for it.

“sorry—shit, sorry,” he mutters against your lips when he accidentally thrusts too deep. “you feel too good. can’t help it.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, finally opening your eyes. the fear is still there, but so is want. “it’s okay… i like when you’re a little rough.”

that seems to break something in him. toji gathers you against his broad chest, one thick arm sliding under your back to hold you tight. he fucks you like that—deep, steady, still a little clumsy, but wrapped completely around you. every thrust is punctuated with gruff praises and clumsy kisses.

when you finally cum, clenching hard around his cock, toji follows right after with a low groan that vibrates through his chest. the feeling hits him like a punch to the gut.

your walls flutter and squeeze around him so tightly, pulsing in waves as your orgasm crashes through you, and it drags him under with you. his hips stutter once, twice, then slam deep one final time as he spills inside you—thick, hot ropes of his creamy cum flooding your insides for the very first time.

“fuck— that’s it… take it,” he rasps against your ear.

it feels overwhelming. the wet heat of your pussy milking him, the way your body trembles and clenches like it never wants to let him go, the slick sound of his cum already starting to leak out around his thick cock. he’s never felt anything like this before—raw, intimate, almost too much.

every pulse of his release seems to push deeper, filling you until you’re stuffed full of him. toji stays buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush against yours, letting every last drop spill into you. his breath comes in heavy pants against your neck as the intensity slowly ebbs, leaving him shaky and strangely tender.

he’s cum inside plenty of women before, but never like this.

never while holding someone so small and anxious in his arms. never while feeling your heartbeat hammering against his own. never while his rough hands are still gently stroking your back like you might disappear if he stops touching you.

the sensation lingers—warm, wet, intimate—and it makes his cock twitch again even as he softens just a little inside you.

“shit…” he mutters. “you feel that? feel me filling you up?”

he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, still rocking ever so slightly to push his cum deeper, savoring the way your body accepts every bit of him.

for the first time in his life, cumming inside someone doesn’t just feel good.

it feels right.

then his large hand slides down between your bodies. his palm presses firmly against your lower belly, right below your navel. he pushes down gently, feeling the slight bulge of his thick cock still buried deep inside you.

“fuck… can feel myself right here. so deep in you.”

you gasp sharply—you’re still so oversensitive from your orgasm, every nerve raw and sparking. the feeling of his hand pressing down while he’s still inside you makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment. you try to squirm away.

“toji… don’t— it’s embarrassing…”

“no,” he says, firm but surprisingly gentle. his thumb strokes softly over your skin as he looks down at you, eyes dark and intense even in the low light. “look how well you’re taking me. all full of my cum… belly swelling just a little because of me. nothing about this is embarrassing, baby. it’s fucking perfect.”

you whimper, face burning hotter, but your body betrays you by clenching around him again. toji lets out a low, satisfied hum and presses down just a tiny bit more, feeling the shape of himself through your soft stomach.

“yeah… just like that,” he murmurs, voice dropping even lower. “so damn pretty when you’re stuffed full of me.”

then toji rolls onto his back, taking you with him so you’re lying on his massive chest, his cock still nestled warm inside you. the room is quiet except for your slowing breaths. his rough hands, usually so quick to grab and bruise, now move with surprising tenderness. one palm strokes slowly up and down your spine, while the other hand cups the back of your head, thumb brushing gently behind your ear.

he keeps caressing you in long, lazy passes—over your shoulders, down your arms, along the curve of your waist. every touch is careful, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid his calluses might scratch you.

what the hell have you done to him?

he feels clumsy and huge and completely out of his depth, yet he can’t stop touching you. can’t stop wanting to be gentle for you.

“you okay?” he asks.

you nod. “yeah… you were really good to me.”

toji huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no bite in it. his hand keeps stroking your back in slow circles. “didn’t think i still knew how to be gentle,” he admits, almost to himself. “you’re making me all soft, doll. never thought anyone could do that.”

he pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders and tucks you more securely against him, one thick thigh sliding between yours to keep you close. his fingers continue their gentle exploration—tracing the shell of your ear, the line of your jaw, the delicate skin of your collarbone.

“stay here tonight,” he murmurs, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. “don’t want you going anywhere. not after that.”

you smile against his chest, and toji feels something warm and unfamiliar settle deep in his ribs.

yeah… you’ve ruined him.

and for once, the roughest man alive doesn’t mind being soft at all.

Metal jaws clamped down with brutal force, yanking you off balance. You crumpled to the forest floor with a sharp cry, the bear trap’s teeth biting deep into your calf. Pain radiated like fire, hot and unrelenting, as blood welled up, soaking your pant leg. 

