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gorejo · 1 year

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▸ A SOUVENIR FOR THE MORNING - GOJO SATORU. - forbes gojo!au

synopsis: you’ve avoided him for the last eight years, only for him to pop back into your life, leaving you with no room to run away as he asks you to kiss him. catch is, he now has a golden ring on his promise finger.

content: 9.2k words (idk how this happened, and it's unedited bc it's too long to go through) afab!reader, she/her pronouns, cursing, explicit smut, light angst, mentions of alcohol, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, and anxiety triggers (picking at nails), pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, angel, good girl). minors do not interact.

The room is packed with people when you walk in. It was hard to recall some faces from the mirage of dimmed lights making you feel mildly dizzy and it didn’t help how the buzzing in your head from the smell of champagne and the loud chatter from the already drunk almost thirty-year-olds that can’t seem to contain their liquor-like novices, made you want to go home increasingly more.

“It’s only 9:41, and they’re drinking like they’ve never tasted alcohol before,” you heard Shoko mumble as she searched through her purse to reach for her perfume, “you want some?” Your best friend offered with a smile as she looked at you through the bathroom mirror.

“I’m okay,” you smiled back, “can’t have all the boys following me around with that,” you teased.

Shaking her head in disapproval, “If you see me go home with any of these drunks, I give you full permission to hit me, no, in fact, I’ll pull up to your apartment every morning with coffee and take you to work for a week if I do,” Shoko shuddered while furrowing her brows only to quickly soften the moment she saw you lightly picking at your thumb – an anxious habit you’ve picked up throughout the years, only but the keenest of eyes being able to notice your anxiety.

“You okay love?” Her voice was sweet as she leaned against the restroom sink.

“Mhm, of course,” you faked a smile, “I guess I’m just a little nervous seeing everyone, you know,” lightly chuckling as you bit your lips. Little was underlying, when the knot in your stomach was building up, making you force down the urge to entirely vomit in the moment.

“People are thrilled to see you again,” placing her hand on your shoulder, “it’s literally been years for you,” she huffed, pouting as she reminisced over the years she attended alone.

“well ‘m sure one will be sure thrilled —” her voice suddenly drained from a crowd of people entering the restroom, slightly pushing you towards her, “nevermind come on, let’s go get something to drink,” Shoko muttered as she led you out, gently massaging your tense neck as she encouraged, bringing her lips to your ears, “if anyone bites, I’ll chop their dick off,” Shoko threatened with a flashing smile as she led you to a nearby table.

It’s only 9:41 — no, 9:42.

College reunions, who looks forward to that?

There was no particular reason for you to be anxious, it’s been years since. You’ve prepared yourself for this, meditating every single day since you got the notification in your email on a Tuesday evening — an invite to rsvp for a room at the Aman Hotel.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking if you’ve been consistently going out to these every year since they’ve held one. But every year there seems to be a conflict in the schedule that forbade you to go.

One year it was your boss last-minute asking your team to work overtime, when a rookie employee lost all the data when he supposedly fell asleep, accidentally losing months of all your blood, sweat, and tears to make it for the deadline on your next advertising project.

Poor kid was fired the next day.

The following year, you were determined to go, going as far as walking to the restaurant, when the sudden nausea of socializing plagued your mind. The joyous welcomings and celebrations annoyingly muffled in your ear as you groaned past a familiar voice that seemed to call out your name from a distance. Your feet walking on their own volition through your sleep deprivation. Only to wake up in your bed with countless text messages from your best friend asking what the hell happened.

No wonder it was so fucking loud that night.

Another was simple, not your fault this time. Shoko couldn’t make it because of her rounds at the hospital.

Never in hell were you going to show up alone.

And the last one, well your taxi got a sudden flat tire. That in itself was a confirmation for you not to go, nor did you have any dying wish to go. Quickly texting your best friend, huffing out a sigh of relief as you pressed send.

<< sorry… can’t make it tonight. I promise, next year!!

Today, well things seemed to have aligned. No overtime, no flat tires, no sleep deprivation, no nothing.

Maybe it was an excuse?

Maybe you were subconsciously avoiding it?

But ironic is it, that life seems to protect you when most fragile, only to push you out into the void when least expected making you feel even more vulnerable, feeling so exposed in such a cruel world.

Or maybe the universe was waiting for this moment, that despite your consensus or approval, it was determined that you were ready to confront it — well it, being the owner of a pair of brilliant light blue eyes that sparkled like an aqua jewel, shining brighter than when you’ve last seen them clouded in tears as you let go of his trembling hand for the last time, crushing his pure heart as you left him with, “i’m sorry.”

Was that already eight years ago?

But whether it was the consequence of your selfish choice or a blessing of choosing to be selfless, luck was on your side today…

… well, you hoped at least somewhat on your side.

“My … look who it is,” you heard a voice from behind you.

Turning around, though the shame of suddenly cutting him off enticed your heart as you faced him, you couldn’t help but smile at his familiar face walking over with two drinks in his hand.

Holding the same gentle eye smile, with a lock of his black hair falling down on his left side, donned in a white dress shirt with his sleeves cuffed at the elbows, no tie but buttons loosely opened with a pair of dark slacks and shined dress shoes. Geto Suguru walked over.

“Aren’t you still handsome,” you complimented with a sweet smile.

“Don’t feed into his ego like that,” Shoko chimed as she nudged your arm, “his head is already big enough.”

“Who me?” Exaggerating his response, only to soon level down to the same amiable smile, calm cadence you’ve remembered him to have as he offered you a drink, “I have to take all the compliment I can get, don’t know when you’ll go awol and go missing for another eight years.”

“Funny…” you muttered, rolling your eyes while taking the drink by the stem, “and thank you, Suguru.”

“Where’s mine?” Shoko jabbed while shooting a glare at his nonchalance.

“Not here,” Geto flashed a smile, innocently shrugging.

“Whatever, I’ll get my own,” shaking her head in disapproval, grumbling while making her way to get a drink, but still making a point to stop in front of the man to warn, “Don’t say anything weird Suguru, I barely got her to come today.”

“Relax, ‘m just trying to catch up with an old friend,” Geto countered, making a point to whisper while smiling at you.

“I won't hurt her, that I promise,” Geto affirmed.

Your best friend walked off only to turn around for a brief moment as she worriedly looked back at you “Text me for anything okay?”

“I’ll be fine! Don’t worry,” you reassured.

“And don’t forget what I said, I’ll even cut his,” deadpanning while looking at your male counterpart, “I got no problem doing it, I’m medically certified anyways, there’s nothing that a sharp scalpel can’t fix, ” Shoko stated with an innocent smile while walking off.

“So,” releasing a sigh as he pushed the strains of his hair back, “how’ve you been?” Geto smiled.

“I’ve been… okay,” you confessed while placing your lips against your glass before taking a sip, “could be better.”

“Thought you were living your life,” Geto teased, his voice laced with sarcasm, “Shoko wouldn’t tell us much about you.”

“I… I told her not to,” you confessed while leaning against your table, the pain of your heels starting to ache up your back.

“How come? Weren’t we your friends too?”

“I just didn’t think it was best to keep myself in the circle when I —” biting the inside of your mouth to stuff the suffocating knot forming underneath your lungs.

“ — When you broke up with him?” Geto finished your hesitation.

Nodding yes, you softly whispered, “I thought it was for the best for him.”

“For the best huh?” Geto chuckled, “well I guess you didn’t know him too well then.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrowed as your mouth started to feel dry, “I did it because we weren’t compatible, I would’ve been a stumbling block for him,” you stammered as your voice started to shake, “I- I would’ve halted his growth, and he would’ve hated me in the end if I selfishly held onto him when he was worth so much more than being with me,” you confessed with lips quivering as a tear fell, only to quickly brush it away before Suguru could notice.

But nothing passes with him, he reads right through you. His voice softened, “Was this your insecurity you’ve decided for him or — ” turning his body to face you while his body leaned on his arm against the standing table, “Was this something he actually would’ve struggled with?”

“I can’t change the past Suguru.” You shamefully avoided his gaze, “I still stand by my decision.”

“I don’t doubt that,” shrugging as he exhaled, “I mean, you did avoid him for almost a decade.”

“H-he seems happy,” you let your thoughts slip.

“You think so?”

“Shoko would tell me about everyone, you, him” you unnoticingly spewed out your thoughts. “Of course not in full detail, but that you’ve established your own studio, and that you’ve finally released those photos.”

“Mhm, that’s correct, would’ve loved to have invited you to the exhibition, it was quite… a moment,” he chuckled while playing with his fingers.

“That Megumi’s in high school and that he’s gotten in trouble for beating up the school bullies,” lowly laughing as you remembered how cute yet scarily mature he was for his age.

“Nanami hates corporate life, but still listens to what he has to say even if it’s outrageous.” Taking a sip of your drink, the sparkle of the beverage mildly burning your throat, “... and that he’s traveling the world living his life.”

Mumbling under your breath, “he’s even recently gone to Paris and had a night picnic with —”

“You stalked him?” Geto teased as he huffed out a laugh when he caught your shocked expression

“No — I mean, Shoko would tell me,” you stammered.

“Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Geto teased, "but just to let you know, he just got back. And from what I know, they haven’t met since he arrived. His plane should’ve landed,” while dramatically looking at his watch, “I don’t know like an hour ago? He’s probably on his way over here,” Geto handsomely winked as he suddenly placed a gentle hold of your waist and brought you near his side.

“You know… he’ll look for you, now knowing that you’re here” Geto whispered into your ear.

“How does he know… I told Shoko to not tell —”

Blinking innocently at you with a smile, while playing with his phone, “can’t avoid the poor guy forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you sighed knowing what Geto had done, “just didn’t have a chance to run into him.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” releasing you with a smile, “ if you’re really sure about where you stand, then don’t run away from him.”

Geto's eyes flash to the entrance doors for a split second and land back on you.

“But would you look at that,” humming as he pointed to his empty glass yet his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. It was the first in a while that you felt your heart sinking, all the blood in your body rushing out, making you suddenly feel lifeless and queasy.

“Gonna get another glass, you want one?” Suguru suggested.

“I’m okay, but thank you Suguru,” you quickly stated as your heart started to beat faster by the second.

“Sure, just don’t be a stranger again,” Suguru teased as he started to walk off, but your hand immediately reached out to catch his arm to quickly reinforce, “I- I mean it… thank you.”

Knowing your implication, smiling as he received your thanks, “No need, as fucking cringe it is,” chuckling as he shook his head, looking over your shoulder and back at you, “he’s my best friend, of course, I’ll be there for him.”

Letting go of his arm, your hands anxiously balled into a fist as you quickly turned around to avoid him, doing anything to hide from his sight. You felt your breaths becoming increasingly more difficult to inhale, and stagnant as your palms started to sweat.

“I’m not avoiding him… I’m not avoiding him” you quietly mumbled to yourself, your words contradicting your actions as you walked further away onto the balcony, texting Shoko,

<< I’ll be outside getting some fresh air (: let me know when you want to leave.

Closing your phone, as you let the night breeze wash against your face, leaving light chills around your body, you nervously sighed, “It’s been eight years you say…”

—

Your story was nothing short of the typical — difference in class and status, trying to make things work just for the convenience of love. It wasn’t hard at first to situate yourself into his life, nor was it any difficult for him to become accustomed to yours.

They say time will change things, circumstances will get better. Be patient with your season, and you’ll be rewarded for your hardwork.

But somethings never change no matter how hard you try to alter the dice. He’s rich and you’re just average.

Money works for him, while you had to take on multiple jobs just to make your next rent at the start of your career.

He was bound for greatness at a young age, trained by the best professionals and tutored by an exquisite league of mentors. While you had to settle for things, simply dreaming of the what can be. Thus, you worked even harder. You pushed yourself to keep up, to become of the level of who he’s supposed to be, and what he could accomplish.

When he dozed off in class, you stayed up. You studied, pulled all-nighters, chugged caffeine, and oftentimes had to push back dates with him for simple study sessions — he didn’t complain, said he liked to just sleep with his head rested on your lap while he cuddled into your stomach while you studied.

“Don’t mind me, I’ll be your personal radiator,” he would chime with a boyish grin on his face, taking off his sunglasses as he stretched his long legs before latching behind you like a koala, “wake me up when you’re done, I’ll drive you home,” Gojo peacefully murmured without forgetting to place a kiss to your shoulder, while you stressed over your next exam.

With him, even the coldest days always felt warm.

And on the next day, he’ll always take you to class with some soup and hot tea, murmuring about your poor dietary choices and how you often neglect your health to study. But at least he’ll be gentle, and wish you the best on your exam with a light kiss — an innocent kiss that lasts a bit too long, his hand always gracing your body as he reluctantly releases you, brushing off the saliva that linked your lips together — his good luck charm he’ll argue, a little tease of what he’ll reward you with later when you got home for being his good girl.

Gojo will always try to convince, “Life isn’t always about studying, baby,” stating with a pout, after your fifth time canceling a date he’s planned to instead go on a simple walk outside your flat, “you gotta live life to the fullest! And why stress when you’ve snatched me?”

“Well, I can’t live life to the fullest if I don’t study now, Satoru. And who’s gonna pay for all that ice cream you eat? All the sweets you stock up on?”

“What do you mean?” Deadpanning as he stopped in his tracks, “you have me, what more else do you need? I'm a double threat — I’m rich and handsome.”

“Satoru — I… never mind,” rolling your eyes, as you were hit with his puppy eyes.

“Just promise,” his tall frame blocking you, “that you’ll always stick with me.”

“I’m not a piece of gum to just stick onto you, Satoru,” pushing him away, only for him to reach out to delicately hold your hand, “You know, if you’re a gum, you’ll be the sweetest one.”

“Yea, why so?”

“Because every time I eat you, you taste so sweet,” he teased with a flirty wink, “if you get what I — ow!”

Rubbing his forearm that barely hurt, Gojo loved to exaggerate when he was with you.

For Gojo, things came easily for him, as if the universe highlighted his life as a thousand-year blessing, nothing was out of his reach — that is, nothing but you.

Shocking to many, he pursued you first. When asked about how you guys met, or what’s the story behind you two, or even if no soul asked… he’ll blabber on with an outrageous story, saying he fell in love the moment he laid his eyes on you, that you were the apple of his eye — an over the top fanfiction of you and him of how he just knew you were the person for him when you stumbled into the library, arms full of books and coffee in the other, and you magically just happened to just bump into him. And if it wasn’t for that encounter, then he would’ve never gotten your number.

And without your number, he wouldn’t have been able to woo you with his charm, he’ll always add with a wink.

“You can say it’s fate,” he’ll proclaim, “I never went to the library, you know,” as he munched on his icecream with Megumi and Tsumiki savoring theirs, both unbothered by the story he’s told them countless times, “and the one day I chose to follow Suguru because he was simping over someone, I get coffee spilled all over my clothes and meet her? Damn, the heavens just wanted us together.”

All you remember of that day was that your precious coffee went to waste, with your books embarrassingly spread out on the floor, and you were stuck having to dry clean his ridiculously expensive clothes.

But with him, you experienced all your firsts.

Your first handholding — Satoru confidently took your hand, immediately interlocking his fingers with yours, his palms engulfing yours entirely, “don’t be scared baby, I’m not scared,” flexing his muscles as he proudly smiled, “I’ll protect you!” as he leads you through the haunted mansion, jolting through every jump scare, absolutely refusing to scream.

You remember his palms felt particularly clammy that day.

Your first kiss — on a spring picnic as he laid on your lap, his eyes sparkling a little more than usual as he looked up at you, innocently asking, “can I kiss you?”

Your first argument. Ignoring him for a whole week, only for your resolve to quickly break when Suguru urgently called you to his house stating that Satoru was deathly ill — dark circles under his eyes, cheeks frail from not eating, wrapped up in his blanket as he dramatically announced his dying wishes while sneaking obvious glances at you.

Geto’s diagnosis: pure insanity.

To your first cuddle buddy, to innocent make-out sessions, to wonton looks and lustful touches for more. leading to your first sexual experience, both unknowing and inexperienced as he groaned into your ear in the back of his car one rainy night as you struggled to take his girth.

He was your first taste of goodness — like a forbidden fruit, you increasingly wanted him more. In soul, mind, and body, you etched yourself into him, making the tear even more painful to rip apart.

Sure, loving him was easy — but loving you, the version who was so lacking compared to him and insecure was hard.

You tried to ignore it, you did your best to brush off the insecurity that came with each day of choosing him. But having the message that you were worth less than he was being constantly blasted to your face — the blatant discrepancies between social classes and the nature of how you both grew up, to the constant side glances you’ll get wondering how someone so normal like you, got with such a high net worth — gradually, it all made you dissociate from him.

