an - tmi! I wrote this while in the tub before the idea could go away 𓁹‿𓁹
❤︎ Fratjo! who constantly skips his classes and goes to party’s, and after stops by your room to find you studying for a test he assumed you’d definitely help him on ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! who can’t help but plaster a stupid smile on his face whenever you tell him off for smelling like alcohol and punch while lounging all over your freshly washed bedsheets ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! who likes to tease you and take off your glasses just to put them on himself, so he could see you stretch and reach over him while he catches you in hold you cant possibly break out of . . . ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! Who acts dumb and asks you to explain certain math questions just so he can hear you nerd out with the slight excitement edged in your voice while solving them. ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! Who has a keen eye for spotting when you’re getting burnt out, always so persistent on dragging you out of your dorm and into the nearest party—just to end up on a random couch stroking your hair and listening to you talk about a new hyperfixation ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! Who likes to wait for you outside of your classes to publicly and embarrassingly show you affection, no matter how many times you claim to hate it, he just can’t keep his hands off you ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! Who doesn’t care what his friends say about you or your study habits or why he’s exactly into you in the first place, always ready with a firm, “Are you the one dating her? Didn’t think so.” ⊹˚.
❤︎ Fratjo! Who unconditionally loved his nerdy girlfriend and her nerdy perks since the very beginning! ⊹˚. ♡
emo! choso loves using his tongue on you, mostly because of his piercing that leaves you shaking and wanting for more the second the cold metal meets your needy cunt.
emo! choso lets he’s you into the break room once his lunch break starts so he can have his way with you, pushing your tiny skirt up to your waist as he pounds into you at an angle that manages to hit your g-spot immediately.
emo! choso is protective over you, shooting boys a nasty glare if he even as much sees them looking at you in a hungry manner. and you eat it up every time because you love the way his large hands wrap around you in possession.
emo! choso lets you dye his hair once in a while, letting you experiment with different colored dye all while you cock-warm him, of course.
emo! choso has a piercing on his tip and you’re crazy about it. you love licking it when you give him head and he loves it as much as you do, throwing his head back in pleasure as he feels you gagging on him when you feel the cold ball hitting the back of your throat.
emo! choso puts on his favorite music as he thrusts into you at the beat of the song. at the end, he gets bored and begins pumping in and out of you as fast as he can.
emo! choso watches you gather your combined releases, placing them on his tattoos, almost as if you were coloring him in with your cum. he forces you to lick him up afterwards.
emo! choso loves sharing you with his coworker, suguru. the two dark hair colored boys using up your needy holes at the same time. suguru leaves for a bit, returning back to the store with a dildo.
“can’t let your pretty asshole empty, now can we?”
ryomen sukuna asks sweet reader he is smitten with on a date
ryomen sukuna was a lot of things. he was broody, he was stoic and harsh and absolutely detested the saying "think before you speak".
but what he wasn't was a bumbling idiot. (?)
"the uh coffee...at that place...is um—" sukuna's gaze trailed from your wide doe eyed stare to the slight quirk of your pretty pink lips.
his brain short circuited, "...cute" he finished.
you had to fight yourself to not giggle at the tall handsome, slightly scowling man before you as he said the word 'cute'.
"oh? whats the name ? i would like some cute coffee!" you asked innocently.
meanwhile sukuna—whose brain had absolutely gone to the gutters imagining the taste of those pretty pink lips— had to mentally slap himself out of his reverie.
his brain went on an overdrive trying to remember the name of the coffee shop. but the problem was he was more of a protein shake and solely depended on the coffee maker in his dorms for his black black coffee without any sugar or milk.
suffice to say he was very lost.
"ijishi ?" it sounded more like a question.
this time you did giggle. ijishi was a steak house. clearly not in the business of selling cute coffees.
sukuna wasn't sure why it was funny to you, but he counted it as a win because it made you happy.
you cleared your throat, "i was actually craving some steak! i heard ijishi also happens to have some great steak."
your fingers moved to interwine with his , as you stepped closer to him. you tilted your face upwards , smiling at him "...maybe we can have some?"
sukuna was not easily flustered. his feathers certainly weren't easily ruffled. and he definitely didn't blush.
"...ofcourse" was all he could manage.
his brain was currently occupied with taking notes of the finer details—like how your fingers aligned absolutely perfectly with his, and your palm was so soft in his hand. and your eyes. damn they were sparkling in the sunlight.
some of your friends called out your name, reminding you that class was starting in ten minutes.
you went on your tip toes , placing a quick peck on his cheek, leaving a light lipstick stained kiss.
"great! I'm off to class now, pick me up then!" you said happily as you turned to leave.
sukuna willed his heart rate to slow down as he watched your pretty floral dress slowly disappear in the crowd of the students.
date secured.
see? he wasn't bad at this at all like his teammates claimed.
Author’s notes: short fic to re-introduce this blog again! Helloooo satoru gojo
Satoru Gojo loved you with his life. You were the one he trusted the most. He’d go as far as to say he would quit jujutsu if you told him to.
It was a sight to see, the strongest, the honored one, reduced to a lovesick mess at the mere say of his wife. It was undeniably funny.
And just as how he was devoted to you, you were to him. He’d look at you as if you hung the moon and the stars that surround it.
So, when he caught wind that told him you were upset, his first instinct was to comfort you and make you feel better. He didn’t expect you to be upset because of him.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why are you pouting?” He said softly, a complete contrast from his usual personality. You didn’t respond, choosing to keep scrolling through your phone.
“Is it ‘cause of me? You can tell me, love, I won’t get mad,” he continued, moving his hand up and down his arm to get you to break. He was close to you as you both sat on the couch of your shared home, the TV playing in the background. You looked up at him, and it was clear as day how upset you were. “You mad at me, love?”
“…No,” you said, almost choking on your words. Well, technically, it was true. In some way. In a sense.
“Sweetheart, are you lying?” He knew you were, thanks to his six eyes, but he was still so gentle with it.
“I don’t know, go ask your little assistant,” you muttered under your breath, your focus going back to your phone.