Your tail thrashed in panic, ears flattening against your skull. You clawed at the dirt, trying to pull free, but the trap held fast, chains rattling against a buried stake. 

Tears blurred your vision, sobs escaping in ragged bursts: trapped; alone. The forest seemed to close in, indifferent to your plight.

Hours passed – or was it minutes? The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that danced mockingly around you. 

Your leg throbbed, the bleeding slowing to a sticky ooze, but weakness crept in, sapping your strength. You tugged weakly at the trap again, whimpering as fresh pain lanced through you. 

That’s when you heard it: heavy footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, crunching through the underbrush.

He emerged from the trees like a shadow given form: Ryomen Sukuna, though you didn’t know his name yet. 

Broad-shouldered and towering, his frame filled the space between the trunks. His pink hair caught the fading light, spiked and wild, and his face bore tattoos that twisted across his skin. 

Crimson eyes scanned the area with predatory sharpness. He wore simple clothes: a black shirt stretched taut over his muscled chest, pants tucked into boots caked with mud. 

A hunter, you realized with a jolt, the rifle slung over his shoulder confirming it. 

His gaze locked onto you, and for a moment, the world stilled. Those eyes narrowed, assessing. You froze, ears pinning back, tail curling tight against your body. 

He was enormous, intimidating, his presence radiating a quiet menace that made your heart hammer. He stepped closer, boots thudding softly, and you shrank back, the trap’s chain jerking your leg painfully.

“What the hell…” He grumbled, voice low and gravelly, more to himself than you. 

Crouching a safe distance away, he placed his elbows on his knees, studying the trap. His eyes flicked to your face, then to your ears and tail, noting the hybrid traits without surprise. The forest was full of strays like you.

You whimpered, trying to scoot away, but the pain shot up your leg, forcing a gasp from your lips. Blood trickled anew, staining the leaves beneath you. 

“P-Please,” you whispered, voice trembling, “help…?”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out slowly, gloved hands – rough from years of handling traps and rifles – testing the mechanism. 

The trap was one of his, set for bears that wandered too close to his territory. He hadn’t expected this. 

With a grunt, he pried the jaws open, the metal groaning in protest. You yanked your leg free the instant it gave, scrambling back on hands and knees, ignoring the fire in your muscles.

Freedom hit like a rush, but it was short-lived. 

Your injured leg buckled immediately, sending you sprawling. Blood smeared across the dirt as you tried to stand, leaning on a tree for support. 

Panic surged: you had to run. He was too big, too dangerous. Hunters like him didn’t take kindly to intruders, hybrid or not. Your ears flicked wildly, catching his steady breathing behind you.

You bolted – or tried to. The first step was agony, your calf screaming as you limped forward, tail streaming behind like a flag of distress. 

You made it ten paces, maybe fifteen, before your vision swam and your knee gave out. You collapsed against a fallen log, clutching your leg, sobs wracking your body. The forest spun, the pain too much, the blood loss making your head light.

Footsteps again, closer this time. Sukuna stood over you, arms crossed, his shadow engulfing you. He debated it then –  you could see it in the furrow of his brow, the way his eyes traced your trembling form. 

Leave her, a voice in his head probably said. She’s not your problem. The woods were cruel; strays didn’t last long. 

But something held him – maybe the way your ears drooped in defeat, or the blood pooling beneath you. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. 

“Idiot,” he grunted, though whether to you or himself, you couldn’t tell.

Before you could protest, strong arms scooped you up, one under your knees, the other around your back. 

You stiffened, ears flattening, a startled yelp escaping as he lifted you effortlessly. His body was warm, solid, the scent of pine and earth clinging to him. 

“Don’t squirm.” He commanded flatly, voice devoid of warmth but not cruelty. “You’ll bleed out faster.”

You went limp in his hold, too weak to fight, your tail brushing against his arm. 

The walk to his cabin was a blur of jostling motion and throbbing pain, the forest fading into twilight. His log cabin loomed ahead, sturdy and isolated, smoke curling from the chimney. He kicked the door open with his boot and carried you inside, the warmth of a fire greeting you like an embrace.

The interior was sparse: wooden walls lined with shelves of jars and tools, a stone hearth crackling with flames, a worn couch and table. 

He set you down on the couch gently – surprisingly so for his size – propping your leg on a stool. You watched him warily, ears twitching, as he fetched a first-aid kit from a cabinet. His movements were efficient, no wasted energy.

He knelt before you, gloved hands peeling back your torn pant leg to expose the wound. It was ugly: deep punctures, torn flesh, but not broken bone. 

You winced as he cleaned it with antiseptic, the sting making tears well up. He worked in silence, his focus intense, those four eyes flicking between the injury and your face to gauge your pain.

“Hurts.” You whimpered, more to fill the quiet than anything.