So you worked even harder. You stayed up longer than anyone else just to get that better grade. You worked that extra shift just to prove that you were capable. You doused yourself in knowledge, yet tried to stay humble to be seemingly perfect… but in that, you unknowingly pushed him further away, losing parts of yourself while at it.

And your final straw? It was a text message you accidentally read on his phone while he silently napped, cutely dozing off as you massaged his scalp.

From: Mom.

>> Remember the girl I talked to you about? Nitori-chan’s family requested that we set up a date for you two. The faster the better, no need for our families to meet, it’s all settled.

To: Minako.

<< Let’s meet. When are you free, Minako?

From: Minako.

>> Whenever! I can meet now!

>> Is this about our potential engagement?

To Minako.

<< Yea, let's meet tonight to talk about it.

You remembered, that night you couldn't reach him.

The final trigger that blew it over. The rambling of your thoughts paralyzes you from thinking rationally.

You didn’t need to search up who she was. Nitori Minako, the youngest daughter of Japan’s leading technology company that rivaled to that of America’s fruit. A girl that was a year younger than you — smart, adamantly cute, cunning and rich — always following him around a bit too closely for your liking, preaching about how “Gojo-san promised he’ll marry me when we were young! Isn’t that so cute?”

how long was this going on for?

Has he always been going on secret dates like this? Was he always just willing to let it slide when you rejected his dates because he had other options?

Was he leading you on this whole time before he’ll leave you for what he rightfully deserved?

Was all of this a lie? All of what he said?

The pinnacle of your sanity breaking as your thoughts became corrosive and brittle the more you dove deeper into the pitfalls of your insecurities — of course what people said was right, there was no way someone like him can settle for any less.

... Ultimately, everything led to you quietly blurting out as he rambled about his day.

Playing with your hand, smiling like a loser as he intertwined your smaller fingers with his, “Geez, there was this jeweler that I wanted to take you to, but dammit, the store closed early today. Maybe we can go — ”

“Let’s break up,” you suddenly announced, looking straight ahead.

The room suddenly felt quiet, so quiet that the thumping of your heart felt like loud sirens blaring next to your eardrum, and your body felt numb.

After a few seconds, Satoru stammered, “w-what?”

Sighing as you closed your eyes, “I said, let’s break up, we aren’t — ” you reiterated.

“I heard you the first time,” Gojo hissed, still playing with your fingers but his grip now harsher, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t bullshitting right now.”

“I’m not joking, Satoru,” your voice stripped of any emotion, “we aren’t good for eachother.”

“Says who?” the man challenged.

“It’s something that’s been on my mind,” you responded back while trying to pull back your hand, “l-let go, Satoru, it hurts…”

“Is it because of the text?” Gojo refused to let go, even more so gripping even harder, “Fuck... I'm sorry I should've explained earlier," his voice pleading for you to listen.

"I swear nothing happened, and nothing will ever happen, b-baby look at me,” your boyfriend’s — now, ex-boyfriend's — voice elevating and shaking.

“Gojo,” softly pausing after his name, “let’s end it when things aren’t so bad… I can’t have you hating me more when we have no other choice but to break up,” finally pushing his grip off, “it’s inevitable, we’ve been walking towards a destined finish line from the beginning, let’s just call it quits a little earlier.”

“no... you can't do this, you can't do this to me,” he vulnerably uttered, his body noticeably trembling as a tear dropped onto the back of your hand as he reached over to touch you, hoping it'll mend whatever hatred you had towards him, “you.. we promised,” his voice shaking.

“I’m sorry Gojo,” you dodged his grasp, “guess promises are only good if you can keep them, and I can’t.”

Days of him begging at the forefront of your door, crying as he asked for an explanation, his missed texts and calls that would go straight to voicemail, to Suguru stepping in to ask what the hell was going on… all leading you to cut off every aspect of Gojo Satoru out of your life, except Shoko.

After two years of dating, at the ripe age of 20, you experienced your first heartbreak with Gojo Satoru, marking the end of the final chapter of your love story with him.

To you, he’ll be the greatest warmth you’ll ever experience.

To him, you’ll be the heartless bitch that left him cold.

—-

“Hmm,” looking at your empty notifications, “guess she’s a little busy right now…” you hummed. Despite your outwardly calm demeanor and the stillness of the serene summer night, juxtaposed was your mind with wandering thoughts that wrecked havoc in your head.

Shoko would update you occasionally about him, not going too far into details. You knew he was successful in his craft, excelling in it as he ranked 11th in Forbes 30 under 30 list, losing the tenth spot barely to a Zenin. It would be a lie if you weren’t curious about him, your mind wandering and weak during the quietest of nights, making a burner account to stalk his socials, only to immediately regret the moment you see photos and stories that presumably show that he’s in a relationship — with a gorgeous one in fact.

You’ve briefly heard of his dating history, hearing it from Shoko directly, as it mindlessly slipped through her tongue as she complained that he’s broken up with another girl.

Throughout the years, you’ve concluded maybe this was your punishment for leaving him. Damnation to feel stuck in the same perpetual regret of hurting his heart, of choosing to look at your fears instead of maybe trusting in him.

But, at least he looked happy. and you clung onto that reserve.

Maybe it was for the best that things happened this way —

Your ears perked up as you heard the tapping of shoes coming towards you, your stomach suddenly dropping to the floor.

“Were you planning on avoiding me the whole night?”

You were sure, there was no denying that was his voice.

Yes, it was a bit deeper from when you last heard it. The decibel of his voice is now infused with power and confidence, yet still with the underlying tone of softness from what you remembered.

“Ah, sorry… how rude of me,” you mumbled, the pounding of your heart beating through your ribcage. You quickly placed an arm over your chest, a hand over your heart, doing anything to muffle the harsh pulsing, terrified that he was going to hear, “it’s been a while Gojo,” you offered him a light smile, “I’m sorry, but if you’ll excuse me Ieiri is waiting for me,” you tried excusing yourself only to be met with his stance unchanging, unmoving.

You felt his eyes pierce into your skull, “Gojo?… ah that’s right,” his voice guarded as he looked over in another direction, his face pointing specifically elsewhere, the moonlight highlighting his perfect features.

“I think she’s pretty busy, don’t you think?” he shrugged.

Dammit she was your ride home. Guess coffee is on her for the next week.

“Oh sorry,” you muttered under your breath.

Grinning as he licked his lips, “You’re awfully saying sorry a lot over nothing,” Gojo chuckled, “guess old habits die hard,” his last words spewed with a hint of bitterness as he clenched his jaws.

Only to relax seconds later, placing his drink on the railing, softly grunting as he pulled off his jacket, and placed it over your shoulders, “It’s cold, don’t want you getting sick now,” the smell of his cologne filled up your lungs, hypnotizing your senses — a bit strong but nonetheless intoxicating.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling a sense of security from the weight of his heated jacket, and in response, you started to immediately pick at your thumbs.

“It’s okay!” You tried to object, trying to take it off only to be met with a stern yet gentleness of his voice, his large hand stopping you, now calloused and thick yet the warmth of his palm brushing against your smaller one felt nostalgic and sinful, as your eyes immediately noticed a gold sparkle on his ring finger, “it’s fine. my body runs hot, remember?”

“T-thank you,” you muttered, the harsh beatings of your heart quickly making your cheeks feel hot.

A ring? you wondered.

“So, what made you come today?” Gojo huffed as he looked off into the distance.

“Had no excuse not to come.”

“I see,” his voice deep, taking the last swig of his drink, deeply inhaling to release a long breath, “It’s good to see you though.”

“Yea, me too,” you quietly responded, the awkwardness of the conversation eating at your bones, the tightness of your stomach knotting increasingly more.

Laughing as he turned around, his long legs crossed, showing a bit of his socks peeking out of his slacks as his dress shoes reflected the moon's shine. Surely, they were expensive, probably equaled to a month of your rent on his feet. With his arms crossing his chest, leaning against the railing, the quiet winds brushing against his soft hair, lightly masking his cerulean eyes as he faced you, “Liar, you were always good at that.”

Taking you off guard, your eyes immediately connecting with his, your breath stopping as if a sudden load was pushed onto your chest, you felt a wave of sadness rush over you as you ventured into his empty eyes.

Since when did he have that ring?

Did he find someone at Paris? Shoko told me — no, there’s no way he found someone so soon.

Or maybe he’s trying to settle down —

“Are you happy?” His question brought you back into reality.

“What?” you whispered.

“I don’t think I’ve asked a hard question,” he responded, his voice now harsh and impatient, “I asked if you were happy.”

Your finger pricks at your thumb, “I guess so…”

Rolling his tongue against his teeth, his finger playing with his ring.

Taking no regard for catering to your comfort, he jeered, “Why’d you do it?”

“What are you talking —” you stammered.

“You know damn well what I’m referring to,” Gojo spat.

“Excuse me,” You muttered, your eyes refusing to disconnect despite your whole body fighting against it.

“I- I got to go, Ieiri is waiting —”

“No, you already used that excuse,” pulling you in by your wrist, immediately caging you in between his arms, with you now leaning against the railing, your eyes level to his broad chest — has he always been this big?

“Answer me, at least you can have the courtesy of honestly telling me why you left me like that eight years ago.”

“I don't remember,” you stated with eyes threatening to spill.

“Liar,” his body leaning down, the hurt in eyes even more apparent than before, “you’re a fucking liar,” Gojo spewed with no resolve to withhold a solid tear from falling, his face now dangerously close — lips even more threatening to touch.

All you wanted to do was say sorry, to cup his face and kiss his tears, to say it was a mistake that you’ve never intended to let him go — you selfishly tortured him by continuously keeping him in your heart without giving him a chance to prove you wrong.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could respond.

“Did you not trust me?” Hurt was apparent in his voice, “Was I that untrustworthy for you to just leave like that and just disappear for eight years?”

“No, no… it’s not like that,” you tried comforting, unknowingly placing your hands on his chest, “it was never like that.”

"then tell me why," he forced out through gritted teeth while furrowing his brows.

"I just thought it was for the best," you quietly whispered.

"you thought it would be for the best?" Gojo scoffed, "And how the hell did you come to a conclusion to just leave like that?"

" 'm sorry, Gojo... I - I truly am," you pleaded while clenching his shirt.

"You must've really enjoyed watching me beg huh," Gojo challenged, "absolutely thrived knowing this was all for my own good, right?" Gojo spat out his anger.

"It wasn't like that, i'm so sorry, I was hurting —"

“Stop fucking apologizing! you don't get to do that," His voice shattered the serene night. Chest heaving as he clenched onto the stone railing, "I didn’t go through shit these past eight years just to hear your selfish sorry's,” he stated with gritted teeth, as he threateningly moved even closer, “d-did you even love me?”

“Yes, of course!” You immediately cupped his face, finally letting go of the years you craved his touch, your heart shattering as you felt him melt into your wicked hands.

“Then kiss me,” he suddenly whispered, the slight scent of alcohol mixed in with cologne altering your judgment.

“Y-your drunk, Gojo,” you pleaded, immediately letting go of his face as you tried to push him off.

His voice elevated, "Why not?" Gojo growled, "Like you said, it's not like you left because you didn't love me. Or are you lying about that too?"

“don’t make this hard, we — I can’t do this with you anymore,” guilt running through your veins as the image of his ring blared loudly in your head.

You couldn’t do this to another girl, he wasn’t yours anymore…

“stop the bullshit,” Gojo growled before his lips slammed into yours, his large hands cupping your face, leaving you no room to run away. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, teeth painfully clashing yet you didn’t mind. because against your resolve, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to taste the sweetness of his saliva and feel the warmth of his tongue.

The groan of his voice vibrated against your lips, as his clothed hip bucked into your pelvis, his lips trailing down from yours to your neck, tongue sloppily trailing down with it as his hands wandered down to hold your hips.

“Tell me you missed me,” he moaned out as you gripped the ends of his hair, his tongue teasing down your sweet spots, pecking kisses as he inhaled your scent.

“Say you loved me, I don't care anymore if it’s a lie,” your ex now pleaded, his hot breath heating your cheeks.

“… I love you,” you confessed.

Lowly laughing like a maniac, staring deep into your wanting eyes, the man whispered back, “aren't you fucking heartless.”

...

You don’t recall how you made it into the hotel room. In a moment your lips crashed with his on the balcony, and only a second later you found yourself with his large hand securely wrapped around yours, silently waiting for the elevator to bing on the twentieth floor as your ex-boyfriend led you into his hotel room.

Now, currently, you’re pressed against the wall, shoes thrown aside groaning with your hands tangled in his soft hair, as he hurriedly stripped you out of your dress, lips hungrily moving against each other as he growled into the kiss.

Though its been years, his touch never faltered from remembering your body — immediately tracing over your sweet spots that he’s located in your early twenties, now with more experience and strength he dove deeper in.

“Fuck, missed these beauties,” he groaned as he cupped your breasts, his thumb playing with your hardened nipples as he quickly released the back strap of your bra, promptly latching his lips onto your swollen ones again right before you released a moan.

Your body had a mind of its own. Fallen into sin, your hands unbuttoned his shirt, quickly revealing his toned, muscular build as your hands ran against his pecs. You felt his stomach flex as you started to unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants, his lips hungrily chasing after yours as he caressed your body, hands slipping down further into your inner thigh, his index starting to play with your swollen clit — his fingers have always been so pretty, especially with his ring

“G-gojo stop!” Your eyes immediately shoot open.

“What,” annoyed, the man hissed, looking into your eyes with his pupils dilated, hair absolutely disheveled, until moments later his lips are impatiently back onto yours again.

“We.. we can’t,” you cried out as you melted in his touch, “y-your ring,” you gasped out, suffocating as he stripped you of oxygen.

“Ring?” he stopped for a brief moment, chuckling as he brought up his finger, “you worried about this?” he teased.

Intoxicated in his touch, you were willing to throw away your pride and dignity just for one night — one night can’t hurt, right? So you take the ounce of courage you had left, placing a tender kiss on his lips as a sign of surrender as you gently cupped his face, “take off your ring,” you whispered as you guilty looked away.

Chasing after your kiss, pushing you further into the room as you yelped at his force, your arms entangled around his neck and fingers around his hair as you tried to stabilize yourself, “I promise you it’s nothing, sweetheart,” he coaxed with his sharp canines flashing through his wickedly handsome smile.

And running his lips against your chest, leaving small denture marks on your skin that forced moans out of you, with his pants now pooled at his ankles before shimming them off, his cock fully erect, unapologetically twitching in his briefs.

“For you, I guess,” Gojo hummed as he watched the thin line of spit that connected you both dissipate away, existing as a sign of proof of the situationship he currently had with you.

Taking his ring off, he set it down near the bedside table, "there it's gone."

At least for this night, he was yours.

You’ll repent for your sins, and receive any punishment the gods had to give you tomorrow, but today, you chose him.

And right now, you also chose to kneel in between his thighs, hooking your finger under his waistband to pull his briefs off. Satoru immediately lifted his hips to help you while releasing a sultry groan as he felt the cold air elope his sensitive tip.

Was he always this thick? You remembered his cock being pretty, but also what the fuck were those two veins running down his shaft? And was he always this… groomed?

“Are you just gonna stare at it… or do I need to use your mouth to get some action?” Satoru impatiently asked with his cock twitching, his finger brushing against your heated cheeks as he palmed his member.

“It’s just been awhile,” you murmured, licking your lips before you opened your mouth to have him enter.

“Fuck, " Satoru shuddered as the base of your tongue brushed against his frenulum.

"i must be dreaming,” Gojo murmured under his breath, your head rising up as you released his cock with pop! With your hot tongue swirling against his head, there was no chance for Satoru to stay strong. and you enjoyed every second of seeing him slowly unravel in your power.

“j-just like that,” he ordered while placing his hand on top of your head, guiding your momentum.

His precum tasted salty but pleasant. Hell, he wasn’t even close to the other men you’ve been with, incomparable starting with the size of their dicks to his.

Hallowing your cheeks and expanding your throat to take in his shaft, with your hands gently playing with his balls, you felt his cock hit the back of your throat the moment you saw his head fling backwards, gasping as he pushed down his spit down his dry throat.

“You like that?” Gojo hissed as he bucked his hips into your warm crevice, “you missed my cock, angel?”

You honestly agreed, tears staining your vision with his length stuffed into your orifice, only to get a spiteful laugh in return, “well, guess that makes two of us,” he huffed while crowning over your body, pushing himself deeper into you, his stomach hitching as he groaned out your name.