So that’s what this was about. He let out a sigh of relief, in which you glared at him. “Are you jealous, love?” He used the same, gentle, comforting tone, so as to not dampen up your mood more.
“I’m not,” you stubbornly said, not looking at him in embarrassment. He caught your chin, making you look at him.
“My love. The light of my life. My biggest blessing. The apple of my eye. My—“
“Stop it, Toru…” You whined, covering his mouth to stop him from continuing. He chuckled, pulling your wrist away from his face, then cradling your face in his hand and looked at you with much love.
“You’re adorable, you know that?”
“Not helping,” your frown deepened while his smile widened. He pulled you closer, catching you in his embrace, pressing your face in his chest as he stroked your hair in comfort, combing through the strands.
“You’re the only one I want. Don’t get jealous over someone I barely know. I don’t want you frowning,” he mumbled in your hair as he felt your hands hug him back, albeit reluctantly.
“I love you, okay? Only you,” he whispered, only for your ears to hear, as he kissed the top of your head.
fushiguro megumi was a man good at many things: keeping quiet, keeping his distance, keeping his feelings buried. pretending he didn’t want to kiss you again, however, was not one of them.
megkuna teaser dropped and i immediately wrote megumi fluff as a coping mechanism </3
𝒎𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊 had never considered himself the kind of person who got distracted by someone’s mouth.
that sounded like something gojo would tease him about until the end of time. something loud and annoying and impossible to live down. megumi could already imagine the sunglasses sliding down the bridge of gojo’s nose, that stupid knowing smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
oh? our megumi has a crush?
he would rather get swallowed by a curse.
and yet, there he was, standing beside you on the quiet street near the park, trying not to look at your lips.
trying, and failing.
the worst part was that you weren’t even doing anything.
you were only leaning against the railing by the sidewalk, laughing softly at something nobara said. the vending machine beside you hummed quietly, spilling a soft, white-blue glow over your face while the sky above the trees faded into that pale, milky kind of twilight that made everything feel a little too intimate.
your fingers were wrapped around a cold can of soda, your hair falling over one shoulder, your smile warm beneath the evening light. every now and then, your tongue darted out to taste the lip balm you had just put on, and megumi felt his thoughts trip over themselves every single time.
your lips looked softer than usual.
glossy. plush. a little pink from where you had pressed them together after applying the balm.
megumi’s gaze dropped for half a second before he forced it back up to your eyes.
he hated how aware of you he had become.
he had always noticed you, of course. it was difficult not to. you had been placed in his life so naturally that he had not realized when your presence had become something he searched for without meaning to. he noticed the way you tilted your head when you listened. the way you smiled to yourself before you laughed. the way you nudged his shoulder when you were teasing him, gentle enough that it felt like a secret instead of a joke.
but now, because of one stupid game, all he could think about was the way your mouth had felt against his.
it had happened two nights ago.
truth or dare had been yuji’s idea, which meant it had been a terrible idea from the very beginning.
nobara had been bored. gojo had been absent, thankfully, and the three of you had been reckless enough to believe that a quiet night could stay quiet with yuji itadori involved. the game had started harmlessly enough—stupid questions, mild dares, nobara making yuji do push-ups while reciting dramatic love confessions to a pillow.
then the bottle had spun toward you.
yuji had grinned like he had been handed a weapon.
“dare,” you had said, brave in the way only someone who trusted their friends too much could be.
nobara’s eyes had narrowed with immediate interest.
“kiss megumi on the cheek.”
megumi had frozen.
you had frozen too, but only for a second before you laughed, soft and nervous.
“his cheek?” you had asked.
“unless you want to aim somewhere else,” nobara had said sweetly.
megumi had shot her a glare. “don’t be weird.”
“you’re the one making it weird,” she had replied, delighted.
yuji had leaned forward, practically vibrating. “come on, it’s just a cheek kiss. megumi can survive that.”
megumi had wanted to say no. he could have said no. you would have backed off instantly if he had looked even slightly uncomfortable, because that was the kind of person you were. careful with him. gentle in a way that made his chest ache sometimes.
but then you had looked at him.
“is it okay?” you had asked.
and megumi, cursed with terrible instincts whenever you looked at him like that, had nodded.
“yeah,” he had muttered. “it’s fine.”
so you had shifted closer on your knees, your smile turning shy at the edges. megumi had stared at the wall over your shoulder, determined to survive the next three seconds with whatever dignity he had left.
you had smelled like clean laundry and the cherry lip balm you kept in your bag.
he had felt the warmth of you before anything else. your hand had landed lightly on his shoulder to steady yourself, and megumi had turned his head without thinking because yuji had said something at the exact wrong moment.
your mouth had brushed his.
barely.
just a soft, startled press that lasted no longer than a breath.
but it had been enough.
enough for you to gasp quietly against him. enough for megumi’s pulse to kick hard beneath his ribs. enough for nobara and yuji to lose their minds in the background while you pulled away with wide eyes and your fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt.
“i’m sorry,” you had whispered.
megumi had stared at you, unable to form a single useful word.
your lips had still been parted, shiny from the balm, and for one horrifying second he had wanted to lean forward and do it again.
properly this time.
instead, he had looked away so fast his neck nearly hurt.
“it’s fine,” he had said, voice too quiet.
you had nodded, flustered and pretty and completely unfair.
the game had continued eventually, but megumi had not heard a single thing afterward.
since then, his mind had become a traitor.
in training, he remembered the small sound you had made when your lips touched his.
at dinner, he remembered how soft your mouth had been.
in bed, staring at the ceiling long past midnight, he imagined what would have happened if he had not turned away. if he had placed a hand against your cheek and kissed you like he meant it. if he had felt you smile against his mouth. if you had leaned into him instead of apologizing.
it was pathetic.
he knew that.
and still, when you stood beside him now, close enough that your shoulder brushed his under the quiet glow of the vending machine, megumi forgot how to breathe like a normal person.
“are you mad at me?”
your voice cut through his thoughts so suddenly that he blinked.