“Yeah, no shit.” He replied curtly, wrapping the bandage tight. No more words. 

He stood, towering over you again, and pointed to a door. “Bedroom’s that way. Rest.” 

You nodded, hobbling to the small room with its simple bed and quilt. Exhaustion claimed you instantly, the pain a dull roar as sleep pulled you under.

The first week blurred into a rhythm of silence and necessity. Your leg healed slowly, the wound scabbing over under Sukuna’s reluctant care. 

He changed the bandages daily, his large hands surprisingly deft, but he never lingered. Meals appeared on the table: stew from rabbit or vegetables he’d grown in his garden, bread baked in his oven. You’d eat while he sat across, staring into the fire or sharpening a knife, the scrape of metal the only sound.

Awkwardness hung thick in the air. You’d catch him watching you sometimes, those crimson eyes giving him an unnerving depth, like he saw more than you wanted. Your ears would perk at his approach, tail flicking nervously, and you’d avert your gaze, focusing on the window where the woods pressed close.

One evening, as rain pattered against the roof, you sat by the fire, leg propped up, sketching idly on a scrap of paper he’d left out: simple lines of trees and your lost herd. 

Ryomen entered from outside, shaking water from his hair, his shirt clinging damply to his broad chest. He glanced at your drawing, pausing.

“You draw.” He noted, not a question.

You nodded, ears twitching. "A little, but I’m not any good. Helps... pass time."

He grunted, hanging his coat. "That yer herd?"

“Yeah… I lost them.” You whispered, tail drooping against your back.

Silence again. He poked at the fire, sparks flying. “Woods eat loners.”

You swallowed, the words hitting too close. “I know.”

He didn’t press, just ladled stew into bowls and handed you one. You ate in quiet companionship, the rain a soothing backdrop. His presence was a wall – impenetrable, but not hostile. 

Subtly, you noticed things: the way his shoulders relaxed slightly when you didn’t flinch at his nearness, how he’d leave extra blankets when nights grew cold.

By the second week, you could hobble around the cabin unaided, testing your leg on short walks to the door. 

The forest called to you, but fear kept you inside: fear of the wild, and oddly, of leaving this strange sanctuary.

Sukuna watched from afar, his debates internal now. Why keep her? But he did, fetching herbs from the woods to brew tea for your lingering ache.

One afternoon, sunlight filtering through the windows, you found him outside chopping wood. 

The axe rose and fell with rhythmic power, muscles flexing under his shirt, sweat glistening on his tattooed skin. You lingered in the doorway, ears perked, mesmerized by the controlled strength.

He noticed, pausing mid-swing. “Leg better?”

“Yeah,” you admitted softly, stepping out gingerly. The air was crisp, pine-scented. “Thanks... for everything.”

He wiped his brow, eyes meeting yours. “Don’t mention it.”

You smiled faintly, tail swishing. “What’s it like? Living here alone.”

A shrug. “Quiet. Suits me.” He resumed chopping, but slower, as if inviting the conversation. “You? Herd’s loud, right?”

"Comforting," you admitted, leaning against the porch rail. “But yeah, noisy. Miss it sometimes.”

He nodded once, axe embedding in the block. The silence returned, comfortable now, laced with unspoken understanding. You stayed there, watching him work, the slow thaw between you beginning to crack the ice.

Days stretched into the third week. Your leg strengthened, scabs slowly fading to pink lines. 

Interactions grew in tiny increments: a shared glance over breakfast, where he’d push the salt your way without asking; evenings by the fire, where you’d read an old book from his shelf while he whittled wood into shapes: abstract, fierce things that mirrored his character.

One night, thunder rumbled outside, echoing your long-ago storm. You woke sweating, ears flat, tail tucked, the dream of separation vivid. A creak in the hall: Sukuna, checking on you as he sometimes did silently.

“Bad dream?” He said from the doorway, voice rough with sleep.

You sat up, nodding. “Something like that. Just– got reminded of the herd again is all.”

He hesitated, then entered, sitting on the edge of the bed. His weight dipped the mattress, but he kept space between you. “You’re not alone now.”

The words hung, simple but weighted. Your ears lifted slightly, fluffy tail twitching. “I know.”

He stayed until your breathing evened, his presence a quiet anchor. No more words, but the gesture spoke volumes.

As the weeks waned, the awkwardness softened into something tentative, unspoken. 

You’d help with small tasks: stirring pots while he hunted, your tail brushing his leg accidentally, sending a jolt through both of you. He’d grunt apologies, but his eyes lingered longer, tracing the curve of your ears, the sway of your hips as you moved.

One crisp morning, you stood at the window, gazing at the woods. Freedom beckoned, but so did the man behind you, his footsteps approaching.

