What do you mean “chat” is now referring to ChatGPT and not twitch chat? What? What? What the fuck? No?
When I address chat I am speaking to a presumed Greek chorus of real human people shitposting on their lunch break, not a machine that devours lakes to covert electricity into slop.
I physically repulse whenever I get a notification of someone liking a fanfic I wrote, that I personally think is absolute dog shit. Like please dont think that’s how I write, please don’t think that’s the best I can do, literally read anything else at this point I beg you
‘If you send your wishes with the wind, I’ll hear them no matter how far apart we are’
“Ah! (Y/n)!! (Y/N)!!!!”
you barely had time to reply before he started screaming like you were deaf.
“Oh my goodness haibara do you want me to go deaf?” You laughed, he never meant harm, but he still looked so guilty at the idea of hurting your eardrums. “Oh I’m sorry! I didn’t know if you heard me, so I thought ‘what’s the harm in repeating?’ But then you still didn’t reply so I started getting louder but I swear I-”
You kissed him. You hadn’t been dating for long, about a month, but it was enough for him to make you as happy as you could be.
When you pulled back you were greeted by a very flushed Haibara, was he ever gonna get used to it? “O- oh okay yeah I got the hint..” you giggled, he was so sweet, here’s hoping hanging out around geto and gojo wouldn’t corrupt him.
He stared at you in complete silence, his eyes looked like the sun got its light directly from them, “sooo, what did you wanna tell me?”
He looked confused, contemplated for a little, and then.. “right! Almost forgot! I’m going overseas for a mission with Nanami!”
Wow yeah so that’s not at all what you wanted to hear, “overseas?? How long?? Where?? Just you and nanami??” He giggled, “I knew you’d react like this, but no worries okay! Nanami is reliable, and this is my chance to prove myself to my senpais!”
It felt wrong, even after his reassurance it still felt wrong, waving bye at the airport felt wrong.
Gojo saying “don’t worryyy, Nanami would never goof off on a mission!” Didn’t make it better.
You remember what he told at the airport, ‘if you send your wishes with the wind, I’ll hear them no matter how far apart we are!’
You went out of your way to find a peaceful corner on school grounds, knelt down and begin wishing.
‘Please come back safely’
‘We’ll watch that movie you wanted to watch’
‘We’ll go to that amusement park you love, and I’ll go with on the ride I can’t stand’
‘We can watch gojo bug nanami relentlessly’
‘Then laugh geto making fun of gojo in return’
‘We’ll-’
“(Y/n)?”
You jumped a little and turned around, “oh principal yaga, you scared me! Is everything alright? Any news haibara?”
He looked somber, news about haibara was never meant to be somber.
“That’s actually what I came to talk to you about..”
“(Y/n), please follow me to the morgue, there’s something you need to see.”
Author notes-
Finished this before heading into work on my phone, not proofread and filled with my own despair
‘If you send your wishes with the wind, I’ll hear them no matter how far apart we are’
“Ah! (Y/n)!! (Y/N)!!!!”
you barely had time to reply before he started screaming like you were deaf.
“Oh my goodness haibara do you want me to go deaf?” You laughed, he never meant harm, but he still looked so guilty at the idea of hurting your eardrums. “Oh I’m sorry! I didn’t know if you heard me, so I thought ‘what’s the harm in repeating?’ But then you still didn’t reply so I started getting louder but I swear I-”
You kissed him. You hadn’t been dating for long, about a month, but it was enough for him to make you as happy as you could be.
When you pulled back you were greeted by a very flushed Haibara, was he ever gonna get used to it? “O- oh okay yeah I got the hint..” you giggled, he was so sweet, here’s hoping hanging out around geto and gojo wouldn’t corrupt him.
He stared at you in complete silence, his eyes looked like the sun got its light directly from them, “sooo, what did you wanna tell me?”
He looked confused, contemplated for a little, and then.. “right! Almost forgot! I’m going overseas for a mission with Nanami!”
Wow yeah so that’s not at all what you wanted to hear, “overseas?? How long?? Where?? Just you and nanami??” He giggled, “I knew you’d react like this, but no worries okay! Nanami is reliable, and this is my chance to prove myself to my senpais!”
It felt wrong, even after his reassurance it still felt wrong, waving bye at the airport felt wrong.
Gojo saying “don’t worryyy, Nanami would never goof off on a mission!” Didn’t make it better.
You remember what he told at the airport, ‘if you send your wishes with the wind, I’ll hear them no matter how far apart we are!’
You went out of your way to find a peaceful corner on school grounds, knelt down and begin wishing.
‘Please come back safely’
‘We’ll watch that movie you wanted to watch’
‘We’ll go to that amusement park you love, and I’ll go with on the ride I can’t stand’
‘We can watch gojo bug nanami relentlessly’
‘Then laugh geto making fun of gojo in return’
‘We’ll-’
“(Y/n)?”
You jumped a little and turned around, “oh principal yaga, you scared me! Is everything alright? Any news haibara?”
He looked somber, news about haibara was never meant to be somber.
“That’s actually what I came to talk to you about..”
“(Y/n), please follow me, there’s something you need to see.”
Author notes-
Finished this before heading into work on my phone, not proofread and filled with my own despair
The whole time you’re in bed together, he’s just so happy he can’t stop giggling, like a cat choose to sit on his lap and he can’t help but almost bounce off the walls with excitement.
Eventually you have to resort to putting a sleeping mask over his eyes, you got worried they might dry out with how long he was staring at you.
He got even happier when he woke up and realized it wasn’t just a dream.
He’ll never tell you this, but he was silently screaming at your sleeping face. Cuteness aggression was getting to him.
Now a few years have passed, and you assumed he’s no longer that giddy whenever you guys cuddle (basically on a daily basis).
If you managed to stay up a bit longer, you’d realize just how wrong you are.
Haibara waited with opening his eyes till he heard your breath even, only then did he have the guts to open his eyes. You scolded him before, about how important sleep was, how he needed to rest his eyes blah blah blah.
He was certain that anyone who got to see what he saw wouldn’t wanna sleep either, what made him even happier, is that no one else got to see what he saw. Your face smooshed against the pillow, hair already a mess despite it only having been a few minutes, the best part might just be how peaceful you look. Anyone who got to see you this well rested should consider themselves blessed, he does at least.
He could stare at you for hours, honestly he doesn’t know what he did to be this deserving, but he’ll never complain about anything again. Well aware you’ll scold him again in the morning, he still couldn’t bring himself to close his, it’s so worth it.
“You’re tired again? Baby what are you doing at night to leave you this restless?” He stood there laughing awkwardly scratching the back off his neck, “really it’s nothing to worry about, I swear im fine…” he loves how you look when you’re at peace, but please don’t make him choose between that or the face you make when you’re angry, he really can’t.
“We as sorcerers need rest, you know this as well as everyone else! I’m not trying to be mean, but I’m really concerned.” “You know what, I think holding you really helps bring my mind at peace, maybe we could cuddle again tonight?”
“Are you sure that’s not what’s ruining your sleep? It feels like I’m the problem here…” “no TRUST ME you’re exactly what I need.”
Well, not like you can say no to that smile, can you?
Author notes;
This turned into a mini fic, but I’m not complaining, had to show haibara some love.
Synopsis: in which you're upset with your husband and won't respond to his messages, so he has to resort to contacting you during work hours... using your work emails
Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, playful arguing — no one's actually upset, features guests stars (one gets bullied).
Good morning, dear,
Or rather, it would be, if my wife so much as looked in my direction this morning. Instead, I find myself writing to you like some forgotten soul behind enemy lines, using this means of communication as if I am but a mere stranger begging for a moment of your time. It is humiliating. Your refusal to hear your husband out is noted and begrudgingly endured but I forgive you (see? It is not so hard at all).
Please just answer your messages. We have a data plan for a reason.
Love, always,
Your Kento
Hello Kento,
I hope you are well.
Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.
Best wishes,
Your Wife
Hello to you too, sweetheart,
I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot.
What must I do, my love?
I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.
Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you.
Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?
And after all of that…
You walked past me.
Not a word.
Not even a glance.
You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’
That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover.
Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished.
But to leave without kissing me goodbye?
That, my love, was unconscionable.
A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together.
Yours, unwaveringly,
Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon
P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home.
P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.
Kento,
You infuriatingly adorable man.
All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst.
Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.
You have aggrieved me.
Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.
The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.
And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.
Lukewarm wishes,
Your Wife
P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish
P.P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.
My dearest,
I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.
Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure.
Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too — then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form.
Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth.
Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. (Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch).
As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart.
Lastly, your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully.
With all my love,
Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband
P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home.
P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silky, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.
Kento.
I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say...
The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm.
Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop.
Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and...
Moving on.
I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me.
But fine. F I N E.
You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;)
Love, Your Wife
(Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.)
P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.
P.P.S. Don’t think I’d miss the opportunity to mention MCR Kento. Your past will haunt you forever.
Dear YN and Nanami Kento,
I hope you are both well.
Do forgive me for intruding but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.
I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has somehow increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.
Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay’ — I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees.
Do better.
Best wishes,
Ijichi Kiyotaka
P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?
Dear Kento,
Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me?
Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.
And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say.
Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.
Love,
Your wife
Dear Nanami, and Ijichi because you're reading these,
He sat on my bunny plushie yesterday. He flattened her.
I'm mad again.
Hate,
YN
P.S. Hair mask rights have been revoked. Buy your own.
Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague,
You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room.
Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon.
You're welcome.
Worst wishes (to Ijichi),
Nanami Kento
And nothing but love (to my wife),
Ken
Ken,
You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk?
Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two.
Lust,
Your Wife
Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom,
This is what happens in the office?
Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy).
Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls
Stay sexy,
The Strongest
P.S. Can I watch?
P.P.S. I’m kidding
P.P.P.S. …Unless?
Will be ooc, I have no doubt about that, I did my best to look into dromas but all I’ve got are the in game files 💔💔
I tried keeping it gender neutral, but might’ve messed up somewhere, not sure it’s not proofread.
Laying in bed with your beloved brought you true peace, if only he could stop thinking for a second.
“The notes of veterinarian Lucretia clearly point towards there being a deeper meaning behind the dromases, their odd behavior and their seemingly increasing connection to the earth and all that which is around us. My dear I tell you, the dromas is capable of wonders that those plebeians at the Grove are far too simple minded to understand!”
“Hm” you replied groggily, how can this man not spend all his energy during the day, especially with how much he talks, it’s a wonder his vocal cord haven’t died yet.
You couldn’t complain too much, with your face in his neck, laying on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart, maybe this was a ploy to tire you out instead.
On the windowsill stood one lone droma, basking in moonlight. From his sister he told you once, well, mumbled more so. You dropped the topic after seeing how it still pained him. But you couldn’t help but feel it was unfairly lonely there, normally you wouldn’t comment on it, but your exhaustion seemed to be fine with letting just about anything and everything pass by you.
“Dear”
He stopped mid speech, looking down (or at least trying to) at you.
“Doesn’t that get lonely after a while? Him, standing there by his lonesome.”
He didn’t comment, not at first. He looked at the dromas, the small glow of the moon giving it a stunning hue, but one that only told stories of struggles and loss.
“Well, I’d uhm, I’d imagine so, yes.”
You cuddled closer to him, “you should get him a buddy, a little pal he can complain to, you of all people should know that dromases can’t stand being alone.” Sleep finally started taking its toll on you, “maybe get him, a little mini me..”
Anaxagoras felt your weight on him increase, yet he couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. He laid there, staring. Some may say lost in thought, he’d laugh and say just observing as all should. But there was no one here, no one to prove wrong about the outrageous assumption that he of all people would ever lose a train of thought, just you, sleeping.
By sunrise he was long gone, you knew he always ensured his schedule was filled to the brim, as if that would stop Aglaea from looking for him.
You relished in the remaining warmth a little while longer, he’d shame you for wasting precious hours that can be utilized to disprove the religious extremists, oh whatever, you’re sure he can handle them in the name of you both.
After a while longer, you decided you’ve run out of excuses to tell him if he caught you. Looking at the window, you were shocked to see a once very lonely dromas, now accompanied by a slightly smaller dromas, the latter somehow looking more excited then the former.
You crawled across the bed to them, those two sweethearts now basking in the light of a new tomorrow.
You saw a small note laying next to them.
My dear (y/n).
That dromas had been lonely since the day my sister gave him to me.
I lived under a believe that that was my fate, it felt natural. What kind of lunatic would one need to be to love a heretic?
I asked myself that nightly when she passed, with every new moon and every new sun, I wondered, ‘would she still love me, if she saw me now?’
One day, I think she answered.
This strange, yet peculiar individual stopped by my lecture. They had a smile so wide I thought their jaw would strain.
They kept asking on and on about dromases, I found it strange they went to me and not a veterinarian such as Lucretia, but I obliged. Far be it from me to stop the hunt for answers.
I started expecting them nearly daily, thought they were a student ditching their own classes, until one day.
They walked in, and a student of mine said ‘(miss/mister)(y/n)? I thought you always taught around this time?’
Turns out, this ‘stray student’, was a teacher, an excellent one at that.