“what?”
you were watching him with a small crease between your brows. the others had wandered farther down the sidewalk at some point—nobara dragging yuji toward the next vending machine because apparently one drink was not enough—which meant it was only the two of you near the park entrance now.
“you’ve been quiet,” you said.
“i’m always quiet.”
“not like this.”
he looked down at the soda can in his hand. “i’m not mad.”
“then are you avoiding me?”
megumi’s jaw tightened.
he could lie. he had never been good at lying to you, but he could try. he could say he was tired, or that training had been rough, or that he had been thinking about an upcoming mission. all of those things would have been easier than the truth.
the truth sat heavy in his throat.
you shifted closer, your voice softening. “megumi.”
there it was again.
his name in your mouth.
he hated that something so simple could undo him.
“i’m not avoiding you,” he said.
“you kind of are.”
“i’m trying not to.”
your eyes flickered over his face, searching. “did i make you uncomfortable? with the dare?”
“no,” he said too quickly.
you paused.
megumi cursed himself silently.
a little smile touched your lips, hesitant but there. “no?”
his gaze dropped before he could stop it.
your mouth was glossy again.
of course it was.
you had probably reapplied your lip balm while he was busy pretending he had any self-control left. the soft shine caught the vending machine’s glow every time you moved, and megumi felt warmth climb up the back of his neck.
you noticed.
because of course you noticed.
your smile grew a little, shy enough to make his heart do something stupid.
“megumi,” you said again, quieter this time. “were you thinking about it?”
he looked away.
that was answer enough.
the silence that followed wasn’t awkward exactly. it was too warm for that. too full. it settled between you like a held breath, delicate and charged, with the trees rustling softly behind you and the last of the twilight stretching pale above the park.
“i was too,” you admitted.
his eyes snapped back to yours.
you laughed under your breath, embarrassed, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “thinking about it, i mean.”
megumi stared at you.
for once, he didn’t have a single thought.
you bit your lower lip, and the movement nearly ruined him.
“i know it was an accident,” you said. “but i kept wondering what it would’ve been like if it wasn’t.”
megumi’s heart pounded once, hard.
somewhere farther down the street, yuji’s voice echoed faintly. nobara answered him with something sharp, and then their footsteps faded toward the corner.
neither of you moved.
megumi looked at you, really looked at you, and found no joke in your expression. only nervousness. hope. a softness that made him feel braver than he usually allowed himself to be.
his hand rested close to yours against the railing. close enough that his smallest finger almost touched your knuckles.
he should have said something. probably something smart. something careful. something that would make this easier for both of you to understand.
but then your gaze dropped to his mouth for the smallest second.
and megumi stopped thinking.
he moved slowly at first, giving you time to lean back, to laugh it off, to tell him that he had misunderstood. you did none of those things. you only went still, eyes widening slightly as his fingers brushed your cheek.
your skin was warm beneath his palm.
his thumb moved once, barely there, and your lashes fluttered.
that was all it took for megumi to kiss you.
your lips were just as soft as he remembered, only warmer now, sweeter when you sighed quietly against him. the taste of cherry lingered between you, faint and dizzying, and megumi’s chest tightened like he had been holding his breath for days without realizing it.
you kissed him back.
that was what made him lose himself a little.
your hand curled around his sleeve, tugging him closer in a way that was almost shy, almost desperate, and megumi followed before he could question it. his other hand found yours against the railing, fingers sliding carefully between your own until your palms fit together.
he had imagined this too many times.
he had imagined it during quiet walks back from missions, when your shoulder brushed his. he had imagined it when you laughed at something yuji said and looked at him afterward, like you wanted to see if he had laughed too. he had imagined it in the dark of his room, shamefully soft and half-awake, wondering if your lips would feel the same when you wanted him back.
they did.
they felt better.
you smiled against his mouth, and megumi almost forgot how to breathe.
when he finally drew back, it was only by a few inches. his forehead rested near yours, his breath uneven, his eyes half-lidded as they fell to your lips again.
you looked dazed.
megumi felt the smallest, most dangerous spark of pride.
then you let out a quiet laugh, breathless and sweet, your fingertips brushing the corner of your mouth.
“i think you missed a spot,” you murmured, like you weren’t about to ruin him all over again.
megumi stared at you.
the tips of his ears burned red, and this time, he lifted the back of his hand to his mouth, covering it as if that could hide the way his expression had already given him away.
his eyes flickered back to yours, softer now, caught somewhere between embarrassment and want.
then he lowered his hand slowly, his mouth curving in the smallest, shyest way, and leaned in again.
he barely got the chance.
“i knew it!”
you and megumi jolted apart so quickly your shoulders bumped.
yuji stood a few steps away with two cans of soda pressed against his chest, eyes wide and shining like he had just witnessed a miracle. beside him, nobara leaned against the vending machine with a bag of chips tucked under one arm, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
megumi’s face went blank in the way it always did when he was one second away from losing his mind.
“itadori,” he said quietly.
yuji pointed at him with one trembling hand. “you kissed her.”
“i have eyes,” nobara said, rolling hers. “we all saw.”
you covered your face with both hands, heat rushing up to your cheeks. “oh my god.”
megumi shifted closer to you on instinct, like he could somehow shield you from the embarrassment while his own face was flushed down to his neck.
nobara’s grin widened. “i wonder what gojo-sensei will say about this.”
while taking your wedding pictures in a park, little kids come up to you believing you're a magical princess! so obviously sukuna is your knight in shining armor!
it was supposed to be a simple photo-shoot; one setting of many to come. the park was beautiful and the nature was perfect for the vibe you were going for so it was only natural to take your pictures there. you and sukuna had taken your first look pictures here and of course, he cried no matter how much he tried to stop the waterworks. you were now taking your solo shots, the wind blowing in your veil and dress making the shots perfect. so perfect that you seemed to attract a crowd of onlookers— very tiny onlookers.
you heard their whispers and turned to the side to see a small group of children crowded together. they point at you and mutter as sukuna narrows his eyes slightly, he never was a fan of the leeches called children.