“Thinking of leaving?” he asked, voice low.

You turned, meeting his gaze. "Maybe. But... not yet."

A rare smirk tugged at his lips, tattoos shifting. "Good."

The crisp mornings gave way to warmer days, the forest awakening with a subtle shift in the air. Leaves unfurled brighter greens, and the underbrush hummed with the stirrings of life. 

You felt it too – a restlessness deep in your core, a warmth that bloomed unbidden as heat season edged closer. Your body, attuned to the rhythms of nature like the rest of your kind, began to respond. 

It started faintly: a flush creeping up your neck when you caught sight of Sukuna across the room, your doe ears twitching more frequently, your tail flicking in short, agitated bursts. 

You shifted in your seat during meals, crossing and uncrossing your legs, the wooden chair creaking under the subtle movements.

Sukuna noticed, though he gave no sign of it at first. 

As a human, his senses weren’t sharpened like yours, but the cabin was small, the air thick with shared space. Your scent – earthy and sweet, like wildflowers crushed underfoot – grew stronger each day, weaving through the smells of woodsmoke and stewed meat.

It lingered on the blankets you’d borrowed, clung to the air when you passed him in the narrow hallway. He caught it one evening while sharpening his knife by the fire, the blade gliding smoothly over the whetstone. 

You sat nearby, mending a tear in your sweater, your fingers fumbling slightly as another wave of heat flushed your cheeks.

He paused, the scrape of metal halting for a beat longer than usual. His eyes flicked toward you, then away, jaw clenching subtly. 

The scent hit him fuller now, stirring something primal he shoved down deep. He resumed sharpening, the rhythm faster, more deliberate, as if to drown out the distraction. 

“Pass the salt.” He began gruffly when you both reached for the bowl at dinner, his hand brushing yours briefly. 

The contact sent a spark through you, making your tail curl tight against your thigh. You pulled back quickly, ears flattening, a soft pink tinting your skin.

“Sorry.” You squeaked, voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire. 

You shifted again, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch, the movement drawing his gaze for a split second before he looked back to his plate. He grunted in response, forking into his venison without another word. 

The silence stretched, heavier now, laced with an undercurrent neither of you acknowledged. 

You could feel his awareness, the way his broad shoulders tensed when you stood to clear the table, your hips swaying just a fraction more than necessary as the warmth pooled low in your belly.

Nights grew warmer, the quilt too heavy some evenings. You tossed in the small bedroom, ears perked to the sounds of the cabin settling – the creak of floorboards as Sukuna moved about, the distant hoot of an owl outside. 

Your scent intensified with the rising temperature, seeping under the door like an invitation you hadn’t meant to send. He lay in his own room, staring at the rafters, the air thick with it. 

Human or not, it affected him: a tightening in his chest, a heat of his own that he ignored by focusing on the hunt planned for dawn. 

He rolled over, groaning into the pillow, willing sleep to come.

By midweek, the signs were impossible to miss. 

You found yourself lingering near him more, drawn by an instinct you couldn’t name. 

While he chopped wood outside, you watched from the porch, your flush deepening as sweat traced lines down his tattooed arms, his shirt clinging to the broad expanse of his back. 

Your tail swished restlessly, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the ache in your leg long forgotten but replaced by this new, insistent pull. 

He glanced up once, axe pausing mid-air, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. The scent wrapped around him, sweet and insistent, making his grip tighten on the handle.

“Need something?” He asked, voice rougher than usual, eyes locking onto yours – all four piercing, unreadable.

You shook your head, ears drooping slightly as you stepped back inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Heart pounding, you pressed a hand to your warm cheek, wondering if he could hear the rapid beat from outside. 

He swung the axe harder after that, embedding it deep into the block with each strike, the physical exertion a barrier against the growing tension.

Afternoons brought small tasks that amplified the awkwardness. 

You helped sort herbs he’d gathered – drying them on racks by the window – your fingers brushing his as you passed bundles. 

Each time, you flushed, shifting away with a quiet apology, your tail flicking against his leg once by accident. He froze for a heartbeat, the contact electric, your scent blooming sharper in the confined space. 

“Watch it.” He warned, not harshly, but stepping back to give you room. His movements grew more deliberate, putting distance between you under the guise of efficiency.

Yet he didn’t send you away. Meals remained shared, silences filled with the subtle dance of avoidance. 

One evening, as twilight painted the cabin in soft oranges, you sat by the fire, knees drawn up, trying to read but finding the words blurring. The heat simmered under your skin, making you shift restlessly, the couch cushions sighing under you. 

Sukuna entered from the porch, carrying a pail of water, his frame filling the doorway. Water dripped from his hands, and he set the pail down with a thud, the sound echoing your quickened breath.