I decided, two can play that game, and became a regular at their lessons. much to the dismay of the students
It was inevitable that they would fall for me, stop telling people I fell for you first it may be true but please think of my reputation
On the day we went out together, I told them the cold truth, being with me kills the view people have of you.
You know what they did? They laughed, and then berated me for trying to ‘scare them off’.
That’s when I knew the answer to my unspoken question, my sister would love me if she saw me now. I may not believe in the titans, I may not be devoted to any of them, but there are two people who have my complete, unspoken devotion.
And I wholeheartedly believe, my sister send you to show that ‘if some complete stranger could love you for your knowledge, your soul and then stick by you no matter what, so could I.’
So I decided you were right, the dromas was far too lonely, it wouldn’t be fair to derive him of his chance to meet his own (y/n).
Now I’m saddened to say I’ll be busy for quite sometime, but I sincerely hope these two lovebirds bring you the company you need, see it as my way of repaying you for helping me find the love I lost.
Your dearest, your one and only
Anaxagoras.
Author notes.
I just really needed to ramble about something with this guy, like I love him so much. Though this is much shorter then I wanted it to be, electricity in my house went out so I lost the writing spirit.
⊱SYNOPSIS: Your first session with Fushiguro went great! you think…
⊱C/W: pining, reader has crush on megumi (at first), Itadori already has reader’s number, he’s just been too pussay to text, reader hates Itadori, small angst between them
⊱A/N: im so glad this is doing well ahhh thank ygs so much :> i hope you like this chapter, i knowww not much is happening YET but i promise I have PLANSSS for them i promise youuu wink wink
I reached a point where I was FIGHTING to finish this, but I preserved. Though it’s not work I’m proud of.
Everything can be calculated, there’s nothing that escapes the eye of a true scholar.
Except the terrible, terrible feeling of spontaneous love.
If watching (y/n) walk by meant nothing to the ordinary man, the Dr Ratio was right in calling them fools. You were stunning, terrifyingly so, that has led him to maybe the most embarrassing moment of his life.
Aventurine in front of a white board, big dried out marker used to spell the words ‘operation love’, by the Aeons did this man know no shame?
“Alright! So you say she passes your office every Monday Wednesday and Friday, yes?” “Why are you making it sound like I stalk her..?” “Well, I mean…”
The gambler barely avoided the statue that was slung at him, “listen!!” He screamed, holding his hands up like he planned to catch the next.
“Just strike up a conversation with her! Be as natural as big shot like you can be, I’m sure someone of (y/n)’s intellect would love you for who you are! Somehow…” Dr Ratio decided to neglect the rest of his sentence.
Because as much as he hates to admit it, the man is right. He lived his whole life living by calculations, well educated guesses, but he couldn’t guess you, your soul, what made you laugh, what made you cry. Oh by the Aeons, may no other genius have to experience the displeasure of love.
‘Attempt #1. Introduce yourself!!!’
It was written on the whiteboard in bright colors, a poorly drawn self portrait of aventurine to accompany it, he should remind himself to clean it before teaching.
You were talking to one of his students, he might actually have a chance! His approach was as awkward as his intense eye contact, you were confused his gaze didn’t deviate from you even once.
“Dr Ratio! I was just speaking with this delightful young man about your many achievements!” Did- did the student introduce him already..? Before he could..? The student looked flushed, makes sense, with such a genius as himself here, and such a natural beauty as you, any sane being would freak out.
Social cues disrupted his internal dialogue, you stared at him blankly. Ah, he’s supposed to say something here, right? “Well uhm.. I have done a lot, I’m quite a busy man.” You looked saddened, why would you look sad? “Ah, I won’t keep you then.. good day the both of you!”
Oh. Right, he basically rejected your invitation to a conversation.
The student was still staring at him even after you departure, now more confused than anything.
“Scram before I report you for loitering” “understood sir!”
He needed a second to recover from this.
‘Attempt #2. Talk about subjects you both like!!’
It had less exclamation marks, and now chibi aventurine was looking slightly sadder then at first.
He told him what happened, and all he got in return was ‘I don’t get paid to deal with you short circuiting man..’ he made sure to tell him in colorful words he’s not getting paid at all, much to aventurine’s dismay.
You had just finished a class and were cleaning out your desk, Dr Ratio decided to wait at the door for you.
“Oh! I didn’t even notice you there! So sorry, did you need something?” Oh someone grant him patience, your soul is far too kind. “I uhm.. I was there, at your latest lecture.”
You smiled brightly, to you it meant a lot to have your work acknowledged by the Dr Ratio, to him, you were being polite.
“What did you think? Was there anything that invested you? Do you wish to discuss the topic? Do you have any criticism? Oh dear look at my rambling my mouth! Please feel free to say what’s on your mind!” Oh he couldn’t, that would be far too indecent for someone of your stature.
Yet something still slipped his usually well guarded mind, “you are, just magnificent..”
You looked flustered, and started stammering for words.
After realizing what he said, he took one big step back, bowed as deep as he could, “my sincerest apology, you should not have to deal with that disrespect, especially from someone in the workplace.”
“Oh! No it’s, it’s fine, I..” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before he scurried off.
Aeons, grant Dr Ratio courage, and Aventurine patience.
‘Attempt #3. Please just be normal.’
It was followed by a thumbs down. So his lessons on the beauty of simplicity DID get through to aventurine, Dr ratio smiled to himself, the world was healing, one fool at a time.
Now just him.
You were looking for him and found him before he could think of his next script, “ah there you are!” He nearly jumped out his skin, he could handle you sneaking up on him in regular spaces, but in his office space?? His safe space??? With the whiteboard RIGHT THERE????
You were stunned watching as he nearly slammed himself into the whiteboard behind him.
This was followed by an emotionally repressed silence.
“Uhm..” “can, can I help you..?”
“Ah, well, an exhibition on human history of the past five thousand years, I was wondering if you wanted to join me?” Well now he felt worse, not only was he bothering you the past two days, you now felt pressured to accompany him in some form to mend whatever decaying relationship there was between you, and to top it all off, he was acting like a proper loon.
“I would love to, but could you please leave first? I have something’s to take care of..” you looked dejected, truly how could someone look so pathetic yet lovable at the same time?? What did you curse him with??
As if it couldn’t get worse, he saw a certain blond walk through the office door. Maybe all this really was about to be for nothing.
“Heyyy, (y/nnnnn)~” to Dr Ratio his surprise, you looked just as mortified to see Aventurine, weren’t you two the best of friends?
He made the mistake of locking eyes with aventurine, whose smile greatened upon seeing the whiteboard that was not so elegantly being covered. “Well look at that! The lovebirds have finally started flocking as one!”
“Aventurine.” The tone of voice did nothing to discourage him, in fact, his smile only got louder.
He walked into the room, too close to Dr Ration and far, far too close to you. He’s practically glued to your side, head leaning on your shoulder, Dr Ratio felt a rise of frustration bubble up inside of him.
Aventurine pretend to think with his arm slung around your left shoulder, his head on your right. “Say (y/n), aren’t you curious?” “About what?” “Well…” he trailed off, slowly raising his right hand to point at Dr Ratio, no, more specifically, the whiteboard behind him.
Oh the second he gets that guy alone it’s over for him.
“I suppose so, but if Dr Ratio doesn’t wish to show me, I can’t exactly make him now can I?” You smiled weakly, even Aventurine started feeling bad. “Aeons almighty give me patience to deal with you both..”
The room filled with a temporary awkward silence, “fine then! If you’re both gonna be difficult, so be it.”
He approached the whiteboard, Ratio instinctively tensed but couldn’t do much as it was promptly ripped away from, since when did the gambler have such great grip strength?
But now, he came to realize that the worst, has happened.
Now in front of you, was whiteboard with ‘operation love’ written out.
He froze, in anticipation of what you’d say. You took a second, and then all that came out was “I’m sorry if I’m getting confused, but did you do the exact same thing with him..?” Aventurine, now grinning like the Cheshire Cat nodded along.
“Wow for two geniuses you guys sure solve these kinds of things slowly. It’s almost like, and stick with me here, you guys like each otherrrrrr..” he made sure to emphasize the last word, like he was speaking with people who just started learning his language. Your mouth had a small o shape, like the answer to everything finally landed.
The embarrassment of how long it took was starting to sink in for you both, aventurine couldn’t look less bothered. That was until Dr Ratio started shooting him some looks, “ohh yeah this is probably the part I leave you guys be. Alright hotshot and hothead, I’m gonna go now do important aventurine stuff, you two love birds just kiss and-” “that’s enough”
You couldn’t help but giggle at how flushed Dr Ratio looked, but your joy was quickly overshadowed by nervous after aventurine bid his farewell and left you two be.
“You really don’t have to go with me, aventurine means well but I wouldn’t wanna pressure-” “I’d love to go with you.” You looked up at him with slight shocked. Dr ratio, whilst still flushed, now held a smile gentle smile, “I would love to go with you, (Mr/miss) y/n.”
You responded with a big toothy grin, “so can I safely assume you’re free for the rest of the day?”
“I’m free for as long as you’ll have me.”
Author notes. Getting my phone stolen was apparently the push I needed to finish this, I still think this whole piece is mediocre at best though.
he’s your slutty frat-boy-best-friend and you’re his sweet, bubbly angel* who has no idea that he’s been in love with you for months. he hasn’t fucked a single soul since he realized his feelings, not one. pretending he’s fine while you curl up into his chest at parties like it means nothing is slowly driving him insane. CW: suggestive, mentions of sexual activity
!!disclaimer!! best friends to lovers, soft slow-burn, mutual pining, best friends who don’t know how to talk, and a love that’s been there the whole time! angst!!!! comfort!
you get to the party and wow, its chaotic.
someone’s shitty bluetooth speaker is blasting throwbacks in the living room, half the frat’s gathered around a beer pong table like it’s the olympics, and the air smells like weed and overpriced tequila. classic friday night.
you don’t even bother knocking. just push open the front door, step over a passed out freshman in a toga, and make a move for the couch you always end up on.
and sure enough, he’s already there.
sukuna’s got one arm hung across the backrest, a red cup balanced on his knee, and the cockiest smirk you’ve ever seen stretched across his face. his hair’s a mess, his shirt’s riding up slightly at the hem, and his rings glint every time he lifts the cup to his mouth.
you roll your eyes and collapse beside him anyway.
“took you long enough,” he says, nudging your knee with his own. “i was about to send nanami on a little 'find y/n' errand”
“maybe i didn’t wanna see your ugly face tonight.”
he grins. “liar.”
and you are. but you don’t tell him that.
this is your ritual, your thing. it doesn’t matter whose party it is, which frat’s throwing it, or how many people are packed into the house, you and sukuna always end up on a couch with the same kind of banter. same rhythm that’s been beating between the two of you since freshman year.
you lean back, pulling your legs up to sit cross legged beside him. his thigh is warm where it brushes yours, and you try not to notice it.
“how many girls have you hit on tonight?” you ask, reaching for his drink and taking a sip without asking.
he hums thoughtfully. “define hit on.”
you raise a brow. “sukuna.”
“what?” he says with mock innocence dripping from his tone. “i’m just being friendly.”
you scoff. “you’re incapable of being 'just friendly'.”
“wow, you wound me.”
you shove his shoulder and he laughs, head tipping back, throat exposed and for a tick your brain stops thinking straight.
because sukuna’s hot. like, really hot. the kind of hot that should come with a big fat warning tag. he's got thick tattoos and a smile that pairs well with his sleepy bedroom eyes. he looks like every hot villan in those shitty old mtv cartoons.
and he’s your best friend.
your completely infuriating, manwhore of a best friend.
he’s the guy who once had a threesome during finals week and then showed up to study group with glitter in his hair. the one who keeps condoms in every coat pocket and probably knows the names of every bouncer on campus. the same guy who used to text you from girls’ beds, complaining about how their playlists sucked.
and somehow, despite all of that, you adore him.
maybe because he listens when you talk too much, because he knows all your dumb fixations and lets you rant about them for hours. because no matter how many people he flirts with, he always ends up back here, next to you.
“you thinking about me?” he says suddenly, smirking when you blink at him.
“i was thinking about how many diseases you’ve probably caught.” you deadpan.
he throws his head back again and laughs, loud and unbothered.
“god, you’re mean.”
“whatever, you like it.”
“unfortunately.”
you nudge his leg with yours again, more gentle this time. the party rages around you, but this little bubble, this spot on the couch where it’s just the two of you feels untouchable.
you’ve known sukuna for almost three years now. met him during your first week at university, at some wild frat party you barely remember. you were tipsy and rambling to someone about your favorite childhood tv show and he cut in just to mock your taste. and never left you alone after that.
he’s been a part of your life ever since. movie nights, drunk phone calls to your exe's. he’s there, always.
and somewhere along the way, you started telling him everything. even the stupid shit. especially the stupid shit. like how you spent two hours last night trying to get your cat to do a trick. or how you’re pretty sure your TA is in love with the guy who sits next to you.
you talk, and sukuna listens.
sometimes he teases. sometimes he gets this soft look like he doesn’t even realise he’s staring, but then it’s gone. back to smirks and really unfunny sarcasm.
you’ve tried not to think too hard about it.
you’re practically tangled up on the couch, like limbs and laughter and shared space all wrapped into one. sukuna’s arm is fallen over your shoulders and your head is tucked just beneath his chin, warm against his chest. his heartbeat is steady, slow, something grounding beneath your ear that feels like a secret only the two of you know.
it’s not flashy or dramatic. it’s the quiet kind of intimacy that’s grown over late nights and early mornings, over inside jokes and too many half remembered conversations. it’s the softness behind his usual rashness the way his hand casually rests on your arm as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you reach up and thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. he tenses for a moment, then relaxes, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “you’re such an annoying pest,” he mutters, voice low and rough, but you catch the warmth underneath like a whispered promise.