"oh hi there!" you say, voice kind. "i'm sorry, were you guys trying to play here in the grass?"
sukuna is close to telling them to scram when one of the young girls steps forward, "miss, are you a princess?" the others behind her nod in agreement and you even hear comments of them calling you magical.
your heart swells at this, "oh sweetie, i'm not a princess."
"you have to be!" one of the boys exclaims, seeming to be sure of himself. "you're pretty like a princess and you're wearing a dress!"
"yeah and he's a knight!" another girl says, pointing at sukuna who was standing to the side, arms crossed.
before sukuna can even defend himself, another adult jogs up to them. "oh my goodness, i am so sorry! kids lets go, leave the nice lady to take her pictures." the woman seems to be a mother of some of the children and she tries to usher them away as she apologizes to you.
"please, can we take a picture with the princess!" one of the kids asks. the others are quick with their pleads, all asking to get a picture and talk with you, the "princess".
the mom goes to apologize again but you wave her off, "i truly don't mind taking a pictures with the kiddos." the kids cheer and swerve around the woman just as you finish your sentence. and while they swarm around you, you can tell that they are careful to not step on your dress. you crouch down to be at their level as you compliment their hair and ask them what they like to play at the park. some of them are still shy, truly believing that you were a magical princess from some story book. the others were lively and asked you all sorts of questions. like what kind of princess you were, where your kingdom was, and why your knight seemed so grumpy. you ultimately gave up on trying to convince them that you were no princess but you did laugh at the comment of them asking why your knight was always seen with a scowl.
you take your pictures with them, some on their parents' phones and others with your photographer. after all, how perfect was it to capture this moment. being authentically called a princess on your wedding day was practically a sign from the universe. just before the kids leave, they all to take one last group photo but this time, with your 'grumpy knight'.
"you must be pretty strong to protect the princess, huh mister knight," one of the boys asks.
sukuna doesn't know why, but even he decides to play along, "gotta protect her from the monsters, kid."
the kids are in awe and sukuna doesn't even know what possessed him to pick up two of the kids and put one on each shoulder. all the kids giggle in excitement as two more kids jump on him, one on each arm that was used to keep the kids on his shoulders stable. the last kid is the girl that first approached you. you pick her up and tell the kids to smile at the cameras. after some photos were snapped, you and sukuna put the kids down even with their protests. each of their respective parents come to take them away, all apologizing for the trouble and offering congratulations on your wedding.
as the kids wave you goodbye, you see sukuna wave back out of the corner of your eye. you turn to him with a grin on your face, "since when were you such a fan of kids, ryo?"
"i'm not," he says gruffly, quickly putting his hand down to stop waving. "hate those booger brats."
"mhm, sure you do."
EXTRA:
years after your wedding and a handful of anniversaries, you always find yourself looking through the photo album of your wedding. no matter how many times you look at the photos, you always find yourself stopping at a certain page. the page that contained several pictures of you and sukuna at the park surrounded by children that were not yours.
sukuna finds you reminiscing on the photo album and doesn't even need to look to know exactly what page you're on.
"wonder where those brats are at now," sukuna says. you hum in response, allowing him to continue with, "probably still walking around calling your ass a princess."
"are you saying im not a princess, ryomen?"
"with how long i've been married to you? you're a queen now, baby."
a/n: first post in a while omg. ive been working back to back #freeme (i say knowing i asked for that sched so i could make money) this is also based off the cutest tt i saw last week but forgot to save :(( ALSO WANTED TO BUST THIS OUT DURING COMMERICIAL. MY CREAM CHEESE CHIVE KNICKS IN FIVEEEEE
You’ve been ignoring him for exactly three hours and forty-two minutes.
Not that you’re counting.
Your phone is face-down on your bed, screen lighting up every couple minutes with his name before going dark again. You don’t touch it, you refuse to because he deserves it.
He really does.
You sit cross-legged on the floor, aggressively reorganizing something that absolutely did not need reorganizing, muttering under your breath.
“Stupid… arrogant… can’t even say sorry properly…”
A knock interrupts you.
You freeze.
Another knock, smaller this time, almost softer.
“…go away,” you mumble, not even looking up.
The door creaks open anyway.
“…hi.”
That voice is not Sukuna’s.
You blink, turning your head, and there he is. Little Yuji. Tiny, pink-cheeked, messy hair, clutching something behind his back like he’s on a secret mission.
Your anger falters instantly. “Yuji?” you soften, sitting up straighter. “What are you doing here?”
He shuffles in, shutting the door carefully behind him like it’s very important he does it quietly. “Um… I came to fix it,” he says, very seriously, like this is the most important task of his life.
Your brows knit. “Fix what?”
He walks over, small steps, then stops right in front of you. His little hands finally come forward, revealing a slightly crumpled drawing.
It’s… you.
And Sukuna.
And Yuji.
All holding hands.
There’s a big, messy red heart drawn over all three of you.
You stare at it. “…Yuji…”
“I made it,” he says quickly. “So you won’t be mad anymore.”
Your chest tightens. “I’m not mad at you,” you say gently.
“I know,” he nods. “You’re mad at him.”
A pause.
“…yeah.”
Yuji looks over his shoulder, like he’s checking for something, then leans in closer to you and whispers-
“He’s really sad.”
You almost scoff, but Yuji keeps going.
“He was walking around and being all grumpy and didn’t even yell at me when I spilled juice,” he says, eyes wide like that’s the ultimate proof. “That means he’s super sad.”
Your lips twitch. “…Did he send you here?”
Yuji hesitates. “…no,” he says. Then quieter, “I just… heard him talking.”
Your heart dips a little. “What was he saying?”
Yuji scrunches his face, trying to remember. “Um… he said… ‘she’s being stupid,’” he starts, and you immediately roll your eyes-
but then he continues-
“…and then he said ‘I messed up.’”
You still. Yuji looks up at you, hopeful. “And then he said he didn’t know how to fix it,” he adds softly. “So I’m fixing it.”
That hits harder than you expect. You look back down at the drawing in your hands, tracing the uneven lines of the three of you. “…he’s bad at apologizing,” you murmur.