He caught the scent again, stronger now, mingling with the damp earth on his clothes. It pulled at him, testing his resolve, but he crossed to the kitchen, back turned, pouring the water into a pot with unnecessary focus. 

You watched his shoulders, the way they rose and fell with controlled breaths, and felt your own flush spread, ears twitching forward. It was obvious, you knew – your shifting, the way your eyes lingered – but so was his effort to remain unaffected, the subtle clench of his fists at his sides.

“Cold out there?” You questioned softly, breaking the quiet, your voice laced with the warmth you couldn’t hide.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not really.” A pause, then he added, “you warm enough?”

The question hung, double-edged, and you nodded too quickly, tail curling around your ankle. “Yeah. Fine.”

He turned back to the stove, stirring whatever simmered there, the spoon clinking rhythmically. Neither pushed further, the tension coiling tighter in the unspoken space between you. 

Heat season loomed, promising more, but for now, it simmered in glances and silences, building like the fire before you.

The days blurred into a pattern of restraint. You’d catch yourself staring when he whittled by the window, the knife carving precise lines into the wood, his large hands steady despite the undercurrent. 

Your scent filled the cabin more each morning, greeting him upon waking, and he’d open the windows wider, letting the breeze carry it away – or so he told himself. 

But it followed him into the woods during hunts, a ghost that made his steps heavier, his focus sharper on the prey to distract from the pull back home.

One afternoon, rain returned, soft and steady, drumming on the roof. You paced the living room subtly, unable to sit still, the flush permanent now on your skin. 

Sukuna returned soaked, shaking off his coat in the entryway, water pooling at his boots. The fresh rain mixed with your scent, creating something headier, and he paused, inhaling deeply before schooling his expression.

“Wet out.” He pointed out flatly, hanging the coat and avoiding your eyes as he toed off his boots.

You nodded, shifting from foot to foot near the fire. “Smells like it.”

Your ears perked at his approach, tail swishing once before you stilled it. He moved to the hearth, adding logs with efficient motions, his arm brushing close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. 

A shiver ran through you, not from cold, and you stepped aside, cheeks burning.

He didn’t comment, just stoked the flames higher, the warmth chasing the chill but amplifying your own. Dinner passed in near-silence, forks scraping plates, your leg bouncing under the table until you caught his glance and forced it still. 

Obvious wants hung in the air: yours in the flush and fidgets, his in the way he lingered at the table after, eyes tracing the fire instead of you.

As night fell, the rain a lullaby, you retreated to your room, the door a flimsy barrier. Your scent permeated everything now, a silent confession. 

Sukuna sat up later, alone by the dying embers, rubbing a hand over his face. Unaffected? Hardly. But he wouldn’t act – not yet. 

Heat season arrived without mercy, your body igniting from the inside out. 

You didn’t fully understand it – clueless to the full implications, your deer instincts overriding any sense of propriety. The cabin felt smaller, the air thicker, and every brush of fabric against your skin sent sparks racing through you. 

You paced the living room in nothing but one of Sukuna’s oversized shirts, the hem skimming your thighs, your scut wagging erratically behind you. Your ears flicked at every sound, and a persistent ache throbbed between your legs, making you shift your hips without thinking.

Sukuna watched from the kitchen, his eyes narrowing as you bent over to pick up a fallen book, the shirt riding up to expose the curve of your ass. Your scent flooded the space, heady and intoxicating, pulling at him like a tether. 

You straightened, oblivious, and stretched your arms overhead, the motion arching your back and pressing your breasts against the thin fabric. Nipples hardened visibly, and you let out a soft, unwitting whimper, rubbing your thighs together as you moved to the couch. 

He gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening, forcing his gaze away. 

“Gonna cut wood.” He decided, voice gravelly, grabbing his axe and stalking out the door before the temptation grew any stronger.

Alone, the heat clawed deeper. You tried to distract yourself, but your body betrayed you: fingers trailing absently over your collarbone, down to the hem of the shirt, lifting it slightly as you sat on the floor by the fire. Legs parted just enough to ease the pressure, you rocked subtly, a flush painting your cheeks rosy. 

It wasn’t deliberate; you just needed relief from the fire building inside. When that failed, you wandered, drawn to his room by the familiar scent of him on the sheets. 

Climbing onto his bed, you buried your face in his pillow, inhaling deeply. The ache intensified, and before you knew it, your hips ground down against the soft mound of fabric, a desperate friction that made your tail flag up.

Tears pricked your eyes as the motion brought fleeting sparks of pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. You humped the pillow pathetically, soft sobs escaping as your body wept for more. Clueless to how vulnerable you looked – shirt hiked up, ass in the air, ears flattened in frustration – you kept moving, chasing the elusive release.