“you love it,” you say softly, you don’t want to break the moment.
the party moves around you, loud, messy, chaotic, but it all fades into white noise. out here, pressed close to him, none of that matters. no flashing lights, no drunken shouts, no prying eyes.
just you and sukuna.
even after all the teasing and the bickering and the ridiculous banter, this is where the real stuff lives. in the easy silence. in the way your fingers find his hand without thinking. in the quiet understanding that you’re both exactly where you want to be, even if you don’t say it out loud.
it’s the kind of closeness that’s almost too much and not enough all at once, like your hearts are so tangled up they might burst, but you don’t have to do anything about it. not yet.
because this is your truth. your safe place. the quiet love that’s been hiding behind all the noise from the very start.
“you see who maki came with?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“nah,” you say, glancing around. “who?”
“some guy named dan. total finance bro. talks like one of those alpha male podcasters.”
you snort. “holy fuck that's gross.”
“yeah tell me about it.”
you hum in agreement, stealing another sip of his drink.
“what about you?” you ask. “eyeing anyone tonight?”
it’s a casual question. one you’ve asked a hundred times. but this time, he pauses.
“nah,” he says finally. “not really feelin’ it.”
you frown. “you? not in the mood to fuck? is the world ending?”
he shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.
“maybe i’m growing up.”
you snort. “you literally mooned someone from a moving car last weekend.”
he grins. “growing up gradually.”
you laugh, and he looks at you again. and this time… he doesn’t look away.
“you know,” he says slowly, “you’re kind of the only reason i come to these things anymore.”
your heart skips.
you try to play it off. “because i’m the only one who tolerates you?”
“because you’re the only one who gets me,” he says, voice low. quieter than before. “like… actually gets me.”
you blink. your stomach flips.
but before you can respond, someone calls his name across the room.
he sighs and leans back, rubbing a hand over his face.
“hold that thought,” he says, standing. “gotta go break up whatever stupid shit gojo’s doing.”
you watch him disappear into the crowd, smiling as you watch his back muscles flex with each swing of his arms, you understood the appeal, he was a sexy man. in his own little fashion, he thought of you the exact same way, a drop dead gorgeous girl with a heart of gold, but you’d never even guessed he thought of you as such, after all, what would give you any sort of sign that he was into you when the latest rumour was that he was sleeping around with hot sorority chicks every weekend?
~
the party’s died down hours ago. the house is trashed, half-lit, and still pulsing faintly with leftover bass through the walls. the beer pong table’s been abandoned, someone’s hoodie is hanging from the ceiling fan, and there’s a questionable stain on the rug no one’s talking about.
geto’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-empty bottle of tequila, choso’s sprawled on the loveseat looking like he’s already halfway to sleep, and gojo’s perched on the arm of the couch with a wine glass he definitely didn’t bring himself.
sukuna’s nursing a beer. slouched in a worn-out recliner with his head tilted back, eyes closed, shoulders loose in that i’m relaxed but still kind of pissed way he always gets when he’s overthinking.
he hasn’t said much since reader left.
“sukuna, man,” gojo starts, words slurring a little, “are you going fucking celibate? you haven’t fucked a chick in damn near two months.”
geto snorts, tilting his bottle toward sukuna. “what, you give it up for lent or something?”
“maybe he got neutered,” choso mumbles into a throw pillow.
gojo gasps. “don’t say that, that’s so sad. think of all the women out there missing out.”
sukuna doesn’t open his eyes. just raises his middle finger in their general direction and takes a slow pull from his drink.
“i’m serious,” gojo continues. “you used to be the first one out the door with some girl pressed up against the wall. now you’re… what, sitting on a couch all night with your weird little bestie and dodging blowjobs like they’re the plague.”
geto leans back, watching sukuna over the lip of his drink. “she’s not just some bestie though, huh?”
that gets sukuna’s attention. his eyes crack open, dark and unreadable. “don’t start.”
“not starting anything,” geto says, smirking. “just saying. you used to be all about the sorority chicks with fake lashes and daddy issues. now you’re glued to sunshine incarnate.”
gojo lets out a bark of laughter. “please. she’s too sweet for him. sukuna’d ruin her. he needs someone who can keep up with the slut energy.”
sukuna’s jaw ticks.
choso blinks at the ceiling. “she did bring cupcakes to the last pregame.”
“exactly,” gojo says, dramatic as ever. “she’s, like, wife-coded. sukuna doesn’t do wife-coded.”
“maybe he’s bored,” geto says. “maybe he’s finally fucked so many girls that his dick gave up and retired.”
that gets a laugh from the others, loud and easy.
sukuna doesn’t laugh.
he doesn’t say a word.
he just sits there, beer forgotten in his hand, staring into the dim space between the couch and the coffee table, jaw clenched, heart beating a little too loud in his chest.
because they don’t get it. they don’t know.
they don’t know how it feels to sit beside someone who trusts you with everything and have to pretend you don’t want to kiss them every time they smile.
they don’t know what it’s like to want something real for once. something soft. something that doesn’t taste like regret the morning after.
they don’t know how long it’s been since he’s touched anyone else. how the thought of it makes his stomach turn. how no one else even registers anymore. how she ruined him for all of it without even trying.
and he’s not gonna tell them.
because they wouldn’t believe him anyway.
so he just shifts in his chair, downs the rest of his drink, and says, flat and final, “maybe i’m just waiting for the right girl.”
it shuts them up for a second.
then gojo laughs again and geto raises his brows like he’s not sure whether he’s joking, and choso mutters something about being too high for this conversation.
but sukuna’s not joking.
not even a little.
the teasing eventually fades, replaced by the quiet clink of bottles and the hum of low music someone forgot to turn off. choso’s officially half-asleep, sprawled sideways across the loveseat with a blanket someone definitely didn’t offer him. geto’s back to nursing the tequila bottle like it personally wronged him, and gojo’s now laying upside down on the couch, legs dangling off the back like he’s trying to cause a scene with gravity.
“so,” choso mumbles, voice thick and lazy. “that mixer next weekend still on?”
“yeah,” gojo says without moving. “gamma’s throwing it with phi sig. should be decent. free drinks and better music than last time. they’re renting actual speakers this time, not just hijacking someone’s spotify on a jbl.”
“can i bring shiu?” choso asks, blinking slow like it takes effort.
“yeah,” gojo says, waving his hand. “he’s in delta nu, right?”
choso hums something that might be a yes or might be the sound of sleep taking him.
sukuna sits up slightly, beer bottle still hanging from his fingers. “can i bring y/n?”
gojo doesn’t even hesitate.
“nah.”
sukuna’s jaw clenches. “why not?”
“you know why not,” gojo says, finally flipping over to sit upright. “it’s a greek-only mixer. she’s not in a frat or a sorority.”
“she’s basically in this frat,” sukuna says, a little sharper than he means to. “she’s at every party. she knows everyone. she’s closer to you assholes than half the pledges.”
geto sighs, not looking up. “that’s not the point. the chapters are paying for the event. they want it to stay within the system. it’s political.”
“it’s bullshit,” sukuna mutters.
“you think i don’t agree?” gojo says, more gently now. “i love her. she’s our friend. but if one non-greek shows up, it opens the door for more, and then it’s a whole thing. alumni get pissy. mixers stop happening. and for what? a night where she already has better places to be?”
sukuna’s quiet for a second.
the air goes still.
because yeah, maybe you do have better places to be. you’re always buzzing around campus, always getting invited to every little thing. somehow you’ve charmed everyone without even trying. the girl who bakes cookies for your friends and brings tupperware to parties. the girl who’ll sit and talk with a drunk freshman for forty-five minutes just to make sure she gets home safe. the one everyone trusts, everyone likes.
but you’re not one of them.
not on paper.
not enough to be invited.
and it stings in a way sukuna can’t explain without sounding like he cares too much.
“she wouldn’t even care,” geto says after a beat. “she probably wouldn’t wanna go anyway.”
sukuna shakes his head slowly. “she would. not for the party. just to be around us.”
“then invite her to the after,” gojo says, too casually. “she can come once the official stuff’s over. like always.”
and that’s what gets under his skin.
like always.
like you’re some shadow they keep waiting in the wings. welcome, but not official. close, but not close enough. always there, always giving, and never asking for anything back.
but sukuna knows you.
knows you’d never say it hurts. never ask for an invite. never press your nose against the glass and say you want in. because you’re sweet. because you don’t want to make a scene. because you think you’re lucky just to be included at all.
and maybe that’s what kills him most.
sukuna doesn’t respond right away. just rolls the bottle between his hands and nods once, like it doesn’t bother him. like it’s fine.
but it does bother him.
because you've been at every party, every hangout, every busted-up couch gathering like this one. you're as much a part of this group as any of them, maybe more. you're the glue, the heart. the one person who always shows up and always makes it better just by being there.
and suddenly you're not allowed?
he gets it. he does. house rules. dumb frat politics. whatever. but still.
he’s never wanted to bring someone to one of these before. never even thought about it. but the second it came up, your name was already halfway out of his mouth.
and now it’s stuck there, burning.
gojo reaches over, clinks his glass against sukuna’s bottle. “next time, yeah?”
sukuna forces a tight smile and tips his drink back.
“yeah,” he lies. “next time.”
~
the next night.
it’s late when you hear the knock.
past eleven. campus is quiet outside your window, the kind of stillness that only happens after a long day of classes and too much caffeine. your desk light’s still on, laptop humming, a playlist playing low as you scribble in the margins of your notes with a pink pen you definitely didn’t borrow from sukuna and never give back.
you blink up at the sound, confused, and push back from your chair just as the front door swings open without waiting for you.
sukuna steps in, keys jingling between his fingers, sweat clinging to the collar of his black t-shirt.
“jesus,” you say, raising your brows. “you ever heard of knocking?”
he shrugs, already kicking off his sneakers. “you gave me a key.”
“for emergencies. or bringing me food. this is trespassing.”
“it’s not trespassing if i live here part-time.”
“you don’t.”
“i do, emotionally.”
you narrow your eyes, watching as he kicks the door shut behind him and rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair. he looks irritated. flushed. like he’s been fighting someone or about to.
“you coming from a girl’s place or something?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the words slip out a little more bitter than you mean.
he pauses, one foot halfway out of his sock.
“something like that,” he mutters.
it wasn't something like that. he'd been running, something he'd been doing a lot lately instead of his nightly rendezvous with his copious amounts of side chicks. after he went non intentionally celibate, he'd started putting the excess energy he wasn't using in basketball to do laps around campus.
but he couldn't tell you that. couldn't just say, 'yeah, i've been running marathons lately because my dick goes limp at the thought of even touching another women.' so he just chalked it up to whatever your mind was thinking.
you blink, surprised he didn’t throw a joke at you or roll his eyes. didn’t make a crack about what kind of position she had him in or if he should shower before sitting on your bed.
instead he just pulls off his shirt and flops down face-first into your comforter like he’s lived here forever.
you stare for a second at the smooth line of his back, the tribal tattoos, the way he exhales like your room is the first place he’s been able to breathe all day.
“…you okay?” you ask, stepping toward the bed.
he grunts.
“great conversation,” you mutter, crawling up onto the mattress and poking him between the shoulder blades. “what’s with the dramatics, need to talk?”
he rolls onto his side, arm flung over his eyes, voice muffled. “i’m not allowed to bring you to the mixer.”
you blink. “hm?”
you knew of the mixer and you knew you weren't going, you weren't in a sorority.
“they said no,” he says, finally lowering his arm just enough to squint at you. “strictly greek. no exceptions. even though choso’s dragging that freak shiu and he’s barely greek. and even though you’ve been at more of our events than half the guys actually in the frat.”
you go try not to giggle at his display.
“i see,” you say. “it’s fine ryo. i didn’t expect to go anyway.”
“yeah, well, i wanted you to,” he snaps, sharper than he means to. he cleared his throat abit embarrassed before continuing. “was kind of the only reason i was looking forward to it.”
you stare at him, taken aback.
he groans and throws an arm over his face again. “god. it’s so fucking stupid. i don’t even wanna go if you’re not gonna be there.”
you sit beside him, folding your legs under yourself. "hey don't say that, i'm sure you'll get your entertainments worth with what're dumb thing gojos bound to do there."
he rolls his eyes but a smirk pulls at his lips.