“Fuck this shit,” he moaned, as he urgently pulled himself out of your mouth, sacrificing his impeding release for abstinence.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he gasped when your thumbs swirled around his pulsing head, “you always do,” he purred as he nibbled on your lower lip, promptly pulling you onto his lap, one hand straddling your waist while the other mounded your ass.

And looking up at you, with his blue eyes now darkened in full blown lust, his hot breath sending chills down your spine, “tell me what you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“Y-you,” you shamefully confessed, gasping as his cock grazed against your sensitive folds, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you started to grind against his length, “I want you inside me again, Satoru” you whispered into his ear, lightly moaning out his name.

“Shit,” Satoru croaked, pulling himself down as he gently released you to lay on the bed, “I dont have a condom,” he confessed as he gently kissed your cheeks, “ you gonna be okay without it?” he asked.

“Mhm, j-just hurry… please,” you murmured.

“Good girl, now come here,” he coaxed as he placed a soft pillow under your head.

Taking a brief moment to observe your face, reading any sign of forced emotion that you might try to hide, only to ease himself into the kiss when he feels you impatiently desiring his touch, “relax, baby,” he cooed as his kisses traveled southward.

Placing each delicate kiss on your body as his soft hair trailed behind, lightly tickling you as your thighs gently caged his waists into you, “you know they wanted me to thank you,” Gojo breathed out as he split your thighs open, settling himself in between your legs.

“W-who?” you whimpered as his calloused hands massaged your muscles, his soft lips easing out the tension boiling in your core while your hands immediately went straight to grip his hair.

Lips drawing closer, closer and closer until his breath knocked against the frame of your dripping cunt.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” blowing air onto your sensitive nerves, looking up to watch your body shiver at his power as he slid his finger down your folds, pushing in one finger, two, and eventually three into your tight hole as he watched you stretch, your viscous juice soon dripping down his forearm.

“They wanted me to thank you for how good I eat pussy now,” Gojo smirked before he took a swipe of his tongue against your womanhood, spreading out your cunt as he purposefully flicked his tongue against your clit, lightly sucking on the bud thereafter.

…

How many times as it been, you wondered? More than once or twice, maybe four… five — you moaned out when you felt your legs hitching up to his shoulders, his cock hitting just at the right spots he remembered from years ago.

“Angel,” Gojo huffed as sweat dripped down his temple, grunting as he felt your tight walls fluttering against his length at the call of his sweet pet name, “you have that much leisure to be thinking about something else when I’m fucking you?”

Kissing your ankles, his pelvis showing you no mercy as his wet skin slapped against your ass, the sound and sultry smell of hot sex filtrating your room, “still so fucking tight,” Satoru grunted as he pushed his body onto you, your legs hooking against his shoulders, his strong arms holding you from under.

“G-gojo!” you rasped out, barely audible and inable to breathe from his heavy weight and humidity of the room, “it’s too deep! Slow down!”

Growling into your ear, his teeth nibbling against your earlobe, his hot breath stinging your face as he scoffed at your choice to call him so mundanely.

“you gonna be so impersonable,” his thrust going deeper, harder into you, “when I’m so deepily inside you?”

“Ngh,” gasping, “it’s too much,” you sobbed with his face planted into your neck, and his ass clenching with every push he drove into your gushy walls that still wrapped so perfectly around his — just like how he’s last felt you around him, just like how he’s molded your insides just for himself.

“You let anyone else fuck you?” He suddenly hissed, panting as he tried to catch his breath, the sweat on his back making it difficult for you to hold onto him, “you let anyone else see this side of you?”

“It’s too much —” you pleaded, avoiding his question.

“Answer me,” he lowly ordered.

Unable to withstand his power, absolutely willing to fold for him and his desires, you fastidiously nodded, “only a couple,” you shyly confessed.

"how many," he growled, disappointed in your answer, "how many fucked this."

"o-one or two, ngh I-I don't remember," you panted.

“One or two, you say,” he cooed as he pulsed his cock swiftly into you in rhythmic motions, satisfied seeing his length disappear inside you. his pace driving you to the brink of insanity as your lower belly started to fire up again as he knowingly pressed his palm down on your stomach.

“Then I gotta fuck you twice more to force out all memory you have of those stupid fucks,” grunting as he cupped your face to look at him, lips swollen with his skin marked by your nails, hips unapologetically thrusting into you as he watched you unravel in his lead, “because this pussy’s always been mine.”

Seven.

He’s definitely made you cum seven times. you remembered the count just before he groaned out your name, his thrusts sloppy and strained, gasping as he pulled you tighter into his embrace, face caved into your neck as he finally released his thick loads into your abused walls, sobbing out cursed moans as you held him, expending out every last ounce of energy you had for him in mere four words,

“I’ve always loved you,” you whispered before completely passing out.

You failed to notice a tear fall from his eyes drop to your face. He hoped that it’ll stain you, wished it would reach all the way through to your heart to burn you. But he couldn't, so instead he carefully wiped it away as he gently kissed your face — inch by inch of your canvas before he chose to face you again.

“you’re so heartless,” Gojo chuckled as he pulled you in for a tight hug, straight into his chest as he laid beside you, refusing to pull out and have his cum spill onto the sheets — a feat he’s never dared to do with anyone else, he’s always fucked protected.

“what am I going to do with you," he breathed out.

"even with all this time, I’m still so weak for you,” he quietly confessed, reaching over to the side, reaching for his ring to put on the empty finger, before he too fell into the abyss of another dimension with you in his arms.

—-

Lowly groaning as you opened your eyes, your body felt oddly heavy and aching, but yet warm and safe despite feeling on the absolutely verge of possibly snapping in half and breaking with any force.

Blinking a couple times before you started to register the room, you felt a slight huff next to your ear and the tightening around your waist as your back leaned against something hard.

Gojo Satoru, in all of his glory, was sleeping so soundly next you.

Carefully turning around to face him, you observed his features as you ran your fingers against his skin.

His lashes were still so long and soft, you giggled when Gojo twitched his nose at your touch.

His cheeks were still so smooth, without a spec of a blemish, but you can see the little bags under his eyes and the small creases on his skin. he’s probably tired from traveling.

Your finger travels down to his chiseled jaw, and defined collar bones, examining the light scratch marks on his pale skin, and the bruising of his nipple — wait… his lips are chapped and swollen, and his cock… oh god, his cock was brushing against your stomach — hard and pulsing.

Immediately gasping, you felt the blood in your body drain at the revelation that you’ve fucked your ex — no, you fucked your ex of eight years, that you were still crazily hung up over that most likely had a girlfriend waiting for him to respond back to.

Before you could think, your adrenaline pressed forward to act before your mind, immediately unlocking his hands from your naked waists, standing up too quickly only to stumble from your trembling legs. You felt something drip down your thighs — white viscous slowly running down your legs, your face heating up at the memory of last night.

“I- I need to leave,” you whispered, quickly gathering your discarded clothes and undergarments as you rushed to the restroom, forcing down your whimpers as your sensitive cunt brushed against your thighs with every step you took.

“I can’t be here, t-this was a mistake,” you stammered while putting on your dress, quickly stuffing your used panties into your purse.

You looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter because you needed to get the hell out of there before he woke up, but somehow your feet didn’t move in the direction you wanted them to — out the door — but instead towards him unknowingly sleeping.

And quietly sitting against the edge of the bed, carefully pushing away the edges of his bangs that covered his handsome face, you decided to take a minute to absorb the last images of what you’ll have of him. And there you decided to let a tear or two drop from your eyes as you said your last goodbyes, gently kissing his lips before you made your way out the door, whispering, once again,

“I’m sorry…”

—-

It’s been close to an hour since your walk of shame out the door. Since then you quickly checked out of your room and made your way out of the hotel.

You immediately called for a taxi to get home, groaning as you were hit with the realities of your mistakes last night.

Treading up the stairs your legs quivered with every move. It's been a while since you've been fucked that hard, nor even had a partner that lasted so long.

You needed to text Shoko, you prayed that she didn’t blow through your notifications when you suddenly went missing last night. Sighing, you absentmindedly tried to find your phone in your bag as you punched in your door keys.

You started to think, maybe the whole fucking universe was now against you, for your sins, because your phone wasn’t in your purse.

You tried to retrace your steps to where you’d last used it as you made yourself over to your bed, stripping off your clothes as you walked over to the shower.

And to your last memory, you texted Ieiri out in the balcony… and then,

“Shit,” you hissed, remembering how your bag was tossed to the side when you were being feverishly stripped of your clothes, “it’s probably under his bed or something.”

“I hope no one calls… or tries to contact me until he leaves his room,” you groaned as the hot water massaged your tense shoulders while your fingers ran down your body.

Washing every crevice as you also tried to erase away the memory you had with him, you forced yourself to retract your tears. This was your punishment you repeated, this was the outcome of your selfishness. You lathered yourself in soap, trying to scrub away the pent-up guilt until you noticed something flash under the light.

You never wore your jewelry into the shower, you’ve always had a habit to take them off to not tarnish.

But there was a golden ring, a ring that fits a little loosely on your promise finger.

Unable to understand why, all that circled through your mind was to go back.

Quickly washing off, throwing on any pair of clothes before running to your door, you could feel your anxious heart beating loudly in your chest as your ears started to feel plugged from the tension. And just when you’re about to open your door, you hear a buzz that silenced every chaos around you.

Looking through the peep hole, you felt faint, your heart entirely about to burst — is this reality or am i still dreaming?

“It’s me,” you heard his calm voice.

Your hands trembled as you slowly opened up the door, your eyes taking a moment to quickly scan his body — donning the same clothes as yesterday with the top buttons of his white shirt undone and ends stuffed into his slacks, his hair lightly messy and eyes a little sunken.

“How’d you get here?” you gasped with your ringed hand clenched, hidden behind your back, while the other pricked at your thumb.

“You left your phone in my room, and I found it because Ieiri was blowing up your phone," Satoru calmly stated as he handed over your phone, "so I asked where you lived to drop it off.”

“She didn’t say anything?” you warily asked

“Well, she did ask about us."

“And… did she threaten you or anything?”

“No, why would she? But,” stretching out his arms as he released groan, “I told her we fucked,” he boyishly smiled.

Afraid to confront your messy rendezvous with him, you nervously bit your lips, and you avoided his gaze. Noticing your tendencies, you felt his hand cup your face to meet his while his thumb gently soothed your aching lip, "hey," he whispered, "don't do that."

And stepping closer to you, the mild fragrance of his shampoo dancing in your nostrils, “Did you see it?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you acknowledged, “I saw it just now while showering,” you looked into his eyes to seek an answer, tears starting to cloud your vision.

“You know, I’m not the same anymore,” he confessed, “I have power, I’m strong, and I’m able to do things now,” pressing a kiss onto your forehead, “but the only thing that stayed the same about me," chuckling as he shook his head — as if he couldn't even believe it himself.

"is that I didn’t change my number since we’ve broken up,” he stated before taking a step into your apartment, the click of his shoes hitting the tile floor echoing throughout the hallway, “I just hoped maybe one day you’ll call.”

"why?" you honestly questioned, unable to understand why he would choose to do that.

"I don't know," Satoru shrugged while pulling away, "guess I really tried to subconsciously manifest the we were fated to be bullshit that I preached."

“But that girl,” you quietly muttered while you unknowingly pouted when you saw his arms cross against his chest, the tightness of his sleeves about to burst from his muscles bulging.

“Girl… what girl?” Your comment took him aback.

“The one you were in Paris with,” your face feeling hot, embarrassed that you outed yourself for stalking him.

“You stalking me?” He chuckled while leaning against the wall, "it's not what you think," Gojo sighed as he pushed back his hair, "that girl, it was Suguru.”

Raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, sighing as he saw the unbelief in your eyes, “Here look,” he commented while pulling out his phone to show you pictures, “we went for his art exhibition or some shit because his girl couldn’t make it with him.”

“B-but you came late to the reunion.”

“Yea, because I wasn't going to pull up looking mid when I needed to make you regret ever dumping me,” he joked while pinching your cheeks, "I didn't have plans on attending until that jerk sent me a photo of you," he shamelessly confessed.

“You’re stupid,” you grasped his hand to check his finger — ringless.

“But it was worth it, no? Got you to indirectly confess,” emphasizing his last few words, “that maybe you still love me."

"Whatever," you mumbled, "I said I loved you."

"fine by me," Satoru accepted, " but the fact is that you still think I’m hot, no? Or maybe you just missed my cock? ”

“You’re crazy,” you stated while wiping your tears.

“Yea, I know,” his gaze softens as he sees you playing with his fingers, your small ones wrapped around his.

“and this ring is too big for me,” you cried as you melted in his touch, his right thumb gently rubbing against your cheeks.

“That too, I know,” he smiled stepping closer into your house, and slowly closing the door behind him, “we’ll get another one together soon, only if you'll let me.”

"I'd like that," you whispered.

“I just couldn’t get it for us when you heartlessly broke up with me eight years ago," Satoru confessed while brushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“I’m so sorry Satoru,” you snuggled your face into his strong chest, his arms tightly wrapped around you, cooing as he steadied your breaths, “Shhh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay.”

“I’ve hurt you, I’m the one that caused all this,” you heaved as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

“Through everything,” kissing your swollen eyes, taking his time to savor your touch as his lips traveled their way back to its home, briefly kissing your ringed finger as he looked into your eyes.

And sealing his final destination, he whispered before locking his lips with yours once more,

“I’ll always find you even if you run away because you’ll always be mine.”

author's comment: sheesh, I didn't expect this to get this long... but here it is! I wanted to write the typical exes-to-lovers trope, but I was stuck on the quote with Satoru teasing how his past partners wanted to thank the reader for teaching him how to eat pussy... and here we are over 9k words later.... oh wells

again, i hope you enjoyed it!!

p.s. i might just have one exes to lovers in the drafts for geto, as well.... hahahahaha but you didn't hear that from me, nope (,:

#ae.writes #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #darkmode.#forbes30!gojo

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iero · 1 year

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Let it be known that one of my absolute worst flaws is I am a huge, HUGE homebody... At 29 years old...

#personal #Rant in the tags but I just feel like letting this out...#I'm home for only the next eight hours and then I'm heading out for Pittsburgh.#And I'm already feeling like... homesick almost even though I'm still here in my house?#It's like... My body is SOO used to the normalcy of how I live that now that I'm breaking it I'm just NERVOUS.#I was so excited up until today when it went and hit me that it's tomorrow that my fight or flight kicked in.#It also doesn't help that I haven't left my area since the My Chem shows last September and that ended badly...#<- That's not to say I think this will but I just... have not gotten out since last year.#Like again I'm so used to my 'work go home eat sleep' routine that I literally won't let myself have fun LMAOO #And when I say 'let myself have fun' I mean travel to anywhere too far.#And I do want to reiterate that I live in PA. Like I live four hours away from Pitt and that's not even that bad...#I'm like such a recluse it's pathetic...#And my mom called me 30 minutes ago because her and her boyfriend are going on THEIR vacation next week to the beach and I literally just #like... started crying after she hung up from telling me to have fun this weekend.#Anyway it's the Mental Illness innit? Like there is something seriously wrong with me El-m-ayy-ooo

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imaginedisish · 1 month

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One for the Road (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Oh my god. This is so dirty, so nasty. Here is the *giving Logan head while he's driving* request. Thank you anon. Thank you so so much. Inspired by "One for the Road" by Arctic Monkeys. ENJOY!

Summary: Forty-five minutes is simply too long of a car ride for you to wait to take care of Logan...Or: you give Logan head while he's driving and he absolutely loses it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Sexually explicit content, Oral (f! and m!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), multiple orgasms, porn without plot (literally), car sex, rough sex, Logan is reckless, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, aftercare, established relationship, f!reader/afab!reader, reader has hair (but length/texture/color are not described), cursing, def some grammatical errors, that's it.

Word Count: 2,269 it's all smut im sorry yr honor but I need him

Logan wants nothing more than to be home. He wants to grab you by the hand, take you up to bed, and hold you until you and he fall fast asleep. This, unfortunately, is not something Logan can do. Instead, Logan’s eyes are trained ahead of him—occasionally flickering to look at you—as he drives carefully through dark, winding roads.

The only silver lining is that you’re in the seat next to him, leaning towards him. You rest your arm on the center console, silently asking Logan to inch closer, too. He obliges, lifting his right hand from the steering wheel and bringing it down to grip your thigh. He squeezes gently, his thumb dipping between your legs, drawing long, slow circles to the sensitive skin there.