“Yeah,” Yuji nods seriously. “He’s bad at a lot of things.” You laugh a little at that.
Silence settles for a second, then Yuji gently pushes the drawing closer into your lap.
“So you forgive him now?”
You hesitate. “…I don’t know.”
His face drops just a little.
“…okay,” he says, but he doesn’t move away.
Instead, he climbs right into your lap like he belongs there, arms wrapping around your middle in a tight little hug.
“He really likes you,” he mumbles into your shirt.
Your breath catches.
“I know he’s mean,” Yuji continues, completely unfiltered, “but he only does that when he’s scared or dumb.”
You choke out a laugh. “Or both,” he adds helpfully.
“…that sounds about right.”
Yuji pulls back just enough to look at you. “So… you don’t have to forgive him a lot,” he negotiates, very serious again. “Just a little bit. Like this much.”
He pinches his fingers together, showing the tiniest gap.
You stare at him.
God.
You sigh, your anger melting in slow, helpless pieces. “…fine,” you mumble. “A little bit.”
Yuji gasps like you just granted a miracle.
“Really?!”
“Yeah, yeah,” you smile, brushing his hair back. “But don’t tell him I said that.”
Yuji grins. “…too late.”
The door behind you creaks again.
You turn-
And there he is.
Sukuna.
Leaning against the frame like he hasn’t moved in ages, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected, but his eyes give him away immediately.
Relieved.
Careful.
Hopeful, even.
“…you sent a five-year-old to do your job?” you raise a brow.
Choso is so in love with you, his perfect girlfriend, so you obviously had to use this to your advantage.
Tags: pure fluff, he’s such a toddler, lowkey wrote this off 4 hours of sleep at 1am
• Back to Masterlist •
“Choooo…. Can you get me a glass of water?”
Choso laid against your chest, bunching up the fabric of your shirt with his fist and letting out a groan.
He groggily sat up, staring at you with his half lidded eyes and messed up hair.
“I’ll give you a kiss if you do.”
He shot up off that couch faster than you’d ever seen, all that laziness instantly disappearing once a kiss was put on the line.
“Heres your water,” he handed you the cup, leaning towards your face in anticipation for his reward.
A little peck was planted on his lips, and you saw a kiddish smile spread over his face.
That night, when you realized you could bribe Choso with a kiss, you couldn’t stop abusing that new found power.
“Hey Cho, can you go pick up my takeout? I’ll give you a kiss…”
“Hey babe… can you massage my back? I’ll give you a kiss…”
“Hey Cho? Can you….”
You opened the bedroom door, and this time when you glanced at Choso, who laid comfortably on his bed scrolling through his phone, he gave you the darkest glare you’ve ever seen him give you.
Which of course wasn’t too dark of a glare, since he could never hate his sweet girlfriend.
“… can you go grab me some coffee?”
You saw how his eyebrows furrowed when he put his phone down and sat up to face you better.
“no.”
Poor Choso looked like a kid whose just got asked to take a bath. His lower lip pouting a bit as he stared at you.
“Please…? I’ll give you a kiss.” This bribe was a classic, and Choso had a 99.9% acceptance rate.
“no.”
“2 kisses?”
“…no.”
You tossed yourself on the bed, scooting closer to him and playing with the hem of his shirt.
“…3 kisses?”
He glanced to the side, still pouting his lip as he looked like he was debating on saving the world or letting it burn.
“…make it 5…”
A big smile spread across your face.
“You have a deal! I’ll throw in an extra few for you since you’re so nice.”
He rolled his eyes as he got up, and you couldn’t miss the little smile that tugged at his lips.
“I’ll make it 10 if you get me a cake pop too!”
20 minutes later, Choso showed up with a coffee and 3 cake pops in his hand.
synopsis. the frat president is so much sweeter than you expected
contents. sfw! fluff + a smidge of angst. frat!jo x fem! reader. college au. satoru is sickeningly sweet. a little ooc maybe. cw. mentions of drinking + cheating ⇢ reader is freshly broken up with an unnamed ex. art creds: shesofyee on x ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
frat parties have never been your thing. you hate the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol that clings to the air, to your clothes, to your skin. you hate the way the music makes your ears ring. you hate the way you have to shout to be heard. you only came to this party because your now-ex-boyfriend had asked you to, promising it would be different this time. it wasn’t.
the fight was a blur of muffled words in the middle of the sea of people dancing and laughing, completely oblivious to the world crashing down around you.
he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when you’d confronted him about his infidelity, he’d muttered something about it ‘not being a big deal’ and claimed you were overreacting — a casual dismissal of the time and effort you’d poured into him.
the cruelty of it all sent you stumbling through indifferent bodies until you found sanctuary in the quiet of the upstairs bathroom.
you’ve been crying for ten minutes straight. your makeup is a smudged, runny mess, and your face feels puffy and raw. you’re huddled on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn to your chest, head buried in your hands, when the doorknob rattles violently.
“go away,” you mumble to the door, the words muffled by your palms as you press your knuckles to your swollen eyes.
“c’mon dude, i gotta piss!” a voice slurs as the doorknob continues to shake, “you’ve been in there for-fucking-ever.”
“chill, there’s another one downstairs,” another voice cuts in, this one you recognize. it’s the frat president satoru gojo. you’ve seen him around campus, you’ve heard all the rumors. he’s exactly the kind of guy you avoid.
his words are followed by a disgruntled sigh and the sound of retreating footsteps.
you think you’re alone. you try to take a deep breath, a shuddering inhale that does little to calm the beating of your heart. you need to compose yourself enough to leave this disgusting bathroom and figure out how you’re getting back to your dorm. your ex is definitely not your ride anymore. your phone is dead, so no uber. and the thought of walking the mile and a half back to your dorm alone, in the dark, is terrifying.
your head snaps up as the lock clicks and the door swings open.
satoru is standing there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. he’s not wearing the obnoxious sunglasses you usually see perched on his nose, and his ridiculously blue eyes, the color of summer skies , are full of concern that seems so out of place on him.