“you have to though, right?” you ask quietly. “frat rules?”
he grunts again, bitter. “mandatory attendance. gotta show face, shake hands, do shots with people i fucking hate. can’t just hang out with you like a normal person. it’s bullshit.”
you watch him for a second, hes clearly very upset on your behalf and it tugs at your heart to see him so sad for you.
the frustration in his shoulders. the tension still in his jaw. how tired he looks even though he won’t admit it. and how different he’s been lately, even if he tries to hide it.
it’s been weeks since you’ve seen him leave a party with someone. months since you’ve gotten a dumb flirty text from him at two in the morning about some girl with lip gloss and a sorority pin. instead it’s been this, late nights of cooking and movies at your place, quiet mornings where he'd crash on the couch, showing up sweaty and worn out without explaining why.
you don’t know what’s going on with him.
and you don’t ask.
because he’s still your best friend, he’s still sukuna, you never know what's going on with men like him. not really.
even if you wish sometimes he’d let you see past all the noise and into whatever he’s keeping buried under his skin.
“you could skip,” you offer after a long pause. “say you’re sick.”
he lifts his arm just enough to peek at you. “and miss out on disappointing every alumni watching the insta stories? unthinkable.”
you laugh.
and he smiles, barely.
then closes his eyes again, and says, quieter this time, “just wish it wasn’t like this.”
you don’t ask what he means.
you don’t have to.
you watch him stew for another minute, sprawled on your bed like a kicked dog, jaw tense and brows furrowed. you can tell he’s stuck in his head again, spiraling over something he can’t fix, so you do what you always do when sukuna gets like this.
you get up and go to the fridge.
“what are you doing?” he calls after you, but there’s already the tiniest lilt of curiosity in his voice.
you peek back over your shoulder, smiling shyly. “making you un-grumpy.”
you return with a container of the cookies you baked the night before, still soft from the fridge, the chocolate chips slightly hardened but perfect for biting into. you plop back down beside him and wiggle the container in front of his face.
“i come bearing peace offerings.”
he raises a brow. “what are they laced with?”
“love and all things happy and awesome,” you say sweetly. “now shut up and open.”
you settle onto his knee, the position so familiar it doesn’t even register as odd anymore. you’re perched sideways, comfortably pressed against him as you hold up a cookie to his mouth like you’ve done a thousand times before with different snacks, different moods, different nights.
he sighs like he’s being tortured, but opens his mouth and lets you push a bite past his lips.
and then he goes still.
you try to hide your smirk. “good, right?”
he chews slowly, then nods once, eyes flicking down to the cookie still in your hand. “fuck,” he mutters. “why are these better than the last ones?”
“because i added cinnamon this time,” you say proudly. “i’m a genius. a visionary. a baker ahead of my time. no need to lay it all on me at once.”
“you’re a menace,” he says, reaching for the container and grabbing one for himself. he takes another bite, then leans his head back with a groan. “jesus christ.”
you beam, satisfied. “mood improved?”
he glances down at you, his arm sliding a little more securely around your waist, holding you in place like it’s just instinct. “a little.”
you twist to face him more fully, still sitting across one of his legs, knees bent and shoulder pressing into his chest. “well, i accept your gratitude. payment accepted in the form of continued affection and possibly letting me pick the movie tonight.”
“you say that like you weren’t going to pick it anyway,” he says, but his voice has gone soft.
you don’t move, just rest your cheek lightly against his shoulder. it’s quiet again, in that comfortable, lived-in way. his fingers drift absentmindedly along the hem of your shirt, not even thinking about it, and you feel the shift before it happens.
he sets the cookie down and wraps both arms around you, pulling you fully into his chest.
you blink in surprise as your face smushes into his neck, but your arms slip around his waist anyway, your cheek settling against his skin with a tiny, surprised smile.
this… isn’t unheard of.
but it’s not common either.
not like this.
not this long, not this full-bodied, not this quiet. not this careful.
he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. just breathe in sync, slow and even, held together in the kind of closeness that feels like it means something more than either of you are ready to admit. it doesn’t feel playful. it doesn’t feel casual.
it feels like everything unsaid is pressing in between the space of your bodies.
and still, you don’t pull away.
you stay wrapped around each other, soft and steady in the glow of your little kitchen light. the rest of the world fades out. no frat politics, no mixers, no rules. just your warmth against his chest, the scent of cookies on the air, and his heartbeat pressed right against your cheek.
you smile against him, a little giddy, a little shy, and squeeze your arms around him just a little tighter.
he squeezes back.
"such a softie."
"shut up."
~
friday night, gamma.
the music’s already shaking the walls by the time sukuna and gojo pull up to the house.
the lights are low, the windows are glowing purple, and there’s a line of girls on the front lawn taking pictures against the greek letters like they’re on the fucking red carpet. half of them are laughing too loud, the other half are posing like they’re about to sell flat tummy tea. it’s a mess.
gojo whistles low under his breath. “god damn. they went all out tonight.”
sukuna says nothing, just shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and follows gojo toward the front door, already wishing he’d stayed in.
inside, it’s worse.
the house smells like weed, body spray, and some kind of mango-flavored vodka someone definitely spilled on the carpet. the bass is pounding. the lights are cycling through seizure-inducing colors. and the living room is filled wall to wall with girls in the tiniest outfits he’s ever seen.
crop tops so small they’re practically bras, skirts that could pass for belts, dresses that ride up with every step. legs, boobs, glitter, perfume. like a scene out of a movie, only louder and stickier.
gojo grins, elbowing him in the side. “this is what i’m talking about, man these chicks are drooling.”
“mhm,” sukuna mutters, eyes skimming the crowd without interest.
gojo keeps going, clearly amped. “look at her, jesus. i could write a poem about that ass. might get it tattooed.”
sukuna hums, tuning him out. lets the words wash over him without meaning. he’s good at that now. nodding, smirking, pretending to be the guy they all think he is.
“oh my god,” gojo says again, eyes glued to another girl passing by in a see-through mesh top. “this one’s not even wearing a bra. she’s doing the lord’s work.”
“praise be,” sukuna deadpans.
gojo laughs, already drifting toward the drinks table like a moth to flame, eyes darting everywhere.
sukuna doesn’t follow.
he stands near the door, shoulder against the wall, letting the party swirl around him. girls brush past him on the way to the kitchen, one of them flashing a smile he doesn’t return. he watches two of them grind against each other like they’re auditioning for attention, and someone tugs on his hoodie in passing, trying to get his attention.
he doesn’t even blink.
because all he can think about is how quiet your apartment was last night.
how your laugh sounded when he tried to talk with his mouth full of cookie. how you looked sitting on his knee, eyes crinkling, fingers brushing crumbs from his shirt.
how easy it was.
how real.
and this? this feels like a joke.
he used to love this shit. the noise, the chaos, the attention. he used to thrive in it. let it fill him up, drown out all the parts of himself that didn’t make sense.
but now it just feels loud.
pointless.
empty.
he pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it without thinking.
no texts.
you’re probably curled up on your couch right now with a mug of tea and some documentary about weird animals. maybe wearing one of your oversized sweaters. maybe thinking about him. maybe not.
he sighs, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes for a second.
wishing, more than anything, that he was with you instead.
meanwhile...
your dorm was quiet tonight.
just the low hum of your mini fridge, the soft whir of the fan you’ve wedged into the corner by the window, and the occasional clatter of your own movements as you putter around your tiny kitchen.
you’re barefoot on the tile, hoodie sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your hair pulled back haphazardly. the playlist you always turn on while baking is playing softly, the comfort stuff, the songs you don’t have to think about. your body moves automatically, reaching for ingredients, measuring out flour and sugar like muscle memory.
but your mind’s somewhere else entirely.
you keep thinking about last night. about the way sukuna looked when he walked through your door, sweaty and annoyed and tired, like the world was grating against him. and how he softened when you sat on his lap and fed him cookies. how he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.
that long hug.
you can still feel it.
his arms wrapped around you, your cheek against his chest, the quiet warmth of his body pressed fully into yours like he didn’t want to let go. it wasn’t playful. it wasn’t some joke. it felt like something else. something deeper. something you’re too scared to name.
you missed him the second he left.
you always do.
but tonight, it aches a little more. hell, it aches a hell of a lot.
because you know where he is right now. or, at least, where he’s supposed to be — at that mixer with gojo and the rest of the guys. shoulder to shoulder with every sorority girl on campus. probably surrounded by glitter and perfume and girls in backless dresses.
you try not to picture it.
you try not to imagine him pressed up against someone in a dark corner, hands on her hips, whispering something smooth into her ear. it’s what he used to do, after all. it’s what everyone still thinks he does.
you’ve never asked.
but it’s easier to believe he’s still out there being sukuna, your charming, cocky, slightly feral best friend who fucks around and never gets attached. it’s easier than hoping for something more.
you sigh and lean your hands on the edge of the sink, staring out the window for a moment before pushing off again and turning back to the counter.
if he is out there right now, tangled up with some girl, then so be it. it’s not your business. he’s your friend. he’s always been your friend. and that’s enough.
you shake away the little ache curling up in your chest and reach for the eggs.
he likes custard tarts.
you remember him mentioning it months ago, offhanded, when you were watching some cooking show together and he snorted at a pastry challenge. 'that shit’s easy,' he’d said, and then casually added, 'my grandma used to make those all the time. i could eat like five in one sitting.'
so you’re going to make him some.
you don’t know if he’ll even come by tomorrow, but if he does, it’ll be waiting for him. warm, golden, sweet. something quiet to show him you were thinking about him, even if you won’t say it out loud.
you dust your hands with flour and start rolling out the pastry crust, humming under your breath, praying this suffocating guilt in your chest will soon subside.
back with the man of the hour.
the kitchen is hotter than hell.
bodies packed in tight, music thudding through the walls, the floor sticky with spilled drinks and god-knows-what. it smells like tequila, sweat, and cologne, like every mixer always does. sukuna’s perched at the corner of the counter with a half-empty shot glass in his hand, the burn of whatever cheap liquor they’re using tonight still clinging to his throat.
he’s a few drinks in, not drunk, but warm. loose. not enough to forget, just enough to blur the edges.
“yo,” someone says, slapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “you still out here slaying or what?
it’s ino, one of the phi sig guys. bleach-blond, grinning like a golden retriever, drunk enough that his words are dragging a little.
sukuna doesn’t answer right away.
he can feel the pause stretching. can feel the weight of it. because he knows exactly where this is going.
“what?” ino says, laughing. “don’t tell me the infamous sukuna went soft on us.”
he’s joking. mostly.
but nearby, sukuna catches gojo’s eyes.
he’s leaning against the wall with a drink in one hand, watching the conversation like a hawk. and when their gazes meet, gojo raises one brow, just slightly. the look is clear.
'just lie to them.'
gojo doesn’t say it out loud, but he doesn’t need to.
because sukuna’s got a reputation. one the frat’s leaned on for years, their golden weapon. their sexed-up, reckless, untouchable president’s right-hand menace. the one who sets the tone at parties, the one who doesn’t hesitate to bang anyone, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t change.
and if word gets out that ryomen sukuna hasn’t laid a hand on anyone in months, that he’s been skipping hookups to hang out with you in your tiny dorm room, baking cookies and trading sleepy smiles? well.
it wouldn’t look good.
not for him. not for the frat. not for the image.
so he swallows the sick twist in his gut and flashes a grin that feels so disgustingly wrong on his face.
“you know how it is,” he says smoothly, rolling his neck like he’s already bored of the conversation. “been busy. but yeah. still getting mine.”
ino laughs and passes him another shot, already leaning in. “anyone good?”
“couple girls from chi o,” sukuna says, shrugging one shoulder. “blonde one — i forget her name. maybe claire? she was loud. pretty sure half the floor heard us.”
ino hollers and claps him on the back, and someone nearby chimes in with a “my fucking guy.”
sukuna downs the shot.
he keeps going.
“hooked up with that junior from zeta last week too. the one with the snake tattoo.”
“mia?” ino gasps.
“yeah,” sukuna half lies, licking his teeth. “she’s got this thing where she likes being choked. like, full hand, no hesitation. freaky as fuck, but she took it like a champ.”
there’s laughter. back slaps. someone throws him another beer.
and sukuna plays along.
he leans into the scumbag act. tells them about how he made her beg. how he didn’t even bother texting her after. throws in some bullshit about how she kept whining for round three and he just left.
and it’s easy, this was how he used to be after all.
his voice is smooth, confident, practiced. he says the words like he’s proud of them. like they don’t taste like ash and piss in his mouth. like they aren’t killing him from the inside out.
because the truth is, he hasn’t touched anyone since he realized he was in love with you.
sure he's fucked those girl before, just not as of late.
no blonde named claire. no snake tattoo. no begging, no choking, no careless sex with strangers who mean nothing.
just you.
just the way you looked at him the other night, eyes wide and sweet while you perched on his knee. just the way you made him feel full with nothing but a bite of cookie and a laugh. just the way your arms wrapped around him without hesitation. like he was someone worth holding onto.
but he can’t say that here.
he can’t be that guy.
so he keeps lying. keeps playing the role. keeps smiling through the noise and the heat and the taste of someone else’s expectations on his tongue.
and all the while, in the back of his mind, he’s wondering what you’re doing right now. if your oven’s still on. if your hands are covered in flour. if you’re thinking about him too.
god, he hopes you are. safe away from this performative monster he's so carefully curated.
later.
things have gone off the rails.
the house is sweltering now, bodies packed in so tight you can barely breathe. music’s still blasting, bass heavy enough to make your ribs shake, lights flickering red and blue and green over swaying heads. sweat slicks the walls, the floors are sticky with god-knows-what, and the air smells like beer, weed, and perfume way too sweet to be expensive.
sukuna’s sunk low into the couch in the middle of the living room, a drink sweating in his hand, head tilted back. his shirt sticks to his skin, his legs are spread, and his eyes are half-lidded, glazed over. he’s a few drinks deep, but not enough to be drunk, just enough to dull the headache that’s been building since he walked in.
choso’s next to him, nursing a blunt, and shiu’s perched on the armrest, scrolling through his phone with dead eyes.