Heat rises to your chest as his thumb climbs higher, nudging against the hem of your shorts. You can feel that familiar tension building at the base of your spine, the bottom of your belly. You try to ignore it, but you look over to Logan’s lap, and you see that he’s half hard and growing, the beginnings of his erection straining through his jeans.

“How much longer until we get back?” You ask, weighing your options.

Logan’s eyes drift from the road to you, his hand giving your thigh another light squeeze. “Forty-five minutes, probably,” he answers, smiling softly.

You hum in affirmation and nod, watching as his erection hardens. You grin to yourself as you reach your hand over the center console and into his lap. Logan’s eyes stay on the road, his throat bobbing as he swallows. You bring your fingers to his belt, watching him closely as you unbuckle the clasp.

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” Logan asks as you slip the belt from the loops on his jeans.

You drop the belt onto your side of the car, working at his button next. “Taking care of you,” you say as you pull his zipper down. You lean over the center console completely, tugging his jeans down his legs as far as you can get them to go.

Logan’s hand slips from your thigh and grabs your wrist, stopping you before you can tug his boxers down. “I’m trying to drive, pretty girl,” he chides, looking down at you.

You smile up at him, freeing yourself from his grasp and tugging down his boxers. “I know,” you answer, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and down the length of him. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make you feel good.” You lower your head into his lap and bring his cock to your lips, pressing a chaste kiss to his tip.

“F-fuck,” Logan stutters, white-knuckling the steering wheel. You lick a long stripe from the base of his cock up to his head. “Fucking tease,” Logan mutters, his hand coming down to the crown of your head. His fingers thread through your hair, nails digging into your scalp.

You wrap your lips around his tip, and Logan bucks his hips into your mouth, forcing you to take all of him at once. You’ll never get used to the sheer size of him—the way he spills out of your mouth even when he hits the back of your throat. You suck hard, hollowing your cheeks as you slide up and down his shaft.

You can feel Logan holding back, struggling to keep his hips still as you take him in and out of your mouth. “Such a good fucking girl,” Logan moans, your hand at the base of his cock stroking up and down now. “Feels so good, princess.”

He twitches inside you, throbbing with need. You swirl your tongue around his tip and take him deeper, as far as he can possibly go. Logan grips the back of your head, guiding you up and down his length. You look up at him, his chest heaving, his eyes still on the road. He curses under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter than before.

His eyes flit down to you and catch your gaze. “So fucking beautiful,” he praises, his foot through the floor on the gas. “So pretty when your mouth is full of my cock.” His words go straight to your core, the aching fire between your legs burning with need. You press your thighs together, searching for friction as Logan’s hips buck into your mouth again.

He gently fucks your face, his hand still guiding the back of your head, pushing himself further inside. “Taking me so well,” Logan growls. You gag around him as he slides you up and down his cock. “Perfect little mouth, doing so good for me.” You know he’s getting close; it’s the way he whispers your name, the way he pushes you back down after you reach his tip.

Logan flicks the blinker on, and the car jerks to the side of the road, coasting to a stop. His cock twitches as he puts the car in park. He shifts, sitting up, his hips rocking, forcing himself deeper, hitting the back of your throat. You moan around him, taking him up and down faster, chasing his orgasm.

“Gonna come down that pretty throat,” Logan groans, both of his hands gripping the back of your head tightly, pumping in and out of your mouth. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he soothes. “So fucking good.” His hips stutter, his pace faltering as he spills himself inside you. You swallow everything he has to give you, his hips still rocking as he rides out his orgasm.

He guides your head up, your lips sliding up his cock as he pulls himself from your mouth. He smirks at you, his hand coming to your chin, wiping away his release and your saliva from the corner of your lips.

“I think it’s your turn, darlin’,” Logan husks, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. He suddenly grabs your hips and wraps an arm around your back, hoisting you up and setting you down on the center console. He keeps his arm around your back to hold you up as his free hand works at your shorts, unbuttoning the denim, pulling your zipper, and yanking your jeans and panties down your legs.

“Fucking soaked for me, pretty girl,” Logan says, tugging you closer to him as he settles between your thighs. “Could smell how much you needed me when you were getting me off.” His tongue licks a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Couldn’t wait to taste you,” he growls as he laps at you starvingly.

He pulls you closer, your ass hanging off the center console as Logan buries his face into your cunt. “F-fuck, Lo,” you stutter, his tongue swirling around your clit. He brings his free hand to your thigh, spreading your legs wider. His fingers teasingly trail higher, closer to where you need him most.

He finally finds your folds, toying with you, spreading your slick as his tongue draws circles into your core. “Tastes so fucking perfect, sweetheart,” Logan mumbles against you, two fingers prodding at your entrance. “Always tastes so perfect.” His fingers thrust inside you—down to the knuckles—pulling out only to pump back in again.

Everything is hurried and frantic, needy and desperate. He takes your clit between his lips, sucking roughly as his fingers fuck into you. It’s already too much, and you can feel the liquid heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach. “Logan,” you whine, throwing your head back.

“That feel good, beautiful?” Logan asks, his teeth grazing your clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. His tongue flits in and out, drawing long, solid strokes as his fingers fill you up, stretching you out and working you open.

“Y-yes,” you pant, watching as he devours you, sinks into you. His dark eyes meet yours and he smiles against you, taking your clit back into his mouth and sucking harder than before. “S-so good.”

“I know, pretty girl,” Logan soothes, a third finger prodding your entrance. “Gonna take care of you.” He slips it in, scissoring inside you, massaging your walls. “Gonna make you come.”

You curse under your breath, your chest heaving as he buries his fingers deep inside. His pace is unrelenting and reckless, pumping in and out, lapping at you mercilessly. Your walls flutter around him, sucking him in deeper. “S-so close,” you mumble, shaking underneath his touch.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Logan coos, licking hard, flat circles around your clit. “Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His words goad you along, your muscles contracting and releasing around him. He rocks his fingers in and out of you, sucking your clit roughly between sentences. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

And then you’re clenching down around him, arching your back as you come undone. You melt into him, his face still buried in your cunt as he works you through your orgasm—his fingers thrusting as he strokes your clit with his tongue. He slows down, his fingers stalling inside you before he slips out completely. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and pulls away. His chin glistens with your juices, sweat coating his brow, his hair disheveled. He’s a mess, and it’s all because of you.

Logan pulls you into his lap, and you immediately feel his still-hard cock press against your stomach. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmurs at the shell of your ear. “You started this, pretty girl.” Logan lifts you up, his erection suddenly nudging at your entrance. “And now I’m gonna finish it.” He pulls you down onto him, his cock sinking deep inside you—down to the hilt.

You’re full again—full of him. You lift your hips and sink back down onto him. “That’s it, sweetheart, ride my cock just like that,” he growls, his hand slipping between your bodies, his fingers finding your still-sensitive clit. “Such a good fucking girl.”

“L-Lo,” you whimper, his hips rocking against yours. He thrusts up into you, pushing himself deeper, stroking your clit gently with his thumb.

“So fucking tight,” Logan groans, gripping your hip with his free hand, guiding you up and down his length. “Such a good fucking pussy, taking me so well.” He throbs inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. He flicks your clit, bringing you closer to the edge.

You can feel your orgasm building with every twitch of his cock, with every circle he draws into your core. “’M’so close,” you whine as Logan’s hips snap against yours. He’s fucking into you relentlessly—the slow, languid roll of your hips not enough to satiate his hunger. Your walls flutter around him, pulling him in deeper.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Logan grunts, thrusting up into you. “Can feel you squeezing me. Feels so good, so fucking perfect.” He pinches your clit lightly before circling rapidly, adding more pressure. Your muscles contract around him, and Logan groans at the feeling. “Come on my cock, pretty girl. Let me get you there.”

Logan swallows your moans with a kiss as you let go. You’re all liquid heat, shattering, unraveling as your orgasm crashes into you. Logan is close behind, his fingers still dragging against your clit, his pace faltering as his hips snap into yours. “Where do you want me to—”

You cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Inside,” you whisper.

Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing as he fills you up, painting your walls with his release. “So fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, his fingers sliding away from your clit and trailing up your body. He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you to his chest as his hips stall, his cock unmoving inside you. “Wanna keep you right here,” he mutters against the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna let you go.”

You bury your head into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna let go, either,” you say, your voice quiet and shaky. “But we need to get home.”

“I know, darlin’,” Logan says, disappointment heavy in his voice. He lifts you gently, pulling himself out from your cunt. He helps you back over the center console, your bare ass hitting the cold leather of your seat. Logan finds your jean shorts and panties, and motions for you to give him your legs so that he can help you dress. It’s soft, intimate, domestic. He lets his fingers linger on your legs long after he’s done, worshipping your skin, taking care of you.

He pulls his boxers and jeans back up, zipping and buttoning the denim, and starts the car. He rolls back out onto the highway, his palm finding its place on your thigh—exactly where he was before.

“Forty-five minutes, pretty girl,” Logan chuckles, his thumb brushing gentle circles into your skin. “Couldn’t wait forty-five minutes for me, hm?”

“Can’t ever wait for you,” you say, letting your eyes flutter closed.

You’re asleep less than five minutes later, and you’re still asleep when you finally arrive back at the mansion. Logan carries you out of the car, into the mansion, and up the steps to his bedroom. You’re still sleeping as he undresses you. He settles you under the covers and climbs in after you, pulling you tight into his chest.

“Love you, pretty girl,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

“Love you, too,” you mumble, half asleep.

And it’s all he wanted. It’s all he ever thinks about. You.

tags: @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @silversprings-mp3 @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @fanfic-writing-barbie @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie @honeyfewr @cosmiccandydreamer

#Logan Howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #James Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x reader smut #Wolverine x reader smut #James Logan Howlett x reader smut #Logan Howlett smut #Wolverine smut #James Logan Howlett smut #Logan Howlett x you #Wolverine x you #James Logan Howlett x you #Logan Howlett x you smut #Wolverine x you smut #James Logan Howlett x you smut #Logan Howlett imagine #Wolverine imagine #James Logan Howlett imagine #Logan Howlett

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thebunnednun · 9 days

Text

Overworked

Pairing: Pro Hero! Katsuki Bakugou x Stressed! Reader

Summary: Life is shit and Katsuki finds out you lied to him about taking care of yourself.

And you know what happens when you lie to Katsuki.

I wrote this for my friend @elarakive, she's been going through it so please give her some love y'all.

WC: 16,709

On with the show!!~

“I should’ve become a stripper in Miami.”

You staggered into your apartment, your body and mind exhausted from the endless cycle of school and work. The clock ticked mercilessly as you rushed to grab your work bag and change. Your commute home took about 20 minutes today, and there was barely enough time to catch your breath, let alone eat.

Sighing, you kicked off your shoes quickly before rushing into your small, cluttered room, your shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility. The relentless cycle of school and work had left you in a mental fog, and the ticking clock seemed to mock your frantic rush. You had barely an hour to spare before your next shift, and the minutes slipped through your fingers like sand.

With trembling hands, you fumbled through your work bag, grabbing the essentials as you hurriedly changed into your work uniform. The sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror was a stark reminder of how far gone you were—dark circles under your eyes, hair a disheveled mess, and a look of defeat that you couldn’t quite hide.

‘Fuck it, we ball with the consealer today.’

Rushing to the bathroom, you hurriedly adjusted your makeup in the bathroom mirror, the smudged eyeliner and messy foundation reflecting the chaos of your life. Every moment felt like a race against time as you dabbed concealer under your eyes, trying to mask the fatigue that had become your constant companion.

You had to look good while in class. You have to look good at work so you can make those big bucks to pay for things that ultimately make you feel sick everytime you think about it. Like your rent, the car, the utilities, tuition payments, groceries, laundry supplies, toiletpaper, pads/tampons. Also Tynolonal because your little dehydrated ass kept getting migraines that you ironically didn’t take because you still wanted a working liver.

In the midst of your chaotic routine, your phone buzzed with a notification: an unexpected double shift for the week. Your heart sank as you read the message. When you finally got a weekend off, it was swallowed up by studying, cleaning, and chores. Sleep was becoming a rare luxury, and your mental fog seemed to thicken with each passing day.

At work, the pressure has been relentless. Your manager's latest demand to pull full shifts this week felt like the last straw. As you stared at your schedule, the weight of it all crashed down on you. You wanted to cry, but you couldn't afford to break down—not with your job hanging in the balance. The only time you had to eat was during your brief lunch break at work, which you barely managed to find time for.

It felt like there was no end to the mounting responsibilities, and the weekend you’d managed to carve out for yourself was swallowed up by endless studying, chores, and barely enough sleep to keep you functional.

In the cramped kitchen, you grabbed a quick bite, your meal consisting of whatever was quickest to prepare. (A literal slice of bread.) The clock continued its relentless ticking, and you knew you were cutting it close. The idea of collapsing into bed, even for just a moment, was a sinfully tempting dream.

As you raced to gather your things, your mind was a jumble of deadlines and schedules. You barely noticed when your cell rang with its familiar “Kiss me through the phone!” ringtone to indicate that your boyfriend was calling.

‘🥰 🤬 Kat-Suki 🩷🧡 is calling…..’

Heart fluttering, you nearly dropped the concealer wand on your blank uniform polo to snatch your phone off the counter and hit answer.

“Damn it, what’s going on with you?” Katsuki’s voice cut through the haze of your stress, his usual bravado softened by genuine worry as the video connected.

“You look like you’re about to drop.”

You paused, caught off guard by his sudden appearance and the intensity of his gaze. “Just… busy,” you managed to say, trying to muster a weak smile. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing more serious. “This ain’t just busy. You’re running yourself ragged. What the hell are ya doing to yourself?”

With a frustrated sigh, you grabbed the phone and tucked it into the front of your bra, the slight pressure reminding you that you needed to hurry. Balancing your phone precariously, you snatched up your work bag and keys, your hands clumsy with the rush. Your fingers were already cold from the constant running around, and you fought the urge to drop everything as you made your way to the car.

The engine roared to life as you slid into the driver’s seat and connected your phone to the Bluetooth system. Katsuki’s voice crackled through the speakers, a gruff but familiar comfort amidst the car noises.

“Hey, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you replied, blowing a raspberry into the phone. The sound was a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and you could almost hear Katsuki’s brow raise as he responded.

“You sound outta breath. What’s the deal?”

You chuckled softly, though it was more of a tired exhale. “Just the usual,” you said, your eyes darting between the road and the clock on the dashboard. “Running late, trying to get everything done. It’s been a mess.”

Katsuki’s voice grew more insistent. “Are ya eating properly? Getting enough sleep? You know, ya need to take care of yourself.”

You huffed, trying to focus on the road while keeping up with the conversation. “I’m eating, sleep is a luxury right now. I’m managing, Katsuki.”

His voice softened, though it still carried an edge of concern. “That’s not an answer, you know. You sound like you’re pushing yourself too hard. I don’t want you burning out.”

You adjusted the car’s air conditioning, the cool breeze a slight relief against the heat of your exhaustion. “I’m fine. Just got a lot on my plate. You know how it is.”

“Well, if you say so,” Katsuki said, though the worry in his tone was evident. “Just make sure you’re not running on empty. I want to see you in one piece when I get back.”

The call ended as you pulled into the parking lot of your workplace. You felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside as you grabbed your work bag and keys, the day ahead looming large.

“I’m in the parking lot. So I’ll call you when I get out, okay?”

“ ‘S fine with me.”

“K, bye.”

You blew a smooch into the phone and quickly hung up before you could cry. It’s not like you wanted to lie to Katsuki. Your boyfriend was THE human lie detector and hated liars. But you also didn’t want to worry him while he was out on missions. But alas, those were all thoughts for later as you gently turned off the car and put your game face on before getting out the car and making your way towards the building.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

Your shift at work was as rough as you’d anticipated. Your manager was insistent about you picking up extra hours, their voice rising in frustration over minor issues. Customers were grumpy, complaints frequent, and the constant flow of tasks left you feeling drained.

The office felt like a maze of gray cubicles and muted tones, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. As you sat at your desk, the familiar clutter of technical documents and graphic layouts surrounded you. The scent of strong coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of printer ink. You rubbed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips as you pushed through another round of proofreading.

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you fumbled to pull it from your drawer, glancing at the screen to see a message from Masha in HR. It was a reminder about the formal complaint you needed to submit to get your overdue salary processed. You frowned, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders.

“Another thing to deal with,” you muttered, tapping out a quick response before setting the phone aside. Your fingers flew over the keyboard, drafting the formal complaint with a precision that belied your growing exhaustion. Every keystroke felt like an effort, each sentence a struggle to convey the frustration and urgency of your situation.