“shit, sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than it was a second ago. “the lock on this door is whack. if you twist it enough it clicks open. i just wanted to uhh. . . you okay?”
you just stare at him, tears still trickling down your face. “i’m fine,” you lie
he doesn’t buy it for a second. he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, effectively blocking out the worst of the noise from the party below. he leans against the counter, giving you space.
“that was your boyfriend, right?” he asks, nodding vaguely toward the door. “. . . the guy you were yelling at earlier.”
“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin coming away wet and smudged with black.
“ahh shit," he says sympathetically. “that sucks.”
“yeah,” you sigh, another sob wracking your body, “it really, really sucks.”
“don’t waste your tears on him,” he frowns, brows furrowing. “he’s not worth a single one, ‘kay?”
you look down at your hands, twisting a loose thread on your jeans until it threatens to snap. the small, repetitive motion is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, “we came together and my phone’s dead and i just. . . i can’t be here anymore.”
he’s silent for a moment and you brace yourself for the ‘sounds like a you problem’, the kind of dismissal you’d expect from someone like him. instead, he shifts, pushing off the counter to stand before you.
“fair enough,” he says. “first, we’re getting you out of this gross bathroom. then we’re getting you home.”
your head snaps up. “but—”
“no cuts, no buts, no coconuts,” he cuts in, and despite everything, a watery snicker escapes you. “i’ve got you. i’m not letting you walk home alone this late. i’ve been drinking, so i can’t drive, but i can walk with you. it’s not a problem.”
satoru gojo — the guy who’s rumored to have a different girl in his bed every weekend — is the last person you’d expect to show you even a hint of kindness. you’re not even sure if he knows your name.
“are you serious?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper
“dead serious,” he holds out a hand. for a beat, you just stare at his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, then up at his face. he waits patiently until you finally place your hand in his.
he pulls you to your feet effortlessly. you sway a little, unsteady from the crying and the stuffy air of the bathroom, and his other hand comes up to steady you, hovering just above your elbow before dropping away,
a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you as you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror over the sink. it’s worse than you thought. your face is blotchy and swollen, your eyes are rimmed red, and your mascara has created smudgy, black circles under your eyes that make you look like a raccoon. you groan, turning away from your reflection and pressing your face into your hands.
“i look awful,” you murmur into your palms, the words muffled. “i can’t have anyone see me like this.”
“‘s nothing a little damage control can’t fix,” satoru says, turning toward the sink and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. he runs them under the faucet until they’re a damp clump. “it’s not the fancy skincare stuff you girls usually use,” he admits, holding up the damp wad of paper, “but it should work.”
he turns back to you, the wad of toilet paper balanced between his fingers. he takes a step closer, and you instinctively stiffen, your body tensing.
he moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. you don’t. his fingers gently cup your jaw to hold your head still. his touch is feather-light, his thumb rests softly on the curve of your cheekbone and it’s oddly comforting. your eyes flutter shut as he gently dabs at the mascara smudges under your eyes. he manages to wipe away the worst of the mess without being too rough
“there,” he hums softly, dropping the damp paper into the trash and letting his hand fall away. you immediately miss the warmth of it. “better?”
you open your eyes and risk a glance in the mirror. you still look like you’ve been crying, but you no longer look like a character from a tim burton movie.
“yeah,” you sigh, your voice barely audible. “better.”
“good,” a small, genuine smile finally graces his lips
“why are you being so nice to me?” you turn away from the mirror to look at him directly.
“i don’t like seeing pretty girls cry,”
the words hang in the air between you, “oh,” you murmur, because you can’t think of anything tangible to say.
he clears his throat, his easygoing smile sliding back into place. “c’mon, let’s get you out of here.” he holds out his hand again, and this time you don’t hesitate.
satoru keeps a firm hold on your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party. he uses his broad shoulders to part the crowd, people seem to naturally move aside for him. you keep your head down, focusing on the scuffed linoleum floor
just as you’re nearing the hallway that leads to the front door, a figure detaches itself from a group lounging on a nearby couch and blocks your path. it’s suguru geto, satoru’s other half, the vice president to his president. equally as infamous around campus.
“there you are, satoru,” suguru says, his eyes flicking from satoru to you, and then down to your intertwined hands. “toji and sukuna are talking mad shit again. come play beer pong with us.”
satoru doesn't even break stride, he keeps pulling you gently along. “maybe when i get back.”
“get back from where exactly?” suguru raises a brow, he glances at you again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his features as he tries to place you, and comes up empty.
satoru finally stops, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. he tilts his head in your direction. “walking her home.”
the shift in suguru’s expression is immediate. his lips part slightly, his eyes widening as the pieces fall into place. he opens his mouth to say something teasing that would make your face burn with embarrassment. but before he can get a single word out, satoru is already shaking his head. ‘don't.’
suguru’s mouth snaps shut. he narrows his amber eyes, looking between your tear-streaked face, your clasped hands, and the uncharacteristically serious look on his best friend’s face. a knowing grin spreads across his lips.
“right, right,” he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with a sweep of his arm. “you two have fun.”
as satoru pulls you past him, you catch suguru muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the loud music “about damn time, you idiot.”
you don’t understand the full weight of his words
you don’t know that satoru has pointed you out to suguru countless times before, wayyy back during orientation week when you were all freshmen trying to figure out where your classes were.
you don’t know that he calls you ‘the pretty girl with the sketchbook’ . you have no idea that for the past two years, satoru gojo has been nursing an unrequited crush on you — the girl who always seems to be in her own world, a world he desperately wants to be a part of.
all you know is that the campus player is currently leading you out into the cool night air, his hand warm and steady in yours. and for some reason, it feels right
you catch a glimpse of your ex laughing with his friends by the beer pong table, completely oblivious. he doesn’t even notice satoru pulling you through the doorway. it stings, but it’s duller now
cars are lined up haphazardly along the street outside the frat house. people are sitting on the hoods, vaping, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their geek bars. a few call out to satoru as you pass, but he barely acknowledges them. one of his ex-flings is glaring at you from the porch, whispering to her friends as she stares at your interlocked hands.