“this party fucking blows,” shiu mutters, not looking up.
“wasn’t it your idea to come?” choso says.
“yeah, and i was wrong. fuck me.”
“everyone’s just trying to fuck each other,” choso says flatly. “like aggressively. it’s like a brothel in here.”
“with worse lighting,” shiu adds.
sukuna doesn’t say anything. just watches the way two girls are sloppily grinding against each other on the floor, their drinks spilling down their arms, mascara already halfway down their cheeks. somewhere across the room, someone’s moaning against the wall like they’re getting railed in public, which, honestly, they probably are.
he’s halfway through zoning out again when it happens.
a blonde drops into his lap like a stone.
he barely registers her until she’s already straddling him, arms looped around his neck, tits pushed up and glittering under the party lights.
“found you,” she purrs, loud in his ear. her voice is syrupy sweet, her lips glossed thick and shiny. she presses a wet kiss to his cheek without waiting for permission, then trails her mouth down to his neck.
his body locks up. 'ew.'
she smells like candy and sweat. her lashes are so fake they look heavy. her nails scrape his shoulder through his shirt like she’s trying to get a grip.
“you’re sukuna, right?” she asks, already moving her hips in his lap. “heard you’re fun.”
he wants to shove her off.
wants to grab her wrists and tell her to get the fuck off him, now. because nothing about this feels good. nothing about this feels right. she’s too close, too loud, too much. and all he can think is 'this isn’t you.'
but then he glances up.
and he sees them.
those same frat guys he took shots with earlier, ino and the rest. watching him from across the room with wide eyes and cocky grins. waiting. expecting. this was what they wanted, wasn’t it? the infamous sukuna he had bragged about not even an hour earlier. the legend. the sex god. they’re watching like they’re about to take notes.
and across the room, posted near the kitchen with a drink in hand, gojo is watching too.
his eyes lock with sukuna’s. one raised brow. jaw tight. a warning in his expression.
'don’t fuck this up. just pretend.' he mouths.
this is his job, after all. the frat’s bad boy, their wild card, the one who never slows down. his reputation isn’t just his anymore — it’s tied to the frat’s image, to the hierarchy, to the ego of every guy in this house who needs him to be that guy.
so sukuna doesn’t shove her off.
he lets her kiss his jaw. lets her whisper something slutty in his ear, lets her press her tits into his chest and grind against him like they’re already alone.
he lets her act like she owns him.
his hands rest loose on her waist. one slides down to her thigh, just for show. not tight. not real. just enough to make it look like he’s into it.
his skin crawls.
he doesn’t smile. doesn’t speak. he just sits there, dead behind the eyes, playing the part.
choso side-eyes him, a brow lifting. shiu’s halfway through another drink, watching the scene with a quiet kind of judgment.
sukuna doesn’t flinch.
but inside, he’s somewhere else entirely.
he’s thinking about you.
your dorm. your stupid cozy couch. your face lighting up when he told you your cookies were perfect. your hands brushing against his. your warmth.
the way you held him like you knew.
and now he’s here.
pretending.
surrounded by noise and bodies and fake gold glitter. kissing strangers in front of an audience, playing the role of someone he hasn’t been in a long time.
and all he wants is to be home.
with you.
the girl’s hands are everywhere.
on his chest, sliding under his shirt. in his hair, tugging hard like it’s supposed to be sexy. her mouth is hot and wet on his neck, and she keeps saying shit in his ear he can’t even hear over the bass rumbling through the floor.
he doesn’t want this.
hasn’t wanted this from the second she crawled into his lap.
but now she’s pulling him up off the couch, dragging him by the hand through the throng of sweaty bodies. she’s laughing, shrieking something about going upstairs, or maybe back to her place, either way, her grip is iron and her intentions are clear. and people are watching.
he can feel the eyes on him.
guys slapping him on the back as he passes, grinning, nodding, giving him looks that say that’s our guy.the same ones who were cheering earlier when she straddled him like a chair in the middle of the party. girls whispering, side-eyes thrown like confetti.
and gojo.
gojo’s standing near the bottom of the stairs now, cup in hand, watching sukuna get dragged toward the front door like some kind of prize.
they lock eyes.
sukuna hesitates for a beat.
gojo steps forward and claps a hand on his arm, grip tight for a second. he leans in, expression unusually serious beneath the usual shine of his grin.
“sorry, man,” he murmurs under the music. “i shouldn’t have made you do all that shit.”
sukuna doesn’t say anything. just nods once, jaw clenched.
“you’re a good soldier,” gojo adds, half-joking, half-sincere. “but you don’t gotta burn yourself out for the frat.”
sukuna’s too tired to respond. the girl’s tugging on his arm again, fingers clawed around his wrist like she thinks he’ll vanish if she lets go.
they step out the front door into the night.
the air outside is colder than it should be, sharp against his sweaty skin. it hits his lungs too fast. makes him dizzy.
she turns to him immediately, mouth already open. “so i live, like, five minutes away. unless you wanna go to yours? my roommate’s out, so—”
her hands are on his chest again. fumbling with the hem of his shirt, nails dragging over his stomach like she’s mapping him out with zero permission. she presses herself into him, mouth seeking his again, clumsy and insistent.
and that’s when it hits.
the disgust.
the wrongness.
the way it makes his skin crawl, makes his stomach twist. not because she’s unattractive, not because she’s done anything “wrong” by frat party standards — but because she’s not you.
and this? this isn’t him.
he jerks away from her touch as she snakes her hand over the bulge in his jeans.
“stop.”
she blinks, confused. tries to laugh it off, like maybe he’s teasing. “what?”
“i said stop,” he snaps, stepping back. “jesus fucking christ.”
her face falls.
“you can’t just—” she starts, but he’s already shaking his head.
“go." he almost yells. "go home,” he says sharply. “alone.”
her jaw drops like she’s about to protest again, but he’s not listening. he turns, already walking, the cold air slicing through his clothes, his breath fogging up in the dark.
he doesn’t look back.
the sounds of the party are muffled now, swallowed up by the night. but they still echo in his head. the music, the laughter, the voices cheering him on like he’s some kind of fucking mascot. the fake moans and the fake smiles and the way it felt to be watched like he owed everyone a show.
he lights a cigarette with shaking hands.
his stomach still feels sick.
and all he can think about, as the taste of cherry lip gloss lingers like poison, is how right it felt to be on your couch. how warm your kitchen was. how soft your hands were when you brushed his hair back from his forehead like he was something worth caring for.
he walks faster.
because if he doesn’t get away from all this now, he’s not sure he ever will.
his footsteps echo off the pavement, sharp in the emptiness, and his lungs burn with every breath. the cigarette is still between his fingers, barely smoked, the ember flickering weakly in the dark.
he can’t stop shaking.
his skin feels wrong. like something’s still crawling on it. like her hands are still there. he rubs his neck with the heel of his palm, hard, like he can wipe it off. the gloss, the heat, the fakeness of it all.
his stomach lurches.
he stops walking and bends forward instinctively, one hand on his knee, the other bracing against the cold brick wall of the nearest building. he spits once onto the sidewalk, tastes bile and tequila and something rotten.
he breathes through his nose.
in, out, in, out.
think of something else.
think of anything else.
but all he can think about is you.
the way you'd light up when you'd spot him on campus, how you'd always gravitate towards him at parties and hang outs. your stupid soft hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hands covered in flour, smiling like he was your favorite part of your day.
and god, all he wanted to was erase his entire past to start a clean, virgin slate with you.
he almost let some stranger girl touch him in a way he wishes only you would. he let her sit on him, kiss him, grab at him, and he didn’t stop it. didn’t stop it until it was nearly too late.
and for what?
some frat reputation?
gojo’s approval?
a bunch of guys who only know his name because of the stories he used to make up?
he could fucking vomit.
he dry heaves once, hard, and his whole body folds in. he grips the edge of a trash bin like it’ll keep him upright, knuckles going white. but nothing comes up. just air and guilt and the way your name sits on his tongue like a bruise.
'you’re not even mine.'
he reminds himself of that again and again. you’re not his. you’ve never kissed. never fucked. never even admitted how you feel.
you’re just friends. best friends, maybe. roommates in a different life. partners in crime when things are light.
but he knows what this is. knows what’s happening to him.
you’ve ruined him.
your gentleness. your kindness. the way you hold his face when you’re teasing him and don’t even realize it. the way you hug him like he’s worth something. like you see him, all of him, and still choose to stay.
and now he’s here. shaking and fucked-up in the street, gagging over the ghost of a girl who doesn’t matter, while you're sitting at home in your dorm when you could of been here with him, that way, he'd never of let another girl get close, he's speaks the night sitting on the porch, with you.
he sinks down onto the curb, elbows braced on his knees, cigarette hanging limp from his fingers. his vision swims, hot and sharp, his head tipping back to stare at the stars he can’t even see through the city haze.
he should’ve stayed with you.
he should’ve just stayed home, with you.
his hands are trembling when he reaches into his pocket. he fishes blindly past his lighter, crumpled receipts, a folded-up flyer someone handed him earlier, until his fingers close around metal.
your dorm keys.
he pulls them out slowly.
they sit in his palm, warm from his body heat. a pink little charm you’d added dangles from the ring, a squishy cartoon animal he never bothered to learn the name of, even though you told him three times. it jiggles as he stares down at it, breath catching in his throat.
he clenches his fist around them.
tight.
like it’ll keep him grounded. like it’ll make you real again.
the night presses in around him. too quiet, too still. but that ache in his chest, the sour twist in his gut, it all starts to blur the second he stands up and starts walking.
~
your apartment smells like vanilla and nutmeg.
you pull the tray from the oven with slow, tired movements, fingers twitching slightly through the worn edges of your oven mitts. you place it carefully on the cooling rack, your shoulders drooping.
they turned out perfect.
golden brown, smooth custard centers with just the right shimmer. they look like something out of a recipe book. the kind of thing you’d proudly serve someone you care about.
someone who promised he’d come over this weekend.
someone who’s probably in a stranger’s bed right now.
you press your lips together and exhale through your nose, eyes fluttering shut.
that ache in your chest still hasn’t gone away. it’s not sharp anymore, not like earlier, when you imagined his hands on someone else, but it’s still there. dull. tight. like a bruise that refuses to fade.
you try to distract yourself. start wiping down the counter. humming softly. pretending.
and then—
bang.
a clatter at the door. a commotion, keys fumbling against the lock. your head snaps up, heart slamming into your ribs.
before you can move, the door bursts open.
a heaving sukuna stumbles inside.
he’s wild-eyed, flushed, sweaty, like he’s run the whole way here. his shirt’s wrinkled, his jacket half-zipped, one sleeve rolled up and the other down. his hair’s a mess. his knuckles are scraped.
he looks terrible.
and he looks right at you.
for one beat, just one, everything stops.
your eyes meet, and it’s like all the oxygen rushes back into the room. the ache in your chest disappears, the weight behind his eyes fades, the tension that was tearing both of you apart evaporates the second you’re locked into each other’s gaze.
you smile first. a smile he so dearly loved to see.
small. instinctive. like it slips out before you can stop it.
and that’s all it takes.
sukuna moves fast, like something in him finally gives out, and suddenly he’s in front of you, arms wrapping around your body like he needs you to breathe. his chest crashes into yours, hard, and his arms hook tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
your hands flutter up, half-startled, and you steady yourself against his shoulders.
he’s holding you like he’s drowning.
“jesus,” you laugh softly, trying to ease the weight, “what, some girl give you blue balls or something—”
you don’t finish the sentence.
because his grip tightens.
his arms squeeze harder, fingers fisting into the back of your hoodie like he’s trying to climb inside of you.
his face buries into your neck. and then you hear it.
a sniffle.
not a dramatic one, not obvious, not loud, but small and choked off, like he’s trying not to let it out at all.
your breath catches.
his body trembles once, a subtle shiver that passes through him like a quake, and suddenly your joke feels cruel, your smile falters, and your heart lodges somewhere in your throat.
your voice drops, softer than you’ve ever used with him.