The clock ticked slowly, its rhythmic ticking amplifying the silence of the office as colleagues murmured and typed away in their own bubbles. You glanced at the pile of papers on your desk—technical documents, project briefs, and some rough sketches for graphics that you’d been tasked with. The contrast between your university days, filled with creative media projects and dynamic video production, and this monotonous office job was striking.

You missed the excitement of storytelling and visual creation, but here you were, grinding away for the paycheck that barely seemed worth the effort right now.

Rent was due next week, and the thought of it gnawed at your mind. You tapped your pen nervously against the desk, trying to suppress the mounting anxiety. Your minimal savings were earmarked for tuition, and borrowing money from anyone, let alone Katsuki, was not an option you wanted to consider. The last thing you needed was for him to find out and make a fuss about it, turning your personal financial troubles into a point of contention.

As you took a deep breath and hit ‘send’ on the formal complaint, the stress of the past few weeks seemed to coalesce into a single, throbbing headache. Your hands were trembling slightly as you reached for the small, lukewarm cup of coffee on your desk, the caffeine offering a temporary, hollow comfort.

“Hey, can you cover this layout for me?” your colleague, Jenna, asked as she leaned over your cubicle wall. Her voice was chipper, a sharp contrast to the mental fog you were drowning in.

“Sure,” you said, forcing a smile as you accepted the additional task. Your mind drifted to the weekend, a distant hope of relaxation and a momentary escape from the whirlwind of deadlines and obligations. But even that felt out of reach as you buried yourself in work, hoping that somewhere amidst the chaos, a solution would present itself.

The minutes stretched into hours, the ticking of the clock a relentless reminder of how quickly time was slipping away. As the workday dragged on, your thoughts constantly circled back to your financial situation and how you might manage to cover rent without dipping into your savings or burdening anyone else. The weight of it all felt almost unbearable, and you silently wished for a moment of reprieve.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

Finally, with mercy, your shift finally ended, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, but it was quickly overshadowed by exhaustion. You shuffled out of the office, your steps heavy and laden with fatigue.

The breakroom coffee you’d chugged was doing its best to keep you awake, but the jolt of caffeine did little to ease the sleepy buzz that had settled over you.

Your drive home was a blur, punctuated only by the occasional beep of your car’s dashboard and the monotonous hum of the engine. When you finally pulled into your parking spot, a sense of dread washed over you as you fished out your phone to check the latest update on your pay. The notification confirmed what you feared: your salary wouldn’t be processed for another week.

A gasp of frustration and disbelief escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the confined space of your car. You slammed your hands on the steering wheel, barely containing the urge to scream. The crushing weight of bills, looming deadlines, and the crushing reality of your financial situation finally broke through your walls of composure. Tears sprang to your eyes, spilling over as you let the frustration and sadness flow freely.

The emotional release was almost too much to bear, and as the tears flowed, the inside of your car’s windows fogged up, the steamy haze blurring your vision. You cracked the windows slightly, hoping to let some of the oppressive heat and steam escape.

As the cool air started to seep in, you caught sight of Katsuki’s footprints on your windshield—evidence of the time he’d spent with his dogs on your dashboard, walking them around while you were driving. The sight of his footprint, a tangible reminder of his absence, made your heart ache even more.

The memory of him removing his footing while you had been driving around, convinced you’d seen a turtle on the side of the road, flashed through your mind.

Turns out it was a really moldy round rock and while you wanted to keep it, Katsuki made you leave the so-called “turtle,” which he’d dismissed as a weird rock, insisting it might be cursed and, “I don’t fuck with no spooky shit.” The thought of his spiky but playful protective nature contrasted sharply with the weight of your current situation.

Your mascara had bled and smeared, leaving dark streaks on your cheeks. You fumbled for tissues in the glove compartment—another thoughtful gift from Katsuki. With shaking hands, you dabbed at your face, trying to clean up the smudged makeup and regain some semblance of composure.

But fuck the tissues because you wanted Katuski to wipe your tears, not Puffs with lotion.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your work bag and keys from the passenger seat. Despite the fact that you had no classes tomorrow—a silver lining provided by Mrs. Yamada’s decision to cancel due to the pleasant weather—you felt an emotional heaviness. You forced yourself to get out of the car, each step toward the building feeling like a mile.

The elevator ride up to your floor was a quiet, solitary journey. You leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing and calm your racing thoughts. When the elevator doors finally opened, you walked down the hallway with heavy steps, each footfall echoing your exhaustion and frustration.

You reached your door and, with a tired sigh, unlocked it and stepped inside. The familiar, quiet space of your apartment was both a refuge and a reminder of everything you were trying to manage. The world outside was still bustling, but here, in this small sanctuary, you could finally let down your guard.

Letting out another deep breath as you took in the comforting but humble surroundings. Your mind wandered to the weekend ahead, hoping for some respite and relaxation despite everything else. For now, you allowed yourself a moment to just be, to acknowledge the fucked up situation you were in and space out before you would have to be an active adult again.

You slid down against the door, exhaustion making every movement feel labored. The cool, hard floor felt oddly comforting against your back as you contemplated the idea of slipping off your shoes and socks and crawling straight into bed. Your tired eyes were barely open when an unexpected, tantalizing scent wafted through the air, making you blink in confusion.

The smell was warm and inviting, reminiscent of the cozy autumn walks you take with Katsuki. The memory of him lifting you onto his shoulders while you collected pinecones, playfully biting your ankles when you took “too long” to pick out your favorites, made you smile through your tears. The scent brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but the question of who had been in your apartment and left it smelling so fresh and pleasant nagged at the back of your mind.

You pushed yourself up, the weariness making your movements slow and deliberate. As you wandered further into your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling of disbelief. Your living space, which had been cluttered and messy, was now impeccably clean, as if it had been professionally cleaned. The familiar scent of pine and a hint of something else filled the air, wrapping around you like a warm, fragrant embrace.

Shaking off the disorientation, you followed the delicious aroma to the kitchen. Your eyes widened as you saw a pot of rice and another pot of rich, spicy beef and vegetable stew cooling on the stove. The sight was almost surreal—your kitchen, which had been a chaotic mess just hours before, was now a haven of culinary comfort. The thought of someone cooking for you, despite your exhaustion, brought a mix of relief and confusion.

‘What the fuck?!’

You blinked once, twice, harshly, trying to process the scene before you. With a mixture of curiosity and wariness, you padded softly back to the living room, hoping to make sense of the situation. The only light on was the soft glow of the lamp in the bathroom, casting a warm, clean light across the hallway and into your living room. The air was still, save for the faint sound of shuffling coming from your bedroom.

Heart racing, you moved toward the sound, each step slow and cautious. The clean scent from the bathroom lingered, and you couldn’t help but notice how fresh and tidy it now seemed. You glanced back at the living room, which, in contrast to your earlier mess, now looked immaculate and inviting.

Heart pounding, you crept down the hallway, each step slow and deliberate. The freshly cleaned scent in the air did nothing to ease your anxiety. The apartment was spotless—too spotless. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Maybe Michael had come back early and done this as a surprise? Or maybe Shoto, Izuku, or Jirou had somehow managed to sneak in, tidy everything, and leave without telling you.

After all, only Michael, Kirishima, and Shoto or Izuku had keys to your place in case of emergencies.

But Katsuki? He was out of state. He wouldn’t be back for a while, and even if he had sent one of those cleaning services, they were always in and out in less than 30 minutes.

This... this wasn’t right.

Your gaze darted toward the door. The shuffling sound from your bedroom had stopped. Panic began to settle in, a rising tension that had you frozen on the spot. You considered calling for help, but your phone was still on the floor by your purse, forgotten in the rush of trying to figure out what was happening. You didn’t want to lose the element of surprise.

With a nervous breath, you reached for the flower vase sitting on the narrow hallway table. The roses inside were fresh, their deep crimson petals just beginning to open up. You mentally apologized to them as you dumped the flowers onto the floor, water splashing around the vase. Your hands moved swiftly, reaching inside for the TTI Glock 34 hidden beneath the stems. The cold metal felt heavier than usual in your hand, but you weren’t about to hesitate.

You weren’t going to die in your own apartment—not like this.

Holding your breath, you stalked closer to the bathroom. You could hear the faint echo of your heart beating in your ears. Quietly, with practiced precision, you closed the door behind you without letting it click, trapping the scent of cleanliness inside. There was no turning back now. The apartment had become unfamiliar, and whoever or whatever was in your room needed to be dealt with.

You crept toward the bedroom, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you got closer. The shifting sounds had stopped. Whoever it was, they were still inside. You crouched, gun in hand, every muscle tensed as you approached the door. Then, without warning, the door to your bedroom swung open with a loud

"BAM!"

The sound reverberated through the walls as darkness loomed before you. Instinct took over.

You fired two quick shots into the void, the deafening bangs ringing in your ears. The muzzle flashes lit up the shadows, revealing nothing but an empty room. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared into the stillness.

Silence.

"Fuck this!" you muttered under your breath, adrenaline kicking into high gear.

Without thinking twice, you bolted down the hallway. Your feet were heavy, thudding against the carpet as you ran, and the door to your apartment swung open behind you. You burst into the dimly lit hallway, the dingy orange carpet and faded yellow lighting never looking so welcoming. The familiar smell of old apartments and chipped paint wrapped around you as you sprinted toward the elevator.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your legs pumping as fast as they could. Most of your neighbors were either still at work or too old to have heard the gunshots, but there was no way you were sticking around to find out. You slapped the elevator button, glancing nervously back down the hallway.

You stood in front of the doors waiting, breathless and confused, waiting for the sound of footsteps or the telltale signs of someone chasing after you.

But… nothing.

The air was still, almost too still, and when you turned around, your heart pounding in your throat, you saw nothing. No one was following you. No shadowy figure, no intruder, no ominous movement at all.

Just you.

That rush of fear was starting to ebb away, replaced by an unsettling new sensation—doubt. Did you get them? The thought made your heart skip, but worse than that, another horrifying possibility crept in:

Did you kill someone?

Your stomach dropped as if you'd just fallen from a cliff. The idea of it—of accidentally shooting someone, maybe even someone who had no intention of hurting you—was almost too much to bear.

You pressed a shaky hand against the wall, your mind racing.

What would happen if it was true? What if you had killed someone in a panic? Your knees felt weak, and the edges of your vision blurred with panic.

‘What would happen to me? What would happen to Katsuki when they found out his girlfriend had killed someone? The girlfriend of the Number 2 Pro Hero, a murderer?’

‘What’s Katsuki gonna do?’

The thought sent a cold wave of nausea through you. You wanted to throw up right there in the hallway, but your stomach was so empty that all you could do was dry swallow, your mouth tasting like metal and dread. ‘What would the courts say? Would I go to jail? What would happen to Katsuki's career?’

Your thoughts spiraled, knotting together into an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

You swallowed hard, trying to force the rising panic back down. The hallway around you blurred for a second, the dim, dingy orange carpet now looking stained—like it was soaked in blood. You blinked hard, shaking your head.

It was just the light, just your mind playing tricks on you. You forced yourself to look away from the carpet, your eyes trailing back to your apartment door. It was still ajar, spilling the warm, pale hallway light into the void of your dark apartment. The contrast was jarring—the safe, slightly worn familiarity of the hallway outside clashing with the pitch-black uncertainty inside your home.

Your home.

You pressed your back against the wall, trying to steady yourself. ‘You couldn’t leave this unfinished. If you did accidentally kill someone, you’d have to take responsibility. You had to know.’ And if it was an intruder, then, well... that was another layer of mess you'd have to deal with.

But God, you were so done.

The exhaustion from the double shifts, the lack of sleep, the unpaid bills—it all weighed you down, made your legs feel like lead as you slowly moved forward. Maybe that's why you found yourself inching toward your open door instead of running away.

Maybe that's why, instead of thinking clearly, you fumbled with your purse, your fingers shaking as you dug through it to find your phone. Instead of flicking on the light switch by the door, you opened the flashlight app, shining its weak beam into the suffocating darkness of your apartment.

The soft glow from your phone barely penetrated the void, but it was enough to make out familiar shapes—the edge of your coffee table, the corner of the couch, the faint outline of your kitchen down the hall. It almost looked normal. Almost. But something was wrong. You could feel it in your bones.

And then you felt it.

Before you could even process what was happening, something hot and large clamped down around your arm. A flash of pure, raw panic shot through you, freezing your blood in your veins. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you barely had time to let out a sharp, breathless gasp before another hand—bigger, stronger—covered your mouth, smothering any scream you could’ve made.

The force of it drove you backward, your body colliding with the floor as the figure pulled you into the apartment. The scent of clean linen and something warmer filled your senses, overpowering everything else. You thrashed instinctively, your pulse roaring in your ears, but the grip on you didn’t falter.

The hand around your mouth tightened, silencing you even as you tried to cry out.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t see anything except the faint glow of your phone, now flickering as it dropped from your hands onto the floor. Your gun—’Where the hell was your gun?!’

It was smacked outta your hand when the figure grabbed you, and now, it was probably somewhere in the apartment, out of reach.

“Stop fuckin’ squirming,” a low voice growled against your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

The voice was familiar—so achingly familiar that your panic began to wane just enough for recognition to slip through the fog of fear. The heat of his breath, the roughness of his palm, the way his body radiated warmth even through the tension. You blinked hard, gasping into the hand that covered your mouth, your mind racing to catch up.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was muffled, barely audible against his skin.

His grip loosened a fraction, his palm sliding off your mouth just enough for you to catch a real breath. You gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to process everything.

The fear, the relief, the utter confusion.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough and low. He didn’t release you right away, keeping you firmly against him, his hot breath still brushing against your ear. "The hell were you thinking? Firing like that in the dark? You could’ve fuckin’ shot me!"

You slumped against him, half in shock, half in frustration. Your heart was still pounding, your limbs still trembling, but the flood of relief that came with recognizing his voice nearly brought you to tears. He was here. He wasn’t supposed to be, but he was.

“I didn’t know it was you,” you rasped, your voice shaky as you fought to steady your breathing. “Why the hell are you sneaking around my apartment?! I thought I was gonna die!”

Katsuki’s deadpan expression barely shifted as he lifted you up and unceremoniously dropped you onto the sofa. The cushions sighed under your weight, but before you could even adjust yourself, he was already stalking across the room.

His broad back was tense, and the muscles of his arms flexed beneath his shirt as he moved with precision, a wolf-like focus in the way he carried himself.

"Okay, let’s start with this," he began, his tone rough and low, his eyes flickering briefly over his shoulder at you. “I'm glad you can defend yourself. If I was some regular asshole, I'd be dead for sure.”

You blinked at him, still in disbelief, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your heart was still pounding, your body still reeling from the shock, and yet here he was, as calm as ever. He flipped on the hallway light with a casual flick, casting a soft glow over the apartment.

“Stay,” he huffed, his voice gruff, as if you were some unruly puppy he needed to wrangle.

He moved toward the dining area, and you turned your head to follow his movements. You watched as his calloused fingers picked up your steel piece—your gun—from where it had fallen, handling it with ease.

There was no hesitation in the way he moved, no sign of the earlier chaos as he handled the weapon. It was like he had done this a thousand times before, like the situation was perfectly normal for him.

You craned your neck a little more, catching sight of him as he knelt to collect the discarded roses from the hallway floor. He carefully placed your gun back into the vase where you had originally stashed it, as if putting everything back in its proper order, like nothing had happened. His shadow moved fluidly across the walls as he did so, and the tension in the air didn’t lessen—if anything, it deepened.

And then, he turned back toward you, his face unreadable, but those vermillion eyes—God, those eyes—locked onto yours like a predator zeroing in on its prey. He didn’t say a word, not yet, but the intensity of his gaze was enough to make your breath hitch.

The soft glow of the hallway light outlined his figure, casting sharp shadows on his jawline, the dim illumination making him look both softer and somehow more dangerous at the same time.

He stalked back over to you, each step deliberate, never once breaking eye contact. His eyes bored into yours, and you felt as though he could see through every layer of your confusion, your fear, and your relief. You tried to smile, to break the tension, but it felt weak under his unrelenting stare.

Katsuki finally stopped in front of you, his steps coming to a halt as he sat down on the coffee table across from you. The wood creaked slightly under his weight, but he didn’t seem to care. He spread his legs a little, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning forward slightly, his powerful body now looming closer, radiating heat and energy.

He was dressed down tonight—just a black skull t-shirt that clung to his frame and a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

Casual, relaxed, almost like he had been home for a quiet night in. Yet here he was, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He had this way of making everything else disappear when he focused on you like that, making your breath catch in your throat.