Outside, the axe bit into wood with rhythmic thuds, each swing a release for Sukuna’s pent-up tension. Sweat beaded on his brow, his muscles flexing under inked skin, but your scent clung to him even here, a ghost in the breeze. 

He worked longer than needed, trying to outrun the pull, but eventually, the pile of logs satisfied him enough to head back. The cabin door creaked open to silence: no soft footsteps, no shifting on the couch. 

“Sweetheart? Where are you?” He called, voice echoing off the walls. No answer. Frowning, he checked the kitchen, the porch, then pushed open his bedroom door.

There you were, on his bed, hips rolling against the pillow in desperate, uneven thrusts. Tears streaked your face, your doe ears trembling, tail flicking in distress. 

The sight hit him like a punch – your flushed skin, the way your pussy glistened with arousal, lips parted on quiet mewls. His cock twitched hard in his pants, blood rushing south as he stood frozen in the doorway.

“Kuna… mmh!” Your voice came out small, broken, as you lifted your head, eyes glassy with need. You didn’t stop moving, hips grinding down instinctively, but shame flickered in your gaze. “Help... please? It h– hurts…”

He crossed the room in two strides, the door clicking shut behind him. Towering over you, his broad frame cast a shadow, vermillion eyes dark with hunger. 

“Fuck, angel…” He growled low, sitting on the bed’s edge and pulling you up by your arms. 

You whimpered at the manhandling, body pliant in his grip. “W-Wait—”

“I’ve been holding back for weeks. Watching you tease without even knowing it, and that damn scent everywhere…”

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away tears, and he kissed you then: gentle at first, lips soft against yours, tongue coaxing your mouth open. You melted into it, mewling softly, your hands clutching his shirt as the ache pulsed hotter. 

He broke away, breathing ragged. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart. But tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded frantically, pleading with your eyes, and he eased you back onto the bed, stripping the shirt from your body. Naked now, you shivered under his gaze, but the heat made you bold – legs parting slightly, inviting him without words. 

He shed his clothes quickly, his thick cock springing free, veined and heavy, tip already leaking. Your eyes widened, clueless innocence mixing with raw want, and you reached for him tentatively.

“Gentle, pretty thing.” He murmured, praise lacing his voice as he settled between your thighs. 

His large frame loomed over you, the warmth of his body contrasting the cool sheets beneath. One hand stroked your hair, fingers tangling gently in the soft strands near your deer-like ears, which twitched at the touch. 

You felt exposed, your hybrid tail flicking nervously against the mattress, but his presence grounded you, making your core ache with need.

He didn’t rush to claim you fully. Instead, his free hand trailed down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, then dipping lower to your inner thigh. 

“So ready f’me, aren’t you?.” Sukuna said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through your spine. 

His fingers brushed against your slick folds, and you gasped, hips bucking instinctively toward the contact. “Mmf!” He chuckled softly, the sound dark and approving. “Easy, pretty. Don’t wanna hurt you yet..”

His thumb parted your pussy lips gently, exposing your clit to the air, and you whimpered, your antlers scraping lightly against the pillow as you tilted your head back. He watched your reactions closely, his crimson eyes intense, drinking in every quiver and soft sound you made.

“Tell me what you want.” He commanded, his tone firm but laced with that teasing edge that made your heart race.

“T-Touch me... please.” You breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. 

Your hands clutched at the sheets, nails digging in as his finger circled your entrance, gathering your wetness. He pressed one thick digit inside slowly, the intrusion stretching you just enough to make you moan. 

It was nothing like his cock, but the sensation was electric, your walls clenching around him immediately.

“Like that?” Sukuna asked, his lips curving into a smirk as he crooked his finger, brushing against that sensitive spot inside you. 

You nodded, a whine escaping your throat, your tail thrashing side to side. He added a second finger, scissoring them carefully to open you up, his movements deliberate and unhurried. 

The stretch burned faintly, but it melted into pleasure as he began to pump them in and out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles over it.

Your breath hitched, legs spreading wider to give him better access. “S-Sukuna... it feels... ah!” 

The words dissolved into a cry as he increased the pace, his fingers thrusting deeper, curling with each withdrawal to hit that bundle of nerves again and again. Wet sounds filled the room, obscene and intoxicating, your arousal coating his hand. 

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, nipping at the soft fur there. “You’re soaking my fingers, pretty girl. So tight and perfect for me.”

You arched into his touch, your breasts heaving with each ragged breath. His other hand left your side to cup one, thumb flicking over your nipple, pinching just hard enough to make you yelp. 