“ryo…”
you pull back just enough to see his face.
his eyes are glassy. rimmed red. lashes damp like he’s been holding it in for a while. and when he blinks, slow and heavy, a single tear finally falls, trailing down the sharp angle of his cheek.
your heart cracks clean in two.
like your body just knows, like it feels his pain before you can even register it, your own eyes burn immediately. you try to hold it in, but it stings anyway. wells up fast, like your chest doesn’t know how to hold all the ache that’s suddenly there.
he sees it.
his lips twitch, and he forces out a quiet, watery chuckle. “of course you're that kinda person” he murmurs, voice thick. “the type to cry when someone else cries. like it’s a reflex or something.”
you swallow around the lump in your throat. “i've only done it for you.”
that makes him go still.
your hand lifts to his cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye, and your voice trembles with the weight of it all. “because i care about you, ryo. so much. more than i can even explain.”
his breath stutters.
and for a second, he doesn’t say anything.
he just looks at you, like you’re something he’s been waiting for his whole life. and then he smiles, soft and small and cracked open, and leans forward until his forehead is pressed to yours again.
you close your eyes.
you fall into each other like instinct.
your arms wrap around his neck again, and his circle your waist. tighter this time. not desperate. just sure.
you still don’t know why he’s crying.
he hasn’t told you anything. hasn’t explained the bloodshot eyes or the tremble in his hands or the way he stumbled through your door like you were home.
but none of that matters.
because he’s sad.
and that makes you sad.
so you hold him. and he holds you back.
"y/n. i love you."
you freeze.
like your whole body forgets how to move.
his voice is quiet, broken at the edges, low and raw like it got scraped out of his chest just for you. you feel it before you even fully process it. like the words ripple through your bloodstream faster than they hit your ears.
you pull back just slightly, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in your throat.
“h-huh…?”
his gaze is already on you. steady. not flinching. his brows are pinched like he’s terrified, like he’s bracing for the worst, but his hands never leave you. they stay right where they’ve been, one at the small of your back, the other cradling your side like he’s holding something fragile.
“i love you,” he says again, firmer this time. “i think i’ve loved you since the first time you told me about some weird show you liked and forgot to breathe because you were talking too fast. i didn’t know it then, but—fuck, y/n. it’s you. it’s always been you.”
your eyes sting.
you’re not sure if you’re breathing.
his thumb rubs absent circles at your hip. his voice is shaking.
“i haven’t touched anyone since i figured it out. haven’t even looked at anyone like that. i tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. i told myself i could just be around you like normal and it’d pass. but it didn’t. it just got worse. everything felt worse without you.”
you press your lips together, hard.
your chest is aching so sweetly it almost feels like pain.
“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds quickly, eyes flicking over your face. “i know this is a lot. i just—i couldn’t keep lying. not after tonight.”
you open your mouth, then close it again.
you’re not even sure what expression’s on your face, shock? relief? some impossible mixture of everything you’ve ever felt for him suddenly rising to the surface all at once.
but eventually, finally, your voice comes out.
quiet.
“say it again.”
his brows lift.
you lean in closer, eyes shining. “please. just say it one more time.”
he swallows.
and then he breathes it like a vow.
“i love you.”
you surge forward, arms around his neck, and kiss him like it’s the only thing you’ve been trying not to do for months.
and this time, he doesn’t tremble.
he melts.
like he’s been waiting his whole life just for this.
your lips part from his just enough to breathe.
his eyes are still closed, like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way your fingers feel curled into the back of his neck. and you watch him for a second — the way his lashes tremble, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s never been kissed before.
and then you say it.
soft.
barely more than a whisper.
“i love you too.”
his eyes open slow.
like he needs to see your face to make sure it’s real.
and when he does, when he sees the truth of it in your eyes, your smile, the way your hand lingers over his heart like it belongs there, he laughs.
it’s small at first. breathless. disbelieving.
then you start laughing too.
and it bubbles out of both of you, giddy and bright, like it’s been waiting there under the surface all this time, the kind of laughter that spills into kisses, that makes your foreheads knock together, that leaves you smiling so wide your cheeks ache.
you’re both a little teary still. a little overwhelmed.
but it doesn’t matter.
because when he kisses you again, deeper this time, fuller, with both hands cupping your face like he’s never going to let you go, it’s not heavy. it’s not hard. it’s not desperate.
it’s just good.
it’s just right.
like the floodgates have finally opened, and everything you’ve both been holding back comes pouring out in warmth and wonder and wonder and wonder.
you’re still holding the edges of each other when he pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips.
“you’re it for me.”
and you smile.
because he’s it for you too.
you’re both still smiling, flushed and warm and tangled up in each other, when he suddenly sniffs the air.
his nose scrunches. he blinks. then his head slowly turns toward the counter behind you.
“…wait.”
you already know what’s coming.
he sniffs again, exaggerated and dramatic, eyebrows lifting higher with every inhale. “is that—?” he gasps, stepping around you to look.
“your favourite?” you finish, barely holding back your grin.
his eyes go wide. cartoonishly wide.
“you made them?”
you nod, biting your bottom lip, and gesture toward the cooling tray like you’re unveiling the secret ingredient in a baking show. “fresh from the oven. made them for you, actually. figured you might come by after—”
you don’t even finish the sentence before he lets out the softest noise, like a choked gasp of joy, (very uncharacteristically cute for him.) and practically tackles you in a hug.
“you’re so cute,” he says, spinning you around like it’s instinct, like you’re weightless. you squeal, laughing into his shoulder, clinging to him as he twirls you once in a giddy circle. “you made me custard tarts? i could eat you up right here, i swear to god.”
“ahh i see, so you're gonna eat me and the tarts? someone's getting greedy.”
“absolutely.”
you laugh breathlessly, hands braced against his chest as he sets you back down. “god you perv, did you have to ruin it?”
“sorry, sorry,” he mutters, grinning like an idiot.
he leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet, then cups your cheeks like you’re something precious and kisses you again, deeper, like he can’t help it, like you’re his favorite dessert.
“always wanted to thank you like this,” he murmurs against your lips. “for all the stuff you do for me. the baking, the hugs, the late-night pep talks. all of it. i just never had the guts.”
you giggle, your hands sliding up his arms as you melt into him again.
and as he dips you backward like he’s about to marry you right there in your tiny kitchen, you decide the tarts can wait just a little longer.
Will be ooc, I have no doubt about that, I did my best to look into dromas but all I’ve got are the in game files 💔💔
I tried keeping it gender neutral, but might’ve messed up somewhere, not sure it’s not proofread.
Laying in bed with your beloved brought you true peace, if only he could stop thinking for a second.
“The notes of veterinarian Lucretia clearly point towards there being a deeper meaning behind the dromases, their odd behavior and their seemingly increasing connection to the earth and all that which is around us. My dear I tell you, the dromas is capable of wonders that those plebeians at the Grove are far too simple minded to understand!”
“Hm” you replied groggily, how can this man not spend all his energy during the day, especially with how much he talks, it’s a wonder his vocal cord haven’t died yet.
You couldn’t complain too much, with your face in his neck, laying on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart, maybe this was a ploy to tire you out instead.
On the windowsill stood one lone droma, basking in moonlight. From his sister he told you once, well, mumbled more so. You dropped the topic after seeing how it still pained him. But you couldn’t help but feel it was unfairly lonely there, normally you wouldn’t comment on it, but your exhaustion seemed to be fine with letting just about anything and everything pass by you.
“Dear”
He stopped mid speech, looking down (or at least trying to) at you.
“Doesn’t that get lonely after a while? Him, standing there by his lonesome.”
He didn’t comment, not at first. He looked at the dromas, the small glow of the moon giving it a stunning hue, but one that only told stories of struggles and loss.
“Well, I’d uhm, I’d imagine so, yes.”
You cuddled closer to him, “you should get him a buddy, a little pal he can complain to, you of all people should know that dromases can’t stand being alone.” Sleep finally started taking its toll on you, “maybe get him, a little mini me..”
Anaxagoras felt your weight on him increase, yet he couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it. He laid there, staring. Some may say lost in thought, he’d laugh and say just observing as all should. But there was no one here, no one to prove wrong about the outrageous assumption that he of all people would ever lose a train of thought, just you, sleeping.
By sunrise he was long gone, you knew he always ensured his schedule was filled to the brim, as if that would stop Aglaea from looking for him.
You relished in the remaining warmth a little while longer, he’d shame you for wasting precious hours that can be utilized to disprove the religious extremists, oh whatever, you’re sure he can handle them in the name of you both.
After a while longer, you decided you’ve run out of excuses to tell him if he caught you. Looking at the window, you were shocked to see a once very lonely dromas, now accompanied by a slightly smaller dromas, the latter somehow looking more excited then the former.
You crawled across the bed to them, those two sweethearts now basking in the light of a new tomorrow.
You saw a small note laying next to them.
My dear (y/n).
That dromas had been lonely since the day my sister gave him to me.
I lived under a believe that that was my fate, it felt natural. What kind of lunatic would one need to be to love a heretic?
I asked myself that nightly when she passed, with every new moon and every new sun, I wondered, ‘would she still love me, if she saw me now?’
One day, I think she answered.
This strange, yet peculiar individual stopped by my lecture. They had a smile so wide I thought their jaw would strain.
They kept asking on and on about dromases, I found it strange they went to me and not a veterinarian such as Lucretia, but I obliged. Far be it from me to stop the hunt for answers.
I started expecting them nearly daily, thought they were a student ditching their own classes, until one day.
They walked in, and a student of mine said ‘(miss/mister)(y/n)? I thought you always taught around this time?’
Turns out, this ‘stray student’, was a teacher, an excellent one at that.
I decided, two can play that game, and became a regular at their lessons. much to the dismay of the students
It was inevitable that they would fall for me, stop telling people I fell for you first it may be true but please think of my reputation
On the day we went out together, I told them the cold truth, being with me kills the view people have of you.
You know what they did? They laughed, and then berated me for trying to ‘scare them off’.
That’s when I knew the answer to my unspoken question, my sister would love me if she saw me now. I may not believe in the titans, I may not be devoted to any of them, but there are two people who have my complete, unspoken devotion.
And I wholeheartedly believe, my sister send you to show that ‘if some complete stranger could love you for your knowledge, your soul and then stick by you no matter what, so could I.’
So I decided you were right, the dromas was far too lonely, it wouldn’t be fair to derive him of his chance to meet his own (y/n).
Now I’m saddened to say I’ll be busy for quite sometime, but I sincerely hope these two lovebirds bring you the company you need, see it as my way of repaying you for helping me find the love I lost.
Your dearest, your one and only
Anaxagoras.
Author notes.
I just really needed to ramble about something with this guy, like I love him so much. Though this is much shorter then I wanted it to be, electricity in my house went out so I lost the writing spirit.
Hi Lily! I love your writings, especially for Anaxa! You capture all sides to his character perfectly, and he feels alive in the writings. I wanted to share an idea of imagining being with Anaxa and taking your children to meet dromases for the first time. His heart would melt seeing his children be curious to see the amazing creatures. He couldn't help but teach them everything he knows about dromases and take pictures of them petting the animals :)
A Day with the Dromases (Anaxa x Reader)
A/N: Hi there :) Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m really happy you enjoy my Anaxa writing. This idea was incredibly sweet, and since I’ve been in my Anaxa-missing hours again, I had to write it. (Family fluff always gets to me...) 💙 Thank you for the inspiration! :)
Side note: I took a few creative liberties and invented some dromas lore to fully enable Nerd!Anaxa. :D Enjoy! :)
Tags: Female Reader. Established Relationship. Married Life. Family Fluff. Dad Anaxa. Dromas Encounter. Soft Domestic Moment. Kissing.
Word count: 1338
⋆ ✦ ⋆
The moment you arrive at the dromas workshop, your children freeze in their tracks. Wide-eyed, breath caught, small hands clutching yours with sudden tightness.
The creatures are even larger up close than in the illustrations Anaxa has shown them. Warm scales catch the afternoon light, and gentle bells chime softly as the creatures shift their weight.
Anaxa watches the children quietly, his usual sharp expression softening into something tender. Something few people outside this little family ever witness.
“Go on,” he encourages, voice dropping to that low, warm tone he reserves for moments like this. “They’re gentle. And I suspect they’re just as curious about you as you are about them.”
Your eldest hesitates for only a moment before taking the first brave step toward the smallest one. You realize it’s a baby dromas.
The young creature waddles closer on careful feet, blinking enormous golden eyes staring curiously. It tilts its head, considering this small human with obvious interest.
Your eldest gasps, wonder written across their face. “Papa, why does it have those white dots on its head?”
Anaxa’s entire posture shifts. Shoulders straightening, attention sharpening with the particular energy he gets when someone asks him a question he’s thrilled to answer.
“Ah.” He immediately kneels to their height, adjusting his coat as he settles beside them. “All dromases have them, though the pattern may vary by individual.”
“But what are they for?” your eldest presses, leaning forward with that inherited curiosity that makes your chest warm.
Anaxa inhales deeply. The breath of a scholar about to deliver a lecture he’s been waiting to give.
“Well,” he begins, and you can hear the barely-contained excitement threading through his measured tone, “there are several theories. The predominant one among scholars is purely aesthetic. That they serve no function and are simply decorative markings.”
He pauses, and you can practically see him preparing to dismantle that theory. “They are, of course, wrong.”
You press your lips together to keep from laughing.
“My research suggests,” he continues, gesturing toward the baby dromas, “that these are sensory nodes. Specialized vibration receptors that help them interpret airflow patterns and emotional cues from other dromases. Watch closely. You’ll notice they brighten slightly when the dromas experiences heightened emotion.”