He sat there, silent, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. His back was slightly hunched as he leaned forward, making him look even more intense. His face was unreadable, and yet there was an edge to it—something simmering just below the surface, just beneath those sharp, vermillion eyes that hadn’t left yours for a second.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa under the weight of his gaze. “Uh, hey babe?” you said, your voice weak, barely above a whisper. You tried to giggle, to play it off like you weren’t utterly rattled, but the sound died awkwardly in your throat.

Katsuki didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on you, not even a flicker of amusement crossing his face. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, the muscle there clenching slightly.

He wasn’t buying it.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say or do next. The silence between you stretched out, heavy and oppressive, like a thick fog settling in the room. The only sound was the faint hum of the hallway light and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

For what felt like an eternity, you just sat there—him staring at you like you’d just committed the ultimate offense, and you shrinking under the weight of it. His gaze didn’t waver, not even once, and you could feel the intensity of his thoughts even if he wasn’t saying a word.

Your hands fidgeted in your lap, fingers twisting together as the nerves bubbled up inside you.

“Katsuki, I—” you started, but the words trailed off, your voice faltering under the scrutiny.

Katuski considers you carefully for a moment, just a moment. Before slowly rising from his spot on the coffee table and making his way to the kitchen, flicking the light on, and you hear the opening of your cabinets and your favorite mug being taken out before your tap is run. Katsuki returns, makes his way to your dining room to also turn on the lights and then to your front door that he locks before also turning on the lights.

Then, he finally makes his way back to you and hands you the mug that you accept with both hands and he doesn’t let go until you take three small sips at first and he sets himself back down in front of you. It’s not until your fifth sip that you realize he turned on all the lights so you could feel exposed and vulnerable under his stare. You almost choke on that, but hold it down in favor of meeting your boyfriend's gaze again.

He finally spoke, his voice low and measured, but there was a tightness there, like he was barely holding back. “What the fuck was that, huh?” His eyes narrowed slightly, the air around him crackling with restrained emotion. “You really think lying to me was a good idea?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Lying? You blinked, confusion mixing with the remnants of panic, but you didn’t get a chance to speak before Katsuki leaned in closer, his face now hovering just inches from yours. The intensity of his gaze didn’t falter, those sharp vermillion eyes pinning you in place.

“Let’s not pretend,” he said, his voice dripping with a strange, unsettling calm. “You think I didn’t notice? That I couldn’t tell?” His lips curled into a smirk, but there was nothing playful about it. The way his eyes glinted, the way the tension in his jaw flexed—it was something far more dangerous.

“When did—” you started, but Katsuki cut you off, his tone sharp as a blade.

“When did I get back?” he asked, already knowing where your mind had gone. His smile widened, and the expression twisted something deep in your gut. His canines flashed, sharp and predatory, as the smirk grew into something almost menacing. “Right after you hung up the phone with me.”

Your stomach dropped. He heard? You should have known better. The way you’d tried to sound fine, the excuses you made about not being able to eat, the way your voice had shaken when you’d reassured him you were ‘doing great’—he hadn’t bought any of it. He’d come home right early, and he’d known.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued, “And you wanna know what I saw the second I walked in? You. Not taking care of yourself.”

“Again.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your mind raced back to everything over the last few days—the lack of sleep, barely eating, pushing yourself to the point of collapse. You thought you could hide it. But Katsuki wasn’t fooled. He never was.

“You lied to me,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Told me you were fine, that you were ‘handling things.’” He chuckled darkly, his smile stretching wider.

“Look at you. Does this look like ‘fine’ to you?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, as the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to form an excuse, something to explain yourself, but the words wouldn’t come.

Katsuki’s gaze hardened, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as if he were preparing for the final verdict.

“I trusted you to take care of yourself while I was gone, and what do you do? You starve yourself. You don’t sleep. You get so out of it you nearly put a bullet through your own damn apartment. All while telling me everything’s ‘great.’”

You could hear the frustration lacing his words now, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. But there was something else—something deeper, more raw, hiding in the way his voice shook ever so slightly when he said the word trusted.

"I tried—" you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but it felt so hollow even to your own ears. Katsuki wasn’t having it.

“Tried?” His voice cracked with a dangerous laugh, one that sent chills down your spine. “You tried? No, you didn’t ‘try.’ You hid from me. You lied because you thought you could handle everything on your own.”

He leaned forward again, the smile never fading, but this time it was sharper, darker, the full display of his teeth and sharp canines making him look almost feral. His red eyes widened slightly as he stared down at you, and there was an unsettling gleam in them now, something wild and untamed.

“But you can’t, can you?” he continued, his voice almost a mockery of sweetness. “You can’t take care of yourself. So guess what?” He leaned in close, so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. “I’m doing it for you.”

Your heart lurched in your chest as his words sank in. There was something terrifying about the calmness in his tone, the way he spoke as if it was a simple fact, something decided without question.

“You’re not eating? I’ll make sure you eat. You’re not sleeping? Don’t worry, I’ll fix that too.” His smile grew wider, more sinister, as if he were enjoying the thought of it. His sharp canines glinted under the light, and it felt like you were staring into the eyes of a predator.

The intensity of his gaze was suffocating, his red eyes burning into yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His presence was overwhelming, his words wrapping around you like chains, trapping you in the reality of what was happening.

Katsuki’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it was no less terrifying. “From now on, you don’t get to make that call. You don’t get to decide when you’re ‘fine’ or when you need help. I do.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to find the right words, the right explanation, but there was nothing that would make this better. You had lied. You had pushed yourself too far, and now you were facing the consequences. But Katsuki wasn’t just angry. He was something else—something scarier.

He reached out, cupping your face gently with one large, calloused hand, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. But the look in his eyes, the smile still pulling at his lips, made the gesture feel anything but comforting. He hooks his other palm on the underside of your calve and squeezes it twice.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered, his voice soft but deadly serious. “Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. Understand?” Katsuki dips his face lower, closer to yours as his pupils bore into your own.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your chest tight with fear and guilt. Katsuki’s thumb traced your jawline, his touch deceptively gentle, but the look in his eyes was unrelenting.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his smile finally fading, replaced with that hard, determined expression you knew all too well. He stood up slowly, towering over you, and as he did, the weight of his presence pressed down on you like a storm.

He wasn’t giving you a choice.

And you knew there was no fighting him. Not when he was like this.

Katsuki stood over you, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached for the mug in your hand. His fingers brushed yours, and before you could protest, he gently tugged it from your grasp, tilting the cup toward your lips. The cold refreshing liquid hit your tongue, and you blinked in surprise, forced to drink it all at his pace. His gaze was steady, unyielding, as if this small act of making sure you finished the drink was a matter of life and death.

There was no room for resistance.

"All of it," he muttered, and you obeyed, the warmth of the drink doing little to soothe the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach.

Once you drained the last of the mug, Katsuki set it aside with a soft clink and guided you to your feet. His grip was firm but not rough, the warmth of his palm grounding you as he led you through the bright apartment.

The light filtering through the bulbs was harsh compared to the dark tension that had settled between you two. Your heart pounded in your chest as you followed, your mind still trying to process everything that had just happened.

When he brought you to the bathroom, you turned to shoo him out. “I can handle this part,” you muttered, half-heartedly trying to get some semblance of control back. But Katsuki remained solid as a wall, unmoving, his eyes fixed on you. One eyebrow arched in that sharp, expectant way of his, and you knew you had no choice.

With a resigned sigh, you began stripping down, feeling the weight of his gaze linger, even though he wasn't watching you like that. His focus was intense, like he was making sure you didn’t skip a single step.

Katsuki stepped forward and locked the door behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the small, tiled space. The air between you thickened as he moved to turn on the water in your freshly cleaned shower, the spray sputtering to life.

Steam rose, filling the room, curling into the corners like a mist creeping through your thoughts. He tested the water with his hand, adjusting the temperature before turning to you, his eyes softer now, but no less serious.

“Get in,” he said, the command laced with care. His hand hovered near your elbow, ready to steady you as you stepped into the tub. You felt small under his watchful eye, but also cared for in a way that made your throat tighten.

Once you were safely under the warm spray, Katsuki turned away slightly, giving you some space, though he stayed close. He wasn’t leaving. Not until he was satisfied. You stood there for a moment, feeling the water cascade over your body, washing away the grime and exhaustion that clung to your skin.

You knew you had about five minutes before he turned back around, so you hurried, scrubbing yourself down with more effort than usual.

It wasn’t long before he came back, his eyes flicking over you with a critical, almost soft look. Satisfied with your effort, Katsuki reached for the showerhead and rinsed you off himself, his hands guiding the water over your skin. He was gentle, methodical, like he was handling something precious.

And in his eyes, that’s exactly what you are.

After rinsing you clean, Katsuki gestured for you to sit down in the tub. The air was thick with the scent of soap and steam, but beneath it all was the tension that neither of you had fully addressed. As you lowered yourself into the bubbles that Katsuki had added, you felt your face flush at the intimacy of it all.

“Ya know,” he began, his voice rough but laced with something deeper, “when I got home early, I was happy.”

You looked up at him, blinking away the water droplets clinging to your lashes. His back was to you as he rummaged through the cabinet, but there was a weight in his words that made your chest tighten. Happy? You hadn’t expected that, not after the way things had spiraled today.

“Kirishima already went up to surprise your little friend,” he continued, his voice casual but still laced with that undeniable edge of possessiveness.

He found a bottle of your favorite bath oil and added a few drops to the water, the subtle scent filling the room. Katsuki always had a way of paying attention to details like that. Things you didn’t even think he noticed.

“So it was just gonna be me and you this weekend. Me and my girlfriend.”

The way he said my girlfriend made your pulse quicken. There was something about the way Katsuki spoke when it came to you, the way he claimed the words, made them his own. It was possessive, sure, but not in the suffocating way.

It was like he was reminding you that you were his priority, even when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

He finally turned back to you, kneeling by the tub so that his eyes were level with yours. The light in the room flickered, casting shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more intense. His vermilion eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“So it was gonna be me and you,” he repeated, his voice quieter now but no less serious. “But instead, I come home to find you falling apart.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing over the wet strands of your hair, pushing them back from your face. The gesture was soft, but there was a weight behind it.

“What the hell, babe? You can’t even take care of yourself while I’m gone?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to explain, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

Katsuki’s hands were firm but gentle as he lathered your hair with shampoo, his fingers working through your scalp in deep, circular motions.

The pressure was so perfect that your eyes fluttered shut, a low hum escaping your throat as your body relaxed into the bath. It was embarrassing how good it felt, how every stroke of his fingers seemed to melt away the exhaustion clinging to your bones.

You could barely keep your head up, and just as your eyes threatened to roll back in your head, Katsuki splashed water at your face, jolting you back to reality.

“Oi, don’t go passing out on me just yet,” he muttered, though there was a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted behind you, grabbing the showerhead to rinse out the soap, the warm water cascading down your back as he continued his work. The rhythmic sound of water filled the space, a stark contrast to the gruffness in his voice.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pounce on your ass the second you walked back into the apartment, lookin’ all messed up like that,” Katsuki grumbled, his hands sliding down your shoulders to scrub your back.

His fingers traced the curve of your spine, his touch lingering as he was refamiliarizing himself with every dip and curve.

“You think I like seein’ you like this? All run-down and weak? You’ve got more in you than this.”

Katsuki paused, his hand hovering over your shoulder, and you could feel the weight of his stare even though you weren’t looking at him. “I just want you to be healthy. To take care of yourself the way I know you can.”

His hand moved down, scrubbing your arms with the washcloth, his roughness tempered by the care behind every stroke. “I get it, life’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but you don’t get to fall apart like this. Not when I’m around to make sure you’re good.”

His words were gruff, but there was something softer beneath the surface—a quiet worry that he’d never fully admit to. Katsuki rinsed you off, the soap sliding down your body as he worked, his attention never wavering.

As he moved to scrub your legs, his touch slowed for just a moment.

“You’re tough,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand brushing along the curve of your thigh. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta do everything on your own. I’m here, alright?”

He rinsed you one last time, his hand lingering at the small of your back as if anchoring you to the moment.

“And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easy,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You owe me for not jumping your ass the second I saw you. But first, we’re gonna get you back to being you again.”

Your heart pounded, a mix of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest. Katsuki wasn’t asking for permission. He was telling you. And part of you was relieved that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.

“No excuses,” he muttered, his fingers trailing down to tilt your chin up so you couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed against your lips, lingering there for a moment. “You don’t get to lie to me about this anymore.”

His gaze softened, but the intensity of his words remained. “I’m gonna make sure you’re alright. Even if that means watching over you every damn second.”

You nodded, the movement small, but Katsuki saw it. His hand dropped from your chin, and he leaned back, standing up to his full height as he grabbed a towel from the rack.

“Good,” he said, his voice softer now. He draped the towel over his shoulder and held out his hand to help you out of the tub. The air was cool against your skin as you stepped out the tub, his touch lingering on your shoulders as he pulled you close. The weight of the day seemed to melt away in that moment, leaving just the two of you standing there in the quiet.

Katsuki is rough around the edges, sure. But when it came to you, there was no doubt—he’d take care of you, fuck everyone else.

Katsuki wrapped the fluffy towel around your body, still warm and soft from the dryer. You nuzzled into it, relishing the feeling of warmth against your skin, the scent of fresh laundry lingering in the air. His chuckle was low, almost rumbling through his chest as he set you gently on the bath mat.

"Wait here," he said, his voice firm yet filled with that protective edge you’d grown so used to. You sat obediently, the towel cocooning you in its comforting warmth as Katsuki disappeared briefly.

When he returned, he carried a chair from the dinning and placed it in front of the bathroom mirror. He motioned for you to sit, and you did so without protest. The exhaustion still clung to you, but the care he was giving made it easier to just lean into his routine. You felt his fingers work through your damp hair with gentle precision as he sectioned it off to braid.

The motions were firm but soft, practiced as if he had done this countless times before. You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax under his touch as he skillfully wove your hair into two simple, neat braids.

“There,” he murmured, wrapping a towel around the ends to help them dry. “That should do for now.” He gave you a brief once-over, satisfied with his work.

Next, Katsuki grabbed a toothbrush and came back toward you, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto it. Before you could protest or joke, he pressed the brush gently against your lips, and you reluctantly opened your mouth.

As he began brushing, your lips curled in a playful pout, and you made an attempt to nip his fingers with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Katsuki’s reaction was immediate, pulling back just slightly before leaning in close, his face inches from yours, eyes glinting with amusement.

“You really want me to bite you, huh?” he teased, voice low as his breath brushed your skin. You pouted but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping in. Slowly, you nodded, biting your lower lip. He smirked at your response, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin between your neck and shoulder, just enough pressure to make you shiver.

Your breath hitched as you squeezed him, wrapping your arms around his waist, but the sound that almost escaped you was quickly stifled as you pulled back, burying your face into the towel.

Katsuki chuckled darkly, clearly pleased with himself. "Behave," he muttered, finishing with your teeth. He handed you the mouthwash next. “Rinse,” he instructed, his eyes following your every move. You swished the cool liquid around before spitting it out, feeling oddly refreshed.

Once that was done, he moved on to the next part of his routine—your skincare. His touch was methodical as he washed your face, scrubbing gently and making sure every inch of your skin was properly cared for.

You could feel the cool cleanser on your cheeks as he worked, and there was something oddly intimate about the way he treated each step like it was second nature.

“No more mascara,” Katsuki said, narrowing his eyes as he gently dabbed a soft towel against your skin. “I want you to keep those damn lashes.”

You giggled at his comment, catching his eye in the mirror. “Hitoshi says we’re the only ones who make insomnia look sexy,” you teased.

“Don’t take compliments from a guy who needs a bag check for his fuckin’ eyes.”

You snorted, while Katsuki was rolling his eyes. “That idiot looked like death last mission. He and Denki passed out under the table like a couple of idiots,” he said, shaking his head.

“We should to check in on them—”

He interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “We can check on them tomorrow.”

His gaze shifted, locking onto yours with a possessive glint that made your stomach flutter. “You’re all mine this weekend. Those extras can wait.”

You blushed, your face softening as the weight of his words settled over you. The tenderness beneath his rough exterior always caught you off guard, especially when he showed it in moments like these. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, and for once, it wasn’t just because of the cozy towel wrapped around you.

Katsuki reached into the drawer, grabbing your favorite lip oil with a casual confidence, but his movements slowed with deliberate care as he traced the line of your cupid's bow, filling in your lips with precise strokes.