The double sensations overwhelmed you: his fingers fucking into your pussy, stretching and filling you, while his mouth descended to your neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin where your pulse fluttered wildly. 

“More... gimme– gimme more,” you begged, your voice breaking, hips grinding against his hand shamelessly.

He obliged, adding a third finger, the fullness making your eyes roll back. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He growled approvingly, his fingers pistoning faster now, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. 

You could feel the pressure building, a coil tightening low in your belly, your deer ears flattening against your head as pleasure bordered on too much. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from pain but from the intensity, your body trembling under him.

“P-Please..!” You

“That’s it, let go for me.” Sukuna urged, his voice husky as he watched your face contort in ecstasy. 

He twisted his fingers inside you, rubbing relentlessly against your g-spot, while his thumb pressed harder on your swollen clit. The combination shattered you – your walls clamped down on his fingers, pulsing as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

“Mmh– Ryo!” You cried out, body convulsing, thighs quaking around his wrist as slick gushed over his hand, soaking the sheets beneath.

He didn’t stop immediately, drawing out your release with slow, gentle strokes until you whimpered from oversensitivity, your tail curling around his arm in a weak attempt to pull him closer. 

“Good girl,” he praised, withdrawing his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to his lips to taste you. His eyes locked on yours, dark with promise.

He flipped you suddenly, manhandling you onto your hands and knees with effortless strength, your body pliant under his touch. You scrambled to steady yourself on the mattress, palms sinking into the soft fabric, knees spreading wider as your tail lifted instinctively, baring yourself completely to him. 

The cool air kissed your dripping folds, a brief respite before he positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. 

“You want it rough, pretty thing? Begging like that.” His voice was a gravelly command, laced with amusement and hunger.

Before you could respond, his hand came down on your ass – a light slap that stung just enough to make you yelp, the impact sending a ripple through your flesh. Heat bloomed across your skin, mingling with the ache between your legs. 

Then he thrust back in from behind, the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper, his cock spearing into you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. 

“Oh! Kuna… so– so big!” You sobbed in pleasure, the stretch more intense now, every inch of him pressing against your sensitive spots as he bottomed out.

Your arms trembled, threatening to give out as you pushed back against him, desperate to feel him everywhere. The slap had left your ass tingling, a warm contrast to the cool sheets, and you arched your back further, presenting yourself like the submissive hybrid you were. 

Ears flattening completely, you let out a string of moans, each one higher pitched as the pressure built anew. His hand moved to your antlers, tugging them firmly to guide your head up, forcing you to arch more, your neck straining in the best way.

“Hah, fuck, crying for my cock, hm? Such a good girl, taking it all.” Sukuna’s praise washed over you like liquid fire, igniting your emotions – pride in pleasing him, a deep-seated need to submit, to be his. 

He kept the pull steady, not painful but insistent, making you feel owned as he rutted into you. Each thrust was deliberate, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, the drag of his veined length against your walls making obscene squelching noises. 

Your pussy fluttered around him, juices coating his shaft and dripping down your thighs, the physical sensations overwhelming: the burn in your muscles from holding the position, the slap of his hips against your reddened ass, the way his cock throbbed inside you, hot and unyielding.

You rocked back to meet him, your tail brushing loosely against his thigh in an instinctive gesture of affection amid the roughness. The orgasm you’d felt building earlier surged closer now, coiling tight in your core, your clit throbbing untouched but stimulated by the indirect pressure of his invasions.

Sukuna’s breaths grew ragged, his hand on your hip sliding forward to press against your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his own cock moving inside you. 

“Shit, you’re tight... milking me so good.” He muttered, his voice strained with his own rising pleasure. He released your hair momentarily to deliver another light slap to your other cheek, the sound sharp in the room, making you clench harder around him. 

The duplicity – pain and pleasure – pushed you closer, your sobs turning into keening cries as the tension wound unbearably tight.

He tugged your antlers again, gentler this time, but enough to keep your gaze forward. His thrusts lost a bit of their rhythm, becoming erratic as he chased his release, but he didn’t let up on the depth, each one punching the air from your lungs. 

You felt him everywhere: the heat of his body over yours, the possessive hold, the way his cock pulsed with impending climax. 

Emotionally, it was intoxicating; you were his, completely, and the thought alone made your walls spasm.

“Gonna fill you up, angel. Pump you full until you’re bred, carrying my scent forever.” 

The words made you whine, clenching harder, and you came again: shaking, tears streaming as waves crashed over you. “Ah! I’m gonna– cumming!”

He chuckled, voice strained. “Fuck, listen to you. So desperate for my cum. Nghh– an’ you’re shy now? After slutting out on my—haah—bed?”

You hid your face in the pillow, flushing deeper, but your hips ground back, asking for more without words. He pulled out briefly, flipping you onto your back once more, hooking your legs over his shoulders. 