Your child stares, utterly mesmerized, as the baby dromas leans forward to sniff at them.
And sure enough, the white markings along its crest seem to glow just a bit brighter in the dappled sunlight.
“Papa!” your eldest whispers, awestruck and barely breathing. “It’s so close!”
“Yes.” Anaxa’s voice carries quiet satisfaction. “That’s a curiosity signal. See how its head is tilted? How its eyes are wide but relaxed? It’s interested in you, but not alarmed. Completely harmless.”
Your youngest, who’s been clinging to your leg, finally speaks up in a small voice. “Is it okay to touch?”
“If it approaches you willingly, yes.” Anaxa shifts to make room for them. “But let it come to you. Dromases decide when they’re ready for contact.”
The baby dromas makes that decision quickly, nudging its head gently against your eldest’s outstretched hand.
Both children gasp in delight.
Anaxa continues without prompting, slipping into that lecture cadence you know so well: “Some scholars theorize this is arbitrary. They are also wrong.”
You can’t help it—you laugh softly.
Your youngest tugs at his sleeve with sticky fingers. “Papa knows everything.”
Anaxa's cheeks turn distinctly red, but he presses on. “Not everything. But I have spent considerable time studying—”
He stops mid-sentence.
Because your children aren’t the only ones watching him with open admiration.
You are too. Smiling wide, fondness practically glowing in your eyes as you observe this man you love explaining dromas biology to your children with the same passion he brings to every subject that captures his interest.
Anaxa notices. And something in his expression stutters.
“…What?” he asks, voice going quieter, faintly defensive.
“Nothing,” you say warmly, stepping closer and slipping your free hand into his. “I just love seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like someone who adores dromases and his children and is terrible at pretending one doesn’t completely undo his composure just as much as the other.”
“I am not attempting to pretend—”
You kiss him before he can finish the thought. A soft, warm, grateful kiss that tastes like affection and years of knowing exactly how to fluster him.
It isn’t meant to leave him speechless. Which is exactly why it does.
When you pull back, he blinks at you with that stunned expression you’ve grown to adore. The one that says his brilliant mind has temporarily short-circuited.
A tiny, helpless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
From somewhere beside you, your eldest stage-whispers: “Papa’s embarrassed.”
“I am not embarrassed,” Anaxa mutters, though his ears betray him. He sighs, defeated. “I am momentarily distracted.”
“By Mama?” your youngest asks with the blunt curiosity only small children possess.
Anaxa goes very still. Then, quietly: “…Yes. By her.”
You squeeze his hand, grinning.
Before you can tease him further, the baby dromas waddles closer and gently butts its head against Anaxa’s shoulder with a soft, rumbling sound.
His breath catches audibly.
Then, impossibly, his expression softens even more, going tender in a way that makes your chest ache with love for this man.
“It nuzzled you, Papa!” your eldest squeals, bouncing on their toes.
“It means it trusts him,” you say gently, watching Anaxa’s face as understanding settles over him.
He lifts one hand slowly, tentatively, and the creature leans into his palm with a vibrating purr that you can feel through the air.
Anaxa laughs. A low, unguarded sound that rumbles up from somewhere deep in his chest. It’s the kind of laugh almost no one else gets to hear, the one reserved for moments of pure, uncomplicated joy.
Your children immediately crowd closer, eager to touch the creature too.
“Here,” Anaxa says, his voice returning to that patient teaching tone as he guides their small hands with gentle precision. “Pet just under the jawline. Slowly. They interpret affection through sustained pressure and warmth, similar to how herd members groom each other.”
The baby dromas melts under the attention, golden eyes half-closing in contentment, bells chiming softly with each small shift of weight.
Your children giggle, delighted and careful and so full of wonder it makes your throat tight.
Anaxa watches them like his entire world has quietly, perfectly rearranged itself into something he never knew he needed this much.
You slip your other hand into his free one, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re adorable when you get excited about things,” you whisper, just for him.
He exhales a tiny, helpless laugh. The kind that sounds like surrender and happiness in equal measure.
“And you,” he murmurs back, eye warm and fond and entirely focused on you, “are absolutely determined to use this knowledge against me at every opportunity.”
“Always,” you confirm cheerfully.
He doesn’t let go of your hand. Not even when the baby dromas nudges him again with gentle insistence, demanding more attention.
Your children pet the dromas with reverent care, murmuring soft observations to each other.
Anaxa watches all of you with an expression that belongs only to moments like this. When the weight of research and responsibility falls away, leaving only the simple, profound joy of being here. Of being theirs.
A family.
A quiet afternoon.
A scholar who once lived primarily in theories and experiments, now glowing softly at the sight of his children meeting something he loves.
You lean your head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of alchemical ingredients and soap and home.
Anaxa turns slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple. And then he mutters, just for you, in a voice full of something precious and true: “This may be my favorite day.”
You smile against his shoulder. “Mine too.”
The baby dromas makes content noises.
Your children laugh.
And Anaxa’s hand tightens around yours, holding on to this perfect, ordinary moment like the rare treasure it is.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: Thanks for reading. :) I hope you enjoyed it. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. :)
husband nanami who has a wife who prefers to look better than comfortable this once… and deeply regrets it afterwards.
nanami who is such a gentleman it irks you sometimes how willing he is for you, how far he’s determined to search for anything—god, ask for water whilst you two are in a desert and he would. he doesn’t care how stupid your requests sound,
but the one thing he will most definitely not tolerate is when you refuse his help. your big, handsome, gorgeous, adoring lover was right there, and willing to do whatever, so why must you be so stubborn in not wanting to take those shoes off?
so when he told you off (asked you if you really wanted to wear heels while roaming disneyland), you wanted to tell him otherwise!
“sweetheart… you know i was joking.” — “no, no… i’m gonna prove that…” your voice stops for a moment as you briefly wince in pain.
“i don’t need it!”
you had chosen heels to go out to this extremely large event that had you two always on your feet. was the height truly worth the pain? is ache really worth beauty? not necessarily but indefinitely for now it would when nanami had already promised not to pack you an extra pair of shoes.
but to spite him, and his foolish overpreparedness by wearing these uncomfortably tall heels, and continue on with them for the rest of the seek as well… although the way the back of the heels seemed to dig into your hindfoot was really starting to settle now.
nanami could only shake his head at your denial whilst keeping his eyes on the comfortable slippers themed to mickey mouse in hand as he watched you struggle to walk forward to the churro stall you were begging to go try out.
“are you done being silly yet, my love?” peering over your shoulder, “would you please listen to me? your feet are starting to swell.”
sitting down on a bench right before the delicious snack stand you were dying to eat—“no! i told you i don’t need… i don’t need your pity, ken’!!” …
“so why are we resting on a bench right now, hmm?” a small smirk appears in his face as he continued to observe how much more you needed to break.
“because… this park is big, obviously its not tiring—the shoes you know….we’re sitting down because we’ve been here for hours!”
“you mean thirty minutes?”
…
“has… has it really only been thirty?”
tilting his head with his continued grin, “mhm.”
lies. except you couldn’t tell its only been twenty because that how killer these shoes were… taken literally.
“do you want me to give—“ … “how about i just…” your husband suddenly gets on one knee in front of you, kneeling down further to start changing the shoes for you. “what the hell are you doing?!”
“serving my wife because i hate to see her suffer.”
“not with those god awful yellow things people call shoes!”
you had really tried your best to shake off his hands from changing your shoes himself, only for him to wrap his arm behind your knees to hold you down. “kento! you cheater!” smacking his head with the little strength you could to stop him.
“would you rather i carry you around then?” — “…”
your heels were already being held by his left hand while holding you firmly with his right arm. walking over to the nearest souvenir shop to find the slippers he had been eyeing for a while now.
you could only sit in his arm and admit defeat, now wearing something much more comfortable once he pays for them himself. “much better now, right?” his hand pats your shoulder, “no.”
sighing as he hugs you a little closer, placing a small kiss on your cheek. “…okay, maybe a little bit.” — “mmn, come on, we better catch up to gojo and the others.”
inspired by me today because i told everyone i would wear loafers because itd be a fire fit even though i got told to wear rubber shoes instead and now my legs ache like crazy. also because nanami would most definitely carry you if your feet started to hurt again.
narcolepsy = a condition characterised by an extreme tendency to fall asleep whenever in relaxing surroundings
likes, reblogs, comments are encouraged!!
a/n : hii guys!! weekly updates are starting, unfortunately next week may be a little delayed as i have a concert, my friends bday, my bday and a lot of other things!! please be patient
frat parties are basically just expensive naps in cute outfits for you
everyone else shows up to parties to drink, dance, or cause problems on purpose.
you?
you show up in your cutest miniskirt, glitter on your eyelids, hair perfect.... and then promptly fall asleep on frat boy sukuna shoulder the moment the bass drops.
frat boy sukuna is this terrifying, tatted, broad-shouldered frat demon leaning against the wall with a cup in hand…
and you’re just curled into him like he’s your personal pillow.
frat boy gojo, already was drunk.. “bro she came dressed like she was gonna party but shes literally unconscious on you??”
frat boy sukuna, petting your hair aggressively whilst side eyeing him “she IS partying thank you. now shut the hell up.”
the frat literally dont know you properly
like. at all.
they’ve “seen” you.
they’ve “met” you.
but speaking to you?
a conversation??
impossible.
frat boy toji once tried to introduce himself while you were sitting on the couch. you nodded politely… then immediately slumped sideways into the cushions and passed out.
he stared for a solid ten seconds before muttering, “is she alive or does this place need an exorcism again.”
frat boy nanami doesn’t even attempt anymore. he just nods at your sleeping body like “good afternoon.”
frat boy geto covers you with a blanket every time he walks by.
frat boy gojo has a photo album titled 'y/n doing absolutely nothing.'
you’ve been to this frat house hundreds of times. they know your sleep schedule better than your major.
accidental date naps..
frat boy sukuna plans dates.
and genuinely tries.
drives you out to a cute pier at sunset? you fall asleep five minutes into the ride.
movie night? you’re asleep before the opening credits.
picnic on the lawn? you fell asleep on the sandwich he made you.
frat boy sukuna used to get annoyed like, “c’mon woman,”
but now frat boy sukuna just tucks you under his hoodie, kisses your forehead, and finishes both meals because “waste of money my ass.”
sometimes you wake up halfway through a date and go,
“wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?”
and he just deadpans
“yeah. kissing me.”
trying to keep you awake is the funniest, saddest thing on earth
if you haven’t had a nap, you turn into a sleepy, blinking, barely coherent little creature.
frat boy sukuna can spot it instantly across campus...
the slow steps, the long blinks, the soft sway in place.
frat boy sukuna whispers, “oh hell nah,” under his breath and starts jogging to you.
you see frat boy sukuna, smile tiredly, open your arms…
and then plop.
you fall forward into his chest and knock out standing up..
he just catches you like muscle memory.
"bruh i need to get to the other side of the campus now"
waking you up = his personal boss battle
frat boy sukuna has tried EVERYTHING.
shaking you? doesn’t work.
calling your name? no reaction.
kissing your cheek? nothing but a little snore.
one time frat boy sukuna got desperate and said, “i’m breaking up with you.” and immediately regretted saying that except..
you didn’t even flinch.
he felt INSULTED.
frat boy gojo, chaotic angel, once set his military-level alarm next to your ear.. and well...
that thing could resurrect the dead.
you didn’t even twitch.
frat boy sukuna almost passed out from laughter and despair at the same time.
how you met.. and possibly being the most adorable crisis of his life
high school frat boy sukuna working part-time at a small café near his house was not on your bingo card..
but there he was, grumpy apron, hands always busy, pretending not to stare at you every time you walked in after school for your daily tiramisu.
frat boy sukuna thought you were cute in that soft, dreamy, out-of-his-league way.
but he was WORKING.
he tried to focus.
until closing time, when he noticed you still at your table… head down… completely still.
he froze.
oh my god.
was the cute girl DEAD?!
he poked your shoulder like it might explode.
nothing.
panic. full panic
frat boy sukuna was so getting fired and not having public holiday extra pay.
the manager came out, laughed, and whispered,
“she has narcolepsy..she explained it to me when she fell asleep like this"
sukuna stood there like .... narco what a what
googled it that night.
learned everything.
pretended it didn't concern him.
it concerned him a LOT.
the frat drags you both to some neon 80’s themed diner.
it’s loud, bright, full of music..
and you are fighting for your LIFE to stay awake.
you’re sitting in the red booth next to frat boy sukuna, eyes slowly drooping, head dipping forward.
everyone watches in real time as you lose the battle with sleep.