You felt the cool glide of the oil over your lips, the faint scent of vanilla filling the air between you. Watching him concentrate so intensely on such a delicate task brought a smile to your face.

“I can remember the last time you did something like this~”

you teased, the sing-song lilt in your voice light, playful. His reaction was immediate—his sharp vermillion eyes snapped back to yours, but his reddening ears gave him away. For all his confidence, a comment like that still managed to fluster him. The slight color spreading across his face would’ve been easy to miss if you hadn’t been watching him so closely.

His scowl deepened, and he growled, “So you wanna get your ass knocked out or what?”

You giggled, placing one hand on his solid shoulder, your fingers brushing against the heat radiating from his skin. Then, with a grin, you pressed the crown of your head into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

“Nooo, I’m just so happy you’re here!” Your voice was soft, genuine, the relief and joy of his presence making you melt into the moment.

Katsuki’s tension ebbed as he rolled his eyes, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He let your teasing slide, his usual gruffness tempered by the tenderness he rarely let anyone else see.

Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, his strength effortless as he held you close to his chest. You clung to him, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, his heartbeat steady under your palm.

‘God, I love your heartbeat.’

As he carried you through the apartment, Katsuki flicked off the lights with a casual swipe of his hand, the darkness closing in behind you both. When you entered your room, you were greeted with the fresh, clean scent of laundry detergent and something distinctly Katsuki.

You blinked in surprise, realizing just how spotless everything was.

The bed was made, your clothes folded, and the air felt lighter, even though your mirror—still cracked from earlier—reflected back the remnants of your impulsive outburst. The shards of glass had already been swept and vacuumed away, leaving no trace of the mess.

Before you could comment, Katsuki threw you onto the bed, your body bouncing lightly against the plush comforter. “Hey!” you protested, mock indignation coloring your voice as you propped yourself up on your elbows, glaring at him.

He just smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re asking for it.” You narrowed your eyes, grabbing one of your stuffed animals—a soft, well-loved bunny—and held it up like a threat. “I’ll throw all my stuffed animals at you, Katsuki, don’t test me.”

But the playful moment quickly shifted, his expression darkening with a predatory edge. His eyes gleamed as he climbed onto the bed with slow, deliberate movements, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight as he stalked toward you, inch by inch, like a wild animal sizing up its prey. The air between you thickened, electric, and your breath caught in your throat.

"You really wanna do that, sweetheart?" His voice was low, dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze flickered briefly to the stuffed bunny in your hand before it snapped back to your face. "When you know how I feel about your 'babies'?" The way he drawled out the word—"babies"—made heat coil low in your stomach, your body responding involuntarily to the tension in the air.

Your grip on the bunny loosened, and without thinking, you let it drop from your hand. It tumbled onto the bed with a soft thud, forgotten, as you instinctively wrapped yourself tighter in the towel, your pulse quickening.

Katsuki’s smirk widened at your silence, his voice a low rumble as he teased, “What, no answer for me?” He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, turning his ear toward you as if daring you to speak.

Instead of words, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the shell of his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Katsuki chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He tugged at the edge of your towel with one finger, pulling it down just enough to expose your neck, your pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin. His lips descended, pressing a hot, firm kiss against the sensitive spot just above your collarbone, his breath hot as he whispered against your skin,

“Good choice.”

Your breath hitched, your body shivering as you leaned into his touch, his kiss lingering like a brand against your flesh. The air around you was thick with unspoken words, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the warmth of his presence, the safety and intensity that only Katsuki could bring.

Katsuki’s hands reached for the hem of his skull-printed shirt, fingers curling as he lifted it over his head. The muscles in his arms and chest flexed with the movement, every line of his sculpted frame rippling with controlled power. He didn’t bother tossing it aside like he normally would. Instead, he draped it over you, lowering it onto your head before helping you slip your arms through the sleeves.

You smiled softly as the worn fabric slid down your body, the familiar scent of Katsuki surrounding you like a comforting embrace. His shirt was huge on you, the edges brushing just past your thighs, the warmth of it melding with the heat radiating from him.

You shifted beneath him, looking up as he hovered over you, his palms bracing on either side of your head. The proximity made your heart race, the weight of his gaze sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. Katsuki’s sharp eyes softened for just a second, the intensity still present but tempered with something warmer, more intimate.

He didn’t say anything as you wrapped your arms around his strong back, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your fingers.

“Come here,” you murmured, giving him a gentle tap between his shoulder blades.

Without hesitation, Katsuki let himself drop, all the glorious warmth of his body pressing against you in a slow, controlled descent. The heavy weight of his chest flattened against yours, and you sighed in contentment, the closeness making you feel grounded.

Katsuki’s body, normally so explosive and full of barely contained energy, was now soft and pliant against you, like he was giving you the privilege of feeling his full, unfiltered presence.

Your hands naturally found their way to his spiky blonde hair, fingers threading through the surprisingly soft strands. For all the sharpness of his exterior, Katsuki’s hair was softer than most people knew—something only a select few had the privilege to experience. He guarded his personal space like a fortress, and it took time for him to let his guard down around anyone, let alone like this.

But with you, it was different. He was different.

He was your fussy Pomeranian—prickly to everyone else, but with a soft, loyal core.

You gently massaged his scalp, your nails scraping lightly against his skin as you worked through the spiked chaos of his hair. You could feel him relax, his tense shoulders loosening as he melted further into you, letting out a low grunt of approval. The sound was almost primal, a rumbling that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

You were so caught up in the moment, fingers tracing the line of his neck and combing through his hair, that you almost missed the sudden burst of air against your shoulder. It wasn’t until you felt the wet tickle of his lips blowing a raspberry into your skin that you realized he was trying to get your attention.

“What the—Katsuki!” you squealed, laughing as the sound reverberated through your skin. He smirked against your shoulder, clearly pleased with himself.

He lifted his head slightly, his red eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. “You listening now, or do I gotta do it again?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was that familiar edge of dominance underneath it all.

You huffed in mock annoyance, rolling your eyes before looking up at him. “What were you saying, genius?”

Katsuki grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching as he lowered himself again, letting his breath fan against your ear. “I said you’re lucky, you know that?” His voice was softer now, but it still held that commanding tone that sent a spark of heat through your chest.

“Lucky I didn’t pounce on you the second I got back.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with implication, and your breath hitched as you met his gaze. The raw intensity in his eyes, that feral spark you loved so much, was back. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little breathless. “Yeah? And why didn’t you?”

His grin widened as he pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping even lower. “Because I’m not an idiot. I could see you weren’t takin’ care of yourself. And I ain’t about to let my girl fall apart while I’m gone.”

You blinked, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you, though his words held a stern undertone. He shifted slightly, his weight pressing more firmly against you as his hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of his shirt. The touch was possessive but careful, like he was reminding you who was in charge of your well-being now.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but sometimes, you get stressed and forget.” His hands stilled, resting on your waist. “So I’m gonna do it for you.”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Katsuki, in his own gruff way, always knew exactly what you needed. And it wouldn’t even admit it outright, he cared more than anyone you’d ever known.

You felt your hands tighten in his hair again, tugging gently as you let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a mix of affection and guilt. You knew you hadn’t been taking care of yourself lately, but hearing him say it hit differently. It made you realize just how much he’d noticed, how much he’d been keeping track, even when he wasn’t around.

Katsuki didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he shifted his weight, lifting his head to look down at you again, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, well... just don’t make me come home to that shit again, got it?” His voice was still gruff, but there was an undeniable warmth in his tone.

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. He didn’t need to say it outright, but you knew—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not when it came to you.

Without another word, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and you let yourself relax under the weight of his body, feeling safe, loved, and cared for.

The two of you lay there in a soft, comfortable silence, the weight of Katsuki’s warm body settled against yours, his steady breath fanning over your skin.

His arms, strong yet gentle, stayed wrapped around your waist as if anchoring himself to you. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the sheets and the subtle creaking of the bed beneath your weight. You were about to close your eyes, savoring the moment, when you felt a slight flutter against your neck. His long eyelashes were brushing against your skin, tickling you softly.

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. "Katsuki, you alright?"

A muffled, "Yeah," came from him, his voice low and slightly hoarse as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. But something in the way he said it made you pause. His head shifted, settling over your boob (chest), right where your heart was. The sensation of his ear pressing against your heartbeat sent a wave of warmth and electricity rushing through you. Your soul felt like it was lighting up, a familiar connection between you two sparking alive.

Katsuki reached for your hand, his calloused fingers weaving through yours with a gentleness that contrasted his usual roughness. He lifted your intertwined hands and pressed them over his own heart, resting them there. The sensation, the intimacy of the moment, sent a tingle through your entire body, filling you with an overwhelming sense of love and connection. It was rare for Katsuki to be this tender, to show you this vulnerable side of himself.

And yet, as you lay there, your heartbeats in sync, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

A soft, involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you looked down at him. You could feel the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm, steady and strong, and you were certain he could feel yours, too. The electric charge between you wasn’t just emotional; it felt physical, like your very essence was reaching out to him, and he to you. Katsuki, usually so tough and guarded, was here in your arms, sharing this tender moment.

But as you lay there, soaking in the warmth of the moment, something shifted. Katsuki stiffened slightly in your arms, his body going rigid against yours. You could feel his breath hitch, and when you looked down, you saw the confusion in his eyes, the way they glistened with unshed tears. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked completely lost, almost scared.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice laced with concern as you felt him tense even further. A flicker of panic shot through you. You knew how hard it was for Katsuki to express his emotions, and seeing him like this, vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down, tugged at something deep inside of you.

"Are you having those pains again? Is it your chest?!"

Katsuki shook his head quickly, but his face contorted, and he let out a sharp sniff, his breaths coming faster. His fingers squeezed yours, his grip tightening as his other arm wrapped around your waist with almost a desperate strength.

You could feel the heat rising off his skin, his body suddenly clammy as if he were in a battle. His muscles tensed and flexed, his jaw clenched as he tried to fight whatever emotions were threatening to spill out.

"'S alright," he mumbled into your chest, but you could hear the tremble in his voice, the way it cracked as if he were holding something back. He buried his face deeper against you, curling into your body as though trying to shield himself from the storm brewing inside him.

"No, 'S not alright," you countered softly, your hand moving to rub slow, calming circles over his sweaty back. "Come on, Katsu, you know you can tell me."

You felt his heart pounding harder against your hand, the frantic rhythm echoing through your palm. His breath hitched again, and you instinctively shifted, running your fingers through his hair to calm him. Your other hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing the tension out of his tight muscles as his breaths came in shallow gasps.

Katsuki’s palms, usually dry and strong, grew slick with sweat, and you could feel his hands trembling as they gripped yours. He sniffed again, louder this time, his body shuddering as he tried to regain control. Several deep, shaky breaths followed, but he didn’t pull away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head. His red eyes were rimmed with unshed tears, his lashes wet as he blinked them away. He sat up slowly, pulling himself out of your embrace, though he still held onto your hand like a lifeline. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his gaze distant as if he were trying to sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You reached up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “Baby, talk to me, please.”

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to find his voice. When he finally spoke, his words were soft, raw. “I dunno... I just—” He paused, his jaw clenched as he looked down at your hand still resting over his heart. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable and confused. Katsuki wasn’t used to feeling things this deeply, wasn’t used to letting anyone in like this. But here he was, breaking down in front of you, and all you wanted to do was hold him together.

You scooted closer, sitting up and pressing your forehead against his. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Katsu,” you whispered, your voice soothing as you cupped his face in your hands. “You’re just... feeling things. It’s okay.”

Katsuki closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he leaned into your touch. “I don’t like it,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I don’t like not... not being able to control it.”

You kissed his forehead softly, letting your lips linger there for a moment before pulling back. “You don’t always have to be in control. It’s okay to let go sometimes.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just sat there with his eyes closed, his breathing slowly evening out as he let your words sink in. When he finally opened his eyes again, they were still glassy, but the panic had faded, replaced by a quiet resolve. He looked at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t... I don’t wanna lose it.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you pressed another gentle kiss to his cheek. “You won’t lose it, Katsuki. I’m here.”

Katsuki’s hand tightened around yours as he pulled back slightly, taking in a deep, steadying breath before speaking again. His eyes, still a little glassy but full of determination, met yours with a quiet intensity. “I didn’t want to be away from you,” he started, his voice soft but firm. “Even if work’s important... to me, you’re more important.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that his work as a hero mattered, that it saved lives, but the look he gave you made you stop short. His gaze softened as it met yours, a silent plea for understanding. And instead of fighting back, you took his rough, calloused hands in yours, bringing them to your lips and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. Then, with a small smile, you pressed his hands gently to your cheeks, letting him feel the warmth there, the quiet affection you had for him.

“I’m with you,” you whispered, and those simple words seemed to ease the tension in his body. He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling heavily before he continued.

“I get it,” he said, his voice a little stronger now. “Why you’re always trying to be so independent. You’ve got your own life, your own goals, and I want to respect that.” His thumb gently brushed against your cheek as he spoke, as though grounding himself with your touch.

“But I can’t... I can’t just sit by and watch you not take care of yourself. Sometimes... I feel like it’s my job to make sure you’re okay, ‘cause I... I love you.”

His voice cracked on those last words, and you saw the raw emotion flicker in his eyes. Katsuki wasn’t used to being vulnerable like this, to letting people see the softer side of him. But he was here, laying it all bare in front of you. You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity, the fear that maybe you didn’t need him as much as he needed you. It tugged at something deep inside you.

“I love you, and I want to take care of you,” he went on, his grip on your hands tightening as if he were afraid to let go. “I wanna protect you, keep you safe, even when you don’t think you need it. It’s... it’s who I am. And I’m not gonna apologize for it.”

Your heart swelled with affection, and you moved your hands over his arms, gently rubbing along the firm, tense muscles as you tried to soothe him. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the faint tremble in his shoulders as he kept talking, the weight of his emotions finally spilling out.

“I just...” Katsuki paused, his voice faltering for a moment as he swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat at bay. “This time away from you... it made me realize a lot. How much I love you, how much I need you around. I can’t stand it when I’m not with you, even if it’s just for a few days.” He let out a small, almost bitter chuckle. “You probably think it’s stupid, huh?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head as you continued to run your hands over his arms, feeling the tension slowly melt away under your touch. “It’s not stupid,” you whispered. “I missed you too.”

Katsuki’s eyes flickered with relief, but there was still a hint of frustration lingering in his expression. “But you... you don’t take care of yourself, not the way you should,” he said, his voice more serious now. “You always look after everyone else—hell, you make sure everyone’s okay, but you don’t do the same for yourself. It drives me crazy.”

You gave him a playful smile, trying to lighten the mood just a little. “You can’t keep an eye on me all the time, Katsu.”

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “That’s the problem. I can’t. And you don’t make a habit of neglecting yourself, but when you do... you’re a hypocrite. You’ll run yourself into the ground to help everyone else, but then act like you don’t need anyone to do the same for you.”

You wanna stick your tongue out at him but knowing Katsuki, he’d make you regret that all night long.

Katsuki’s intense gaze lingered, tracing every inch of you with a sharp, possessive look that made your heart race. His eyes moved from the top of your head, down the gentle curve of your neck, over the way his oversized skull shirt bunched up on your thighs, and down to your toes.

You could feel the weight of his stare, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, it seemed like the air between you thickened with tension.

Then he blinked, and it was like a fog lifting. He shifted, reaching into the deep pockets of his sweatpants with a small grunt. “I wanted to do this ‘right,’ ya know,” he muttered, almost to himself, but the words were laced with that familiar gruffness. His fingers fiddled with something in his pocket, his focus still mostly on you.

“Spent weeks with those dumbasses—picking out flowers, going through all these fancy restaurants, trying to get the perfect gift. Because you’re my girl, and I only get the best for you.”

His voice was low, raspy, and the way his eyes softened briefly before trailing down to your legs made your breath catch. His hand, rough and warm, ghosted over your ankle as if testing the waters before his grip tightened, just enough to pull you slightly closer with a small, teasing tug.

The movement startled you, and you yelped, instinctively wrapping the towel tighter around your waist as you scrambled upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. Katsuki’s laughter rumbled through the room, deep and genuine, the sound like warm honey coating the air. He was taking in the sight of your flustered reaction with a wicked grin plastered on his face.

“Kats,” you started, still catching your breath as you eyed him suspiciously, “what are you getting at?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes returned, that familiar cocky, dangerous look that always made your pulse quicken. His grin softened into something more meaningful, more grounded, but still tinged with that wild spark. That look in his eye? It was the one that always had you convinced that all the hot ones were definitely crazy.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he confessed, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more vulnerable.

“Since I met you.”