“which way?” he asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. he seems to realize he’s still holding your hand and lets go of it suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. you rub your arm nervously
you point to the left side of the street. “that way. it’s like, a twenty-minute walk on a good day.”
“cool,” he says, falling into step beside you. you walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant thump of the party fading behind you and the scuff of your shoes on the pavement. his eyes are fixed on you while yours are locked on the cracks in the sidewalk,
“so, what did he do?” he pipes up, then immediately seems to regret it. “actually nevermind i probably shouldn’t be asking that right now—”
“he’s been cheating on me,” you sigh, “he gave me his phone so i could text my roommate and i had a gut feeling so i went through it and—” your breath hitches
“oh fuck don’t cry again,” satoru frowns
“sorry it’s just . . . ”
“don’t apologize either,” he says, “none of this is your fault.”
“we were together for eight months,” you sigh, the admission feeling heavy in the cool night air. “i thought. . . i don’t know. i thought everything was good. i thought he loved me.”
“he’s an idiot,” satoru says, so matter-of-factly that it makes you believe him. “anyone who would cheat on you is either blind or just plain fucking stupid.”
“you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“nah i’m saying it ‘cause i mean it,” he shakes his head.
you don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile at him with your watery eyes and he swears he feels his knees buckle. even with puffy eyes and a quivering lip you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
he musters up a smile and looks away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. you keep walking. the cool early spring air caresses your cheeks, carrying the smell of petrichor from a recent rain shower. you don’t notice him staring at you, or the way his gaze softens as he watches the streetlights cast your face in a fluorescent hue
you frown down at your phone. it’s completely dead and he wishes he’d offered to charge it for you in his room at the frat house so he could’ve spent more time with you. he wants to spend more time with you. he knows he may never get the opportunity again.
he’s grinning like the cheshire cat when your stomach lets out a loud growl and you look positively mortified.
“you hungry?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.
“a little,” you nod meekly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. the crying and the vodka have made you feel hollow.
“me too,” he says. “there’s a konbini a couple minutes away, we can grab something to eat if you want.”
you end up stopping at the konbini. the store is a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the streets. you wander the aisles, your eyes landing on a shelf of instant ramen cups. nothing sounds better than a salty, savory meal
“ramen?” you ask, holding one up, “i get this brand a lot”
“you’ve got good taste” he says, grabbing one for himself. “i like this brand too”
you end up with a cup of spicy ramen, a strawberry milk, and a box of cookies n cream pocky. he grabs a bottle of water and pays for everything before you can even pull out your card, waving away your protests. he uses the hot water dispenser by the door to prepare your ramen, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush against yours.
you eat sitting on the curb outside the store, the steam warming your face. it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
“i feel bad for dragging you away from the party,” you say between slurps. “i’m sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.”
“nah, i don’t have one,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his water. “not really my thing.” he regrets the words the second they fall from his lips.
“not your thing?” you raise a brow. “you’re notorious for having girlfriends.”
his eyes crinkle as he laughs, a genuine, bright sound. “i’ve never had one.”
you don’t seem convinced.
“i’ve had girl friends,” he says, “i don’t really do labels.”
stop. fucking. talking. he groans internally.
“someone’s got commitment issues.” you hum
for most people? yeah. the thought of a relationship with the girls he fools around with makes him break out in hives. but you? he would commit to you in a heartbeat. he’d do everything under the sun and then some if you asked him to.
a cold breeze picks up, rustling the plastic bag from the konbini, and you shiver.
“cold?” he asks, already shrugging out of his jacket before you can answer.
“no, i’m fine,” you lie, your teeth chattering slightly, betraying you.
he drapes his jacket—a black and crimson varsity jacket with the frat’s letters stitched on the chest—over your shoulders. it’s heavy and warm, and it smells like him, a clean, sharp mix of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla
“i don’t need it,” you protest, even as you snuggle deeper into it
“you do,” he says, his voice soft. “it’s cold out.”
you accept defeat, finishing your ramen with his crossing jacket around you.
the rest of the walk passes in comfortable silence. you don’t feel the need to fill it with small talk, and he doesn’t seem to either. it’s just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the hum of the city. his jacket is a heavy around your shoulders and you find yourself unconsciously pulling it tighter.
before you know it, you’re turning the corner onto your street. your dorm building is a few paces down, tired-looking brick walls and a flickering porch light that casts long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.
“i didn’t know you lived in the dorms,” he says, looking up at the building. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his thin t-shirt clinging to his frame in the cool air.
“mm my family lives a couple hours away, it’s convenient,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy.
you trudge up the concrete steps together, the silence stretching between you. you fish around in your pocket for your keys, your fingers fumbling with the cold metal. you finally manage to get the key in the lock and push the heavy door open.
“well,” you start, shrugging out of his jacket. “thanks. for everything. really.” you hold it out to him. “i appreciate you walking me home. and paying for my ramen and stuff”
he looks at the jacket in your outstretched hand, then back at you. he doesn’t take it.
“keep it,” he says. what he doesn’t say is that it looks better on you than it ever will on him, the way the crimson fabric brings out your eyes, the way you seem to swim in it, small and delicate.
“what? no, i can’t. it’s your crossing jacket.” you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “isn’t this like, a huge deal for you frat boys?”
“yeah well. . .” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “i need a reason to see you again,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
you blink at him, completely taken aback. “oh. . right”
“yeah,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “get some sleep.” he gives you one last smile before turning and walking away. you watch him until he turns the corner, his silhouette disappearing into the night.
you stand there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on your arms, before you finally turn and head inside. you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, letting out a long, slow breath.
you shrug the jacket off your shoulders, intending to just drop it on a chair, but as you do, something slips from the inner pocket and flutters to the floor. it’s a small, crumpled piece of paper.
you bend down to pick it up, it’s the receipt from the konbini. you’re about to crumple it up and toss it towards the trash can, but you see the faint blue lines of ink on the back. in messy, scrawling handwriting is a phone number. and underneath it, a short message:
keep the jacket!!! text me if you wanna hang out some time - satoru :p
you stare at the note, a soft smile spreading across your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. satoru gojo is so , so much sweeter than you expected.
not in his usual, subtle way—the way he does in the library when he thinks you’re too focused on your textbook to notice, peering at you over the rim of his round glasses with something soft and unreadable in his eyes. no, this is different.
he’s staring. openly. intensely. his glasses are pushed up into his messy white hair, and his impossibly blue eyes are fixed on you with the laser focus he usually reserves for his physics textbooks or the latest game release he’s been counting down to.
you look up from your laptop, startled. “what?”