“bro she’s lagging slowly.” – frat boy gojo
“she’s at 1%.” – frat boy geto
“plug her in.” – frat boy toji
whilst frat boy nanami rolls his eyes
“all of you shut up.” – frat boy sukuna
you finally slump over into frat boy sukuna shoulder and he immediately throws his arm around you like it’s completely normal.
he feeds you fries while you’re basically unconscious.
frat boy sukuna is stupidly in love for sure
frat boy sukuna pretends he’s grumpy, but yet carries emergency blankets, snacks, and even a tiny travel pillow in his backpack now.
frat boy sukuna slows down his walking pace because you’re always sleep-stumbling.
frat boy sukuna checks your meds, your schedule, your comfort.
he even gives you his hoodies because “it’s softer. you sleep better in it.”
and every time someone asks how you two even work, frat boy sukuna just shrugs
“she sleeps. i watch. that’s basically love.”
pretends he’s annoyed, but actually melts every time you fall asleep on him.
frat boy sukuna always carries an emergency hoodie for you to nap in.
frat boy sukuna knows all your triggers, all your sleep tells, all the ways to wake you gently when necessary.
frat boy sukuna claims he doesn’t care, but the frat caught him reading a medical article about narcolepsy on his phone at 2am.
frat boy sukuna calls you “sleepy baby” when he’s teasing and “baby” when he’s genuinely worried.
jealous frat boy sukuna, except you slept through the ENTIRE misunderstanding
it starts because some guy in your lecture... let's call him harmless biology boy
he tries to wake you up after you fell asleep mid-class by gently tapping your shoulder.
you blink awake, mumble, “mm… thanks,” and promptly fall back asleep on his arm.
biology boy freezes like he just got chosen by a forest spirit.
someone sends frat boy sukuna a picture with "yo aint this ur girl?"
frat boy sukuna sees the snap of you sleeping on another man's limb like it's a premium memory foam pillow.
frat boy sukuna storms into the building looking like he’s about to commit third-degree educational homicide...
only to find you… STILL asleep on this poor dude, who is clearly rethinking every decision he’s ever made.
frat boy sukuna just stands over him like a shadow.
biology boy lifts his hands.
“sir… i didn’t… she just...."
“yeah. she does that,” frat boy sukuna sighs, scooping you up like a giant grumpy crane.
you wake up later, curled on his chest in his dorm, and go, “huh? weren’t we in class?”
frat boy sukuna just grunts and kisses your forehead because he cannot stay mad at the human embodiment of a warm blanket.
frat reacting the first time you stay awake for more than 2 hours
it’s a historic day in the house.
you come in for movie night.
you’re awake.
you sit on the couch.
you’re still awake.
30 minutes pass.
you’re STILL awake.
frat boy gojo is the first to notice...
“SUKUNA. WE’RE WITNESSING A MIRACLE.”
frat boy geto brings out his phone like a nature documentary narrator.
frat boy nanami knows that this moment wont last long with your energy levels.
frat boy toji deadass checks your pulse and forehead because his brain refuses to accept it.
even frat boy sukuna is staring at you suspiciously, like,
“…what’s wrong with you?”
you shrug, “i slept earlier,”
and the whole frat SCATTERS like pigeons.
the longer you stay awake, the more unstable they get.
90 minutes in and frat boy gojo is pacing.
“she’s still conscious. bro do we call someone??”
eventually, you lean on frat boy sukuna arm, still awake, and he looks so proud it’s embarrassing.
“good girl, keep them insane for me” he mutters.
you fall asleep 10 seconds later.
frat balance restored.
you tend to sleep talk but you rather have sleep-talking confessions about him
frat boy sukuna pretends he doesn’t care when you sleep-talk.
he cares A LOT.
one time you fell asleep on his bed while he was playing a game.
halfway through, you mumbled,
“mm… ‘kuna… love…”
frat boy sukuna froze, controller slipping from his hands.
looked back at you like you’d just recited poetry.
“what’d you say?”
you snored in response.
another time, curled in his hoodie, you whispered,
“love you… even when you’re scary…”
frat boy sukuna actually had to sit down on the floor for a second because it hit him so hard.
the next day he was extra gentle, opening doors, carrying you everywhere, glaring at anyone who breathed too close.
you asked raising a brow, “why are you being so… soft?”
he grumbled “shut up” and tucked you into a blanket more aggressively.
the first time you sleep on him by not accident.....
you ALWAYS fall asleep accidentally ... on his chest, on his arm, on the table, on the ground, on a textbook, everywhere.
so the day you walk into his room, sit next to frat boy sukuna, and intentionally curl up against him…
he short-circuits.
like full glitch.
frat boy sukuna stiffens for a second because he’s not used to you choosing sleep position deluxe edition on him without warning.
“what’s this about?” he mutters.
and you quietly say, “i wanted to nap with you this time.”
and then knock out immediately.
frat boy sukuna does not move for TWO HOURS because “if she chose me on purpose, i’m not friggin shifting an inch.”
frat boy gojo bursts in during that two hours and frat boy sukuna throws a shoe at him with sniper accuracy.
later, frat boy sukuna admits (in his own grumpy way),
“…it was nice.”
translation: he wants it to happen again and he's already hearing the wedding beels
one time you accidentally fall asleep to frat boy sukuna mid-confession
one day frat boy sukuna is holding your face gently, looking at you like he wants to say something big.
you’re blinking slow.
very slow.
a little to slow for liking...
dangerously slow.
“hey,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek,
“i… i think i—”
you fall asleep on frat boy sukuna palm.
frat boy sukuna has never known defeat so intimately.
frat boy sukuna just sighs, rests his forehead against yours, and murmurs,
“yeah. yeah. i love you too. whatever.”
more chaos, more softness, more frat stupidity, more you sleeping everywhere
“meet the parents” is easy they say except you fall asleep infrat boy sukuna mother’s arms
frat boy sukuna swears he’s not nervous.
he lies.
he’s pacing, fixing his shirt, muttering threats to inanimate objects like,
“she better not fall asleep during introductions or I’ll— actually no she will. damn it.”
you walk in to meet his mother and immediately she LOVES you.
and frat boy sukuna mom instantly swoops in like a reflex.
she catches you in her arms before you can even slump forward and holds you like you’re her own child.
you fall asleep on her instantly.
frat boy sukuna stands there, horrified.
“MA. what the hell.”
she smiles at him, rocking you gently.
“she’s precious. don’t raise your voice.”
“…what is happening right now?”
frat boy sukuna dad comes in, sees you asleep on his wife, nods respectfully and goes,
“she fits right in.”
sukuna’s heart does an embarrassing little flip.
fratboy sleepover chaos.. but the rule is “DON’T WAKE Y/N”
the frat decides to have a sleepover in the living room (for reasons no one remembers — probably frat boy gojo).
you’re there on frat boy sukuna lap, already 100% unconscious.
the boys agree on one universal rule:
if anyone wakes up y/n, they’re dead.
the house becomes a sacred silent zone.
frat boy toji drops a beer can? death stare from everyone.
frat boy gojo tries to tell a story too loudly and gets tackled mid-sentence by frat boy geto.
frat boy nanami is making sure nothing hits the floor
frat boy sukuna sits with you curled in HIS hoodie on HIS lap, arms around you like a territorial bear.
frat boy gojo whispers, “bro you’re holding her like she’s a ticking bomb.”
frat boy sukuna whispers back, “she IS. she explodes into tears when she wakes up abruptly so back off.”
“oh. fair.”
at one point someone sneezes and the whole house goes silent — all eyes on you.
you shift a little…
everyone holds their breath…
then you settle back into sleep.
the group collectively exhales like a SWAT team after defusing a bomb.
when you’re sleepier, you fall asleep in even dumber places.
frat boy sukuna finds you.. in weird areas not like you dont already do that already..
you're slumped over your laptop
you're asleep on your open notebook
you're asleep in the library stacks
you're asleep sitting straight up like an unplugged robot
once, asleep in a hallway corner like a sim that glitched
frat boy sukuna picks you up every single time, muttering,
“you’re gonna get bad back problems sleeping like this and blame it on me.”
frat boy sukuna starts making schedules FOR you!
nap times, study breaks, snack breaks, hydration reminders.. stuff he pretends is “for efficiency” but is actually because he’s worried sick.
frat boy sukuna quizzes you gently while you’re half-asleep against him.
frat boy sukuna carries you to his bed and forces you to nap when you’re too stubborn.
frat boy sukuna even gets frat boy nanami to help organise your study materials because he “trusts no one else except boring-ass frat boy nanami with her grades.”
the day you finally finish exams, you fall asleep in his arms before even celebrating.
he wraps you in his hoodie and whispers,
“good job, my sleepy baby.”
jealous YOU!
everyone always focuses on jealous frat boy sukuna…
but jealous YOU?
it’s adorable.
you don’t get angry.
you just… quietly malfunction.
if a girl tries to flirt with frat boy sukuna at a party, you don’t fight —
you simply fall asleep ON HIM like a little koala claiming her tree.
“omg sukuna, your tattoos are sooo—"
whist you climbs onto his lap like a koala and immediately sleeps
“…did she just—”
frat boy sukuna, would be proud for sure...
or if a girl touches frat boy sukuna?
you take his hand, hold it to your chest like a teddy bear, and doze off.
instant dominance.
passive but powerful.
one time a girl asked for frat boy sukuna number and before he could tell her off, you gently leaned your head against his shoulder and fell asleep holding onto his shirt.
he kissed the top of your head and said,
“yeah, no. I’m good.”
Sukuna fears nothing...except choosing between pads with wings or without wings.
Sukuna is many things, but a coward is not one of them. He’s done a lot of things despite being terrified inside or way out of his depth.
Like right now.
Pain meds? Easy enough. Cranberry juice? Simple. Chocolate? He knows exactly what kind to buy.
But now…standing here in the aisle…he’s never been more confused in his fucking life.
“The hell is ‘maximum flow’ and ‘ultra heavy?’” he mutters to himself, scratching the back of his head.
Normally, he couldn’t give two shits about the intricacies of feminine hygiene and would’ve just randomly picked a box and hoped for the best, but currently you’re at home in a little ball of agony and he made the mistake of offering to get more without actually bothering to check what kind. This is a position he’s never been in before or ever though he’d be in, but… Well, this is the price of having a woman that puts up with him, he supposes.
Sukuna stares at the boxes, racking his brain as he tries to remember what it looked like. It was something he never really paid attention to, it was just…there. He didn’t want to disappoint you by coming home with the wrong thing. You put up with a lot of his bullshit, the least he could do is pick out the right pussy maintenance products.
He sighs, scrubbing a tired hand over his face. He could go to the payphone outside and call you, but it felt like admitting defeat, like saying he was too stupid and careless to know what his girlfriend puts up her hoo-hah.
“Okay, this can’t be that complicated…” he mutters once more.
The boxes were always blue, he remembers that much. He squints as he reads the labels. Light. Regular. Super. As if he’s supposed to know the difference.
You bleed a normal amount…right? At least, he was pretty sure it was normal. Probably.
He reaches for the regular, then pauses, looking between the regular and super. Was there something special about the supers? He doesn’t wanna get subpar tampons. After a moment of excruciating deliberation, he grabs the box of supers instead and tosses them in the basket.
Part one done. Part two…
Sukuna sidles over to the pads, brow creased in thought. Maximum flow…ultra heavy…regular…overnight…long… Long?
“Long?” he echoes aloud, nose scrunching. “The fuck? How big could a coochie be?”
Do it for her, he reminds himself, blocking out the other customers’ presence.
What seems like hours tick by as he examines the choices in front of him. Overnight, maybe…? You always complained about waking up to stains on the sheets…
Wings…without wings?
“What’s the point of the wings?” he puzzles. There are no pictures or any indication as to what the actual hell wings are, so he can only imagine they’re one of those ‘if you know, you know’ things.
He sighs again, checking the prices. The wings are more…so…that means they’re better?
“Should’ve just asked her to write it down,” Sukuna groans. “Damn, these things are expensive.”
Eventually he tosses the overnight with wings into his basket and calls it a day, opting for the largest box, just in case.
He sulks to the checkout line. When the cashier starts ringing everything up, the man raises a brow and looks at Sukuna. A moment of silent communication passes between them, an entire discussion conveyed in that single raised brow and a weary sigh from Sukuna. Then the cashier nods, continuing with his task.
“Did you find everything alright?” the man asks. A routine question that feels so unbearably loaded that it might as well be a gun in Sukuna’s face.
“Yeah, just fine,” Sukuna answers as casually as he can. The man nods once more.
Sukuna passes the cash, and as the man hands back his bags and change, he says, “Good luck.”
It takes all of Sukuna’s effort to not scoff, and he manages a grumbled ‘thanks’ before heading on his way.
***
You’re right where he left you, curled up with a hot water bottle pressed to your abdomen as you stare blankly at the TV.
“Don’t worry princess,” Sukuna says with a lazy smile, lifting up the bags, “your hero has returned.”
“Oh my god, thank you,” you groan from where you are.
He rolls his eyes fondly, plopping the bags in front of you before slumping into his seat. He can’t help but subtly watch you as you sift through the contents, a knot of anticipation in his chest while he awaits your judgement.
You hum at the sight of the pain meds, juice, and chocolate. And then the pads and tampons…
A flicker of surprise on your face that makes him tense.
Here it comes.
“Aww, you got the nice ones?” you say with a smile.
“Huh?” Sukuna blinks, though inside he’s losing his mind.
“Yeah, you got the nicer brand instead of the shitty budget store ones,” you repeat.
Silence hangs in the air, Sukuna staring blankly at you. And then he shrugs, smoothing a hand through his hair.
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