You blinked, watching as his gaze flickered down to your bare legs. His jaw clenched for a split second, and he let out a low curse under his breath. “Should’ve used that damn lotion,” he muttered, almost to himself, clearly irritated that he hadn’t taken the chance to pamper you properly.

The moonlight filtering in from your window cast a silvery glow over him, highlighting every cut and line of his muscles as if he were carved from stone.

He was beautiful, raw, like a storm contained just beneath the surface, and for a brief moment, you were distracted by the sight of him—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his stomach flexed with each breath.

You could have his babies right here, right now.

Then his voice softened again, and the mood shifted as he spoke. “I love you. I really do.” His tone was hushed, like it was just for you. His eyes—usually so full of fire and determination—now held something much deeper, something vulnerable that he rarely let show. It was just him. Your Katsuki.

“I’m not good with this shit. I know that,” he admitted, his mouth tugging into a small, self-deprecating smirk. “But I wanna do this right.”

You blinked, feeling the air grow heavier as he squared his shoulders, a determined glint returning to his eyes. His hand finally left his pocket, and in one swift, almost impatient motion, he pulled something out and opened it in front of you.

A small box. Velvet. The kind that held only one thing.

Your breath hitched, and your entire world seemed to narrow down to that tiny box and the ring inside it. It glittered in the low light, catching the moon's glow, but the details were lost on you as your heart thudded wildly in your chest.

Katsuki looked at you, dead-on, his expression both serious and soft at the same time, like he was offering you everything he had.

“Would you marry me and be my hot mess?”

For a split second, you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even process the words that had just come out of his mouth. You felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs with a feather—hell, they could have knocked you over with one.

The world stopped spinning. Your eyes darted between the ring and Katsuki, who was watching you carefully now, his breath held as if he was waiting for your next move. You could feel the gravity of this moment pressing down on your chest, and yet... it wasn’t the heavy kind of weight that scared you. No. It was something else entirely.

It was the kind of weight that came with the realization that this moment, this person in front of you, was everything you never knew you needed.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, and none of them made sense, but your body reacted first. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first, only a small breathless laugh as you brought your shaking hands up to your mouth. Katsuki’s eyes searched your face, trying to gauge your reaction, and the barest hint of nerves flashed behind his hardened exterior. He might’ve been a fearless hero, but this?

This was different.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice as the emotions swirled inside you. “You... you’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied immediately, his voice unwavering now. His eyes bore into yours with that fierce conviction only he could pull off. “I’ve been serious about you from the start. I love you, and I’m not waiting around anymore. I want you. With me. Always.”

His words sank into you, and before you even fully realized what you were doing, your hands shot forward, grabbing his face, pulling him down toward you. You kissed him—deeply, passionately, pouring everything you had into it, letting the overwhelming feelings consume you.

His lips were warm, familiar, grounding. Katsuki groaned softly into the kiss, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer as if the space between you was too much to bear.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling with his as you both panted softly. The world around you faded, and all that was left was the man in front of you and the question still hanging in the air.

“Yes,” you breathed, smiling through the tears that had welled up in your eyes. “Yes, Katsuki. I’ll marry you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it—the raw, unfiltered joy on his face. It wasn’t loud or boastful, but it was there, in the soft curl of his lips and the way his eyes shone with unshed tears.

Katsuki Bakugo had won another battle—this time, with your heart.

Katsuki's rough fingers, calloused and warm, carefully slid the ring over your finger, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. You couldn’t help but gasp as the gem caught the light, sparkling in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was more than beautiful—it was personal. The stone in the center was your birthstone, cut into your favorite shape and polished into your favorite color, surrounded by a delicate halo of tiny rubies. Rubies just like his eyes.

Your gaze flickered to the ring and then back to Katsuki. “How… how did you…?” you whispered, utterly floored. The details were so specific, the kind that you had only mentioned in passing, mostly to Michael. But somehow, Katsuki had pieced it all together.

The rubies glistened against the band, and nestled between them were smaller gemstones that mirrored the exact shade of your eyes. And if that wasn’t enough, there was another set of gems, a deep, fiery orange—the color of Katsuki’s favorite thing: explosions.

You turned the ring over in your hand, overwhelmed by the craftsmanship, the thoughtfulness. Every inch of the piece was a reflection of you, of him, of both of you together. Whoever he went to had worked some serious magic. As your fingers brushed over the band, something else caught your eye. With trembling hands, you slipped the ring off, turning it over, and there it was—engraved into the inside of the band in Katsuki’s unmistakable bluntness:

“I love you, dumbass.”

That was it. The tears came again, flooding your vision before you could stop them. Your chest tightened with the overwhelming sweetness of it all. You’d never expected this. How could you? This whole day had taken such a turn that your emotions were a tangled mess, and now, here you were, crying like a baby over a ring. But it wasn’t just any ring—it was him, you, everything.

“Katsuki,” you sobbed, bringing the ring to your chest as if it could stop the flood of emotions. Your voice trembled, but before you could even say another word, Katsuki’s eyes widened in pure panic. He hated when you cried. Hell, it wasn’t often that you let yourself fall apart like this, and seeing you like that sent him spiraling.

“Oi, oi! Don’t cry, damn it!” he barked, his voice frantic as he moved in closer, cupping your face with both hands. But then his panic melted into something softer as his thumbs wiped away the tears.

“I’m serious, stop it, or you’re gonna make me lose it.”

But the sight of your tears didn’t stop him from acting on impulse. In typical Katsuki fashion, he leaned down and kissed you, first pressing his lips all over your face, desperate to dry every tear. But he didn’t stop there. In a ridiculous, completely endearing move, he leaned over and licked your cheek, tasting the saltiness of your tears with a playful smirk. You squealed, pulling away in shock, your face scrunched up in disbelief.

“Did you just—ew, Katsuki! That’s so gross!”

You smacked his solid chest, half laughing, half horrified, but that only egged him on. “Oh, I’m gross now, huh?” he teased, his voice low and dangerous as he grinned down at you. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he launched himself at you, playfully wrestling you down onto the bed.

“No, no—Katsuki!” you shrieked, giggling uncontrollably as his strong arms trapped you beneath him. He pinned you effortlessly, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. His lips were on you again, peppering your face with kisses, and soon enough, the two of you were tumbling around in the sheets, rolling and laughing like a couple of kids.

The wrestling match was chaotic, full of breathless laughter, limbs tangled up, and soft murmurs of affection between teasing jabs. Katsuki was surprisingly playful, and before long, you were both breathless, collapsing side by side on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as your hearts raced in sync.

You turned your head, catching the way his chest heaved with each breath, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His messy hair, usually so spiked and wild, was disheveled in the cutest way possible. Without thinking, you reached out, running your fingers through it, smoothing it back in place. He hummed in contentment, his eyes half-lidded as he looked over at you.

“But where’s your ring?” you asked, suddenly realizing that the gesture had been one-sided. You were the one with the ring on your finger, but what about him?

Katsuki chuckled, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “My ring, huh?” He smirked, eyes sparkling with that familiar cocky glint. “I’ll just give you my wallet, and you can surprise me.”

You blinked, taken aback for a second, before bursting into laughter. “M’Okay!” you replied, your voice full of playful mockery. “But don’t blame me if I pick something pink and covered in glitter.”

“Whatever you want, babe,” he shot back, unbothered by the thought, though you knew he’d raise hell if you actually went through with it. The both of you erupted into laughter again, the sound filling the room like music.

Katsuki shifted, rolling onto his side as he gently took your hand in his, threading your fingers together like he always did. His lips found your hand again, this time softer, more purposeful. He kissed the spot right over your ring, his lips lingering there for a moment, as if sealing his promise to you.

“I love you, Katsuki Bakugou,” you whispered, your heart swelling with warmth as you looked at him, your fiancé, the man who had somehow managed to make this chaotic mess of a proposal the most perfect moment of your life.

Katsuki’s eyes softened, his rough exterior melting away in the intimate glow of the moonlight. He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I love you too, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but his expression was nothing short of tender.

In that moment, wrapped up in each other, you realized something: this—this wild, crazy love you shared with Katsuki—was the only thing that made sense in the world. You lay there together, side by side, hearts entwined, you knew without a doubt that you had found your forever.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft, warm glow across the bed, but you groaned, stretching lazily as you woke up. Your fingers instinctively brushed against your hair, feeling the unruly mess it had become overnight—complete with knots and stubborn curls that had a mind of their own.

You squinted at the brightness as your phone buzzed on the bedside table. Checking it, you saw the familiar ping of an email notification and grinned. You've been paid.

Sweet relief!

Rolling over to share the good news, you blinked in surprise at the empty side of the bed. The sheets were cold, and there was no sign of your fiancé—wait, boyfriend—wait, fiancé! A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you at the thought of the word.

But the smell of breakfast caught your attention, and any irritation at his absence melted away. The unmistakable scent of eggs, with a hint of something smoky—probably bacon—wafted down the hallway, accompanied by the faint clink of pans from the kitchen.

Katsuki was already up, and the thought made you smile.

Without bothering to fix your appearance, you hopped out of bed, your feet hitting the cool, hardwood floor with a soft thud. You knew you’d hear about it later—how walking around barefoot would make you catch a cold. He always ranted about that kind of stuff, but you’d just smile and give him your usual “Yes, mama,” while he’d glare at you with that fiery look.

But for now, you padded down the hall, completely barefoot, on a mission.

The closer you got, the stronger his scent became—that familiar, intoxicating mix of burnt caramel and something inherently Katsuki. You spotted him before he even saw you, standing at the stove, his back turned, a spatula in hand as he expertly flipped eggs in a pan. His muscles were taut, his broad shoulders moving effortlessly as he worked. He was dressed in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips, and you couldn’t help but admire the sight.

With a mischievous grin, you quietly made your way over, your bare feet silent against the floor. And then, in one swift move, you leapt onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hi, fiancé!” you greeted, your voice muffled as you inhaled deeply, taking in that addictive scent that was all his.

Katsuki stiffened for a split second, more from surprise than anything else, but he quickly recovered. With a chuckle, he reached over and turned off the stove, placing the spatula down before his hands found their way to your thighs, gripping them as he adjusted your weight.

“You’re gonna burn the damn house down one day, y’know that?” he muttered, but there was a playful note in his voice. Before you could even respond, he effortlessly spun you around, lifting you off his back and setting you down on the kitchen counter nearby. His strength never failed to amaze you, and you giggled as your bare legs dangled off the edge, your hands resting on his chest.

His eyes softened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lazy good morning kiss. “Hi, teddy bear,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You smiled into the kiss, but just as you started to pull him closer, he pulled back, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Did you brush your teeth?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You snorted, shaking your head. “No.”

He frowned, glancing down. “Did you use the bathroom?”

“Nope.”

His scowl deepened, though you could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Wash your face?”

“Also, no.”

Katsuki groaned dramatically, running a hand through his messy, spiked hair. “And this is exactly why you’re moving in with me today. You need supervision,” he grumbled, though his voice was more affectionate than angry. Before you could argue, he lightly smacked your thighs, the contact sending a playful jolt through you.

“Katsuki!” you gasped, half laughing as you swatted at him, but he only pointed toward the living room.

Your delicate features blossomed into an expression of confusion. “What?” But he didn’t respond, instead looking so mischievous and pleased with himself.

That’s when you noticed it—half of your living room was in disarray, large boxes stacked high, and furniture already disassembled. It looked like a moving truck had stormed through your place. Your jaw dropped as you stared at the sight.

“KATSUKI!” you shrieked, your voice bouncing off the walls as the reality of what he’d done sank in. He had already packed half your stuff—without even telling you! You couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t even flinch at your outburst, just gave you that smug, self-satisfied grin of his, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“What? I told you, you’re movin’ in today. Thought I’d help speed things up,” he said, shrugging as if he hadn’t just dismantled your entire living room.

You huffed, staring at the boxes like you couldn’t believe your eyes. “You could’ve at least warned me!”

He chuckled, stepping closer until he was standing between your legs, his hands resting on either side of your waist. “Nah. You’d just overthink it. This way, it’s done, and we don’t have to argue about it,” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your nose.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m still not done with school, you know. And we haven’t even… there’s no… ring on your finger.”

Katsuki quirked a brow, his smirk turning wicked. “I told you, give me my wallet, and you can surprise me with the ring.”

You laughed, shaking your head at his nonchalance. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, the playful edge to his voice making your heart skip a beat. “And don’t worry about school. You can study at my place just fine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, he kissed you again, this time more firmly, his lips capturing yours in a way that made your head spin. You melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your feet curling around his calves.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your lips tingling. “You don’t play fair,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

He grinned, kissing your forehead softly before pressing his lips to your knuckles where your ring sat. “I play to win, babe. And I already did,” he whispered, his voice low and full of affection.

You sighed, leaning into him, knowing full well that Katsuki Bakugou always got his way.

Before you could respond to his sweet words, a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. You leaned in closer, pretending to go in for another kiss, but at the last second, you bit him—just lightly, on his shoulder—before snatching the plate of bacon from the counter. Katsuki blinked, his eyes widening in confusion before narrowing sharply as he processed what had just happened.

“You little brat!” he growled, his voice full of playful irritation.

With a squeal, you jumped off the counter, bare feet hitting the cold floor, and bolted for the bedroom, the stolen bacon in hand. You knew exactly what you were doing. Katsuki typically hated when anyone touched his food (although he actually had a habit of feeding you from his plate and fork), but you couldn’t help it. You loved riling him up, especially when he got that fire in his eyes!~

"Come back here, princess!" he barked, and the sound of his footsteps echoed behind you.

You darted around the corner, your heart pounding with adrenaline and laughter bubbling in your throat. The hardwood floor was slippery, and you barely made it to the door when Katsuki’s booming footsteps got louder. He was fast, too fast.

A real predator on the hunt, and you were his target.

“Fuuuuck it, we ball!” you shouted over your shoulder, laughing as you slid into the bedroom. You could hear him cursing under his breath, muttering something about how you were always testing him. You were a princess, and yeah, maybe a bit of a brat, but that was part of your charm. You loved to push his buttons, loved how easy it was to get under his skin.

You heard the door slam behind you as Katsuki entered the room, hot on your heels. His eyes locked on yours, his gaze intense as he advanced. You tried to dodge him, but he was quicker, snatching the plate of bacon from your hands before grabbing your waist and pulling you back into his chest.

“Gotcha now, you little thief,” he growled in your ear, his voice low and warning, but you could hear the amusement in his tone.

You squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held you firm, his arms like steel bands around your waist. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” you giggled, breathless from the chase.

“You’re damn right you do,” he murmured before spinning you around and planting a quick, searing kiss on your lips. It was rough, but it was Katsuki through and through—fiery, intense, and full of passion.

You grinned against his lips, leaning into him. “Guess I’m still your little brat then, huh?”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as he looked down at you with that same possessive, loving gaze that always made your heart skip a beat. “Damn right you are. My brat, my princess, my pain in the ass.”

You laughed, nuzzling into his chest as you felt his arms tighten around you. “And you’re my grumpy fiancé,” you teased, poking his ribs.

Katsuki grumbled, but his smirk softened, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Yeah. But I’m your grumpy fiancé, so fuck it—we ball.”

In that moment, tangled together, laughter still lingering in the air, you knew without a doubt that you were his, and he was yours. No matter what life throws at you, you’d face it together.

Always.

Taglist for Bakugou: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @raendarkfaerie If you wanna be added lemme know!

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Farmer Bakugou x Gardener Reader here in the master list. I also have a Pro Hero! Bakugou x Sugar Baby fic.

Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

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witchywithwhiskey · 2 months

Text

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away.

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk.

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in.

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on.

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away.

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway.

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure.

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit.

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove.

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders.

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice.

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with.

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become.

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home.

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized.

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last.

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life.

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down.

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore.

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears.

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee.

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat.

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else.

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger.

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes.

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans.

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone.

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing.

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore.

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time.

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it.

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions.

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder.

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun.

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes.

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line.

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say?

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye.

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well.

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs.

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup.

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove.

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve.

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk.

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists.

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor.

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions.

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.”

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life.

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you.

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.”

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town.

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet.

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark.

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest.

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?”

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.”

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.”

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.”

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window.

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it.

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans.

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his.

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.”

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper.

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument.

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together.

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together.

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer.

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.”

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat.

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans.

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning.

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone.

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you.

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname.

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself.

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths.

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.”

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap.

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.”

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near.

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.”

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face.

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand.

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself.

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.”

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine.

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body.

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door.

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus.

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself.

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

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