The position folded you, letting him drive in deep, balls slapping against your ass with each rough pound. His eyes – the prettiest, deepest red – locked on yours, wild and possessive. “Don’t hide, sweetheart. Want you looking at me when you cum again.”

Pleasure dumbed your mind, thoughts scattering into nothing but him – his cock stretching you, his grunts, the pull on your hair as he leaned down to capture your lips. 

You came a third time, crying out his name, body convulsing as he chased his own release. 

“That’s my girl.” He praised, thrusting erratically. “Milk me dry, pretty thing. Gonna breed this pussy.”

With a final, deep shove, he buried himself and came – hot spurts flooding you, his groan rumbling through his chest. You felt every pulse, the warmth spreading, and it triggered one last, shuddering orgasm from you, tears of pure bliss soaking the sheets. 

He collapsed gently atop you, still inside, peppering your face with soft kisses. “Good job, angel. Took me so well.”

You panted, cockdrunk haze settling, shying into his neck with a whimper. 

He chuckled tiredly, stroking your back. “Heat’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

a/n: I COOKED I COOKED SO HARD

dividers by @/uzmacchiato!

"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.

You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."

Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."

Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.

Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.

Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.

"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."

"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.

You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.

"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."

Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.

Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.

"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.

You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.

"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.

Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.

Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.

The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.

He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.

Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?

He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.

You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.

He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.

Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.

You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.

Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.

The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.

Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.

Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.

The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.

Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.

Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.

And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.

He glanced to the left and sure enough— there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.

Not even your posture was refined— you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.

You stare still on him.

Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.

"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.

Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.

His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."

"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.

It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.

He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"

"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.

His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."

Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?

". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.

Something ticked within him.

His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.

"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.

Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"

"Got a problem with it?

"Watch it. I'm still your president."

"Dirty talking already?"

Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.

It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always did—

Thump!

"What the hell!"

"Ah— sorry. Soorryyy."

Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.

Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.

"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.

Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.

"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.

The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.

"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.

But it looked like you wanted to.

"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."

Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.

He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.

Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.

You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.

Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.

Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.

Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.

Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.

"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.

You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.

"It's. . . big," you murmured.

And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.

Just a jock. And a princess.

"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.

He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.

Cute.

"Well— yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.

You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.

"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"

"Not unless you want me to watch?"

Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?

"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.

But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.

"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"

His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.

Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.

"That's— that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.

He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."

"What's with that name?"

"What?"

He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?

Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.

He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.

His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"

Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.

Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.

He paused for the first time that night.

Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.

Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"

"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."

He blinked.

Spoke in that terribly stark way.

"You a virgin?"

"Must you be so blunt?"

A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.

"Yeah— yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."

He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess was—

"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."

Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once again— or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.

Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?

The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.

Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?

"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.

You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.

That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.

Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.

His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"

Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.

"Obviously! I'm not that—"

His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmed— whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.

It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.

Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.

The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.

"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."

He felt your body lock up against him— then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.

No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.

The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.

"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.

Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.

"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.

Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.

Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.

His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.

You nodded.

"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.

You squeaked. "Yes— yes."

Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.

Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.

He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.

"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.

You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.

He drawled. "Good girl."

Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.

"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breasts— over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.

Red, too.

Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.

He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.

He could get used to this darling side of yours.

A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.

You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.

You twitched when he reached your thigh.

"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."

"I— uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs together— he wedged them apart with a huff.

"Fingers. . . I think."

Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.

No, here? You were just his princess.

"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.

Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.

The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just right—

You pitched a whine.

"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"

"I— Yeah. . . mnn. My clit—"

"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"

Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.

After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finally— finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.

Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.

"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.

"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.

"Ryo—"

"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."

His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.

"Su—" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."

"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."

A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.

The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.

He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.

"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slow— watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"

You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.

So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.

"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little more—

Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.

"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.

"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.

"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.

He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.

He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.

He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spot— there.

"Fuck— there," you whined.

"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Once— twice— maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."

Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.

"I— 'm gonna. . . fuck, kuna—" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'm—"

"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.

"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."

Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.

Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.

His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.

"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.

His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.

His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuck—

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.

So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.

But still speaking, it seemed.

"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.

"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.

He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?

"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.

Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.

His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.

A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"

His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.

"I— hngh. Kuna."

"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"

"Mngh."

His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.

Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.

"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."

Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.

Your hands froze.

So did he.

With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"

Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.

"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if I—"

His eyes softened.

"Nervous?" He murmured.

You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.

Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.

"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."

A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.

The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.

"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."

"I. . . thanks. Thank you."

"For being a decent human being?"

He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.

Fuck. He could get used to this.

"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.

The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.

His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.

"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"

A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.

The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons & @/pixopix. art cred: @/hunnismokah