“cherry cola.” he says, as if that explains everything.
you blink. “what about it?”
“that’s what you taste like.” he says it with such devastating certainty, leaning forward on his elbows across the café table, that you feel your face immediately flush.
“i— what? gojo, what are you talking about?”
he grins, and it’s the dangerous one. the one where his eyes crinkle at the corners and his whole face lights up like he just solved an impossible equation. “you ordered cherry cola. at the movies. two weeks ago. you let me have a sip because i finished my drink in the first ten minutes of the previews, remember?”
you do remember. you remember the way his fingers had brushed yours when he took the cup, the way he’d wrinkled his nose after tasting it and declared it “too sweet”, the way he’d kept stealing sips anyway for the rest of the movie. you remember pretending to be annoyed and failing miserably.
“i remember you complaining about it the whole time.” you manage.
“i changed my mind.” he props his chin in his hand, still watching you with that unsettling intensity. “it’s my favorite now. i can’t stop thinking about it.”
your heart does something complicated in your chest. satoru gojo—resident genius, top of every class, the guy who corrects professors and finishes exams in half the time and still manages to look bored doing it— is sitting across from you in a sunlit café, telling you he can’t stop thinking about cherry cola.
no. about you and cherry cola.
“that’s—” you start, and then stop, because you have no idea what to say to that. “that’s weird, gojo.”
“probably,” he agrees cheerfully. “but i’ve been thinking about it for two weeks and i’ve run the calculations and i’m pretty sure there’s only one solution.”
“there are calculations now?”
“extensive ones.” he reaches into his bag and pulls out a notebook, flipping it open to reveal pages of what looks like actual mathematical work, except scrawled in the margins are little doodles— hearts, soda cups, what might be stick figures holding hands. “see, if we assume variable x equals my feelings and variable y equals the probability that you’ll say yes to a date with me—”
“gojo.” you interrupt, your voice coming out a little strangled.
he looks up at you, and for just a second, the bravado slips. underneath all the confidence and chaos, he looks nervous. hopeful. like he has just handed you the answer to a problem he’s been working on for a very long time and he’s terrified you’re going to mark it wrong.
“satoru,” he corrects quietly. “i want you to call me satoru. or toru. suguru calls me toru. you can too. if you want.” he’s rambling now, the words tumbling out faster. “only if you want. no pressure. i just— i like you. a lot. an embarrassing amount, actually. suguru says it’s pathetic and nanami just sighs every time i bring you up, which is often, probably too often, and i just thought maybe if i showed you my work you’d understand that i’m serious, because i know i joke around a lot but this isn’t a joke, you’re not a joke, you’re kind of the opposite of a joke, you’re—”
“satoru.”
he stops. his eyes are wide behind the glasses he’s pushed back down, like a shield.
you reach across the table and take the notebook from his hands. you look at the equations, the doodles, the messy handwriting that somehow still manages to be elegant. you look at the little hearts. so many little hearts.
“you’re such a nerd.” you say, but you’re smiling, you can’t help it.
“i know,” he whispers. “is that... okay?”
you close the notebook and slide it back toward him. “show me the part where variable y equals yes.”
it takes a second for the words to register. when they do, his whole face transforms. the nervousness melts away into something so bright and incandescent it makes your chest ache. “yeah?”
“yeah. but you’re buying me another cherry cola first.”
he’s already on his feet, notebook forgotten, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. “i’ll buy you a hundred cherry colas. a thousand. i’ll buy stock in the company. i’ll learn how to make it from scratch—”
“toru.”
he pauses mid-ramble, grinning down at you like you hung the moon and all the stars besides.
“one is fine,” you tell him. “just one. and then maybe you can show me the rest of your calculations.”
his grin widens impossibly. “you want to see all my work? eve the stuff about the wedding venue? because i have a whole separate notebook for that, it’s color-coded and everything, i’ve been working on it since—”
“satoru.”
“going!” he’s already backing toward the counter, still facing you, still grinning. “one cherry cola. and then we’re going to discuss variable z, which is where we should go for our first date, because I have opinions. many opinions. i made a spreadsheet.”
you watch him go, cheeks warm, heart full, the pages of his notebook still open on the table between you.
nerd. you think, with more affection than you’ve ever felt for anyone.
the tv screen shines brightly as you and nerd!toru, sit on the ground watching The Notebook.
ever since the start of uni, you and satoru have been inseparable. of course, you love taking all the credit for your friendship by saying you kept bothering him until he finally cracked and agreed to be your best friend.
and now, almost 2 and a half years later, you’re doing your weekly movie night at your dorm fighting over popcorn and debating over the movie.
“i don’t get it. if it’s been what, 7 years? how come she’s still not over noah?” he asks midway.
you laugh, almost choking on the popcorn you’re eating. “well duh. he’s her first love, of course it’d be special.”
“have you been in love?”
your heart thumps at the question. even worse, you looked up to meet his eyes and your eyebrows furrow at how beautiful they sparkle.
god. he has bewitched you, body and soul.
“no,” you’ve never say abruptly. “i… i haven’t.”
if you weren’t too enamoured by him, you wouldn’t have missed the way his lips slightly frowned and his eyes looked down like a sad puppy.
“oh,” gojo says. “me neither, haha.” he uncomfortably sits up straight and tries to focus his eyes on the tv.
but he couldn’t.
while you cleared your throat and went back to watching the movie, gojo turns his head to look at you.
“actually i… i have.” he says.
“hm?”
“i have— i mean, i am in love.”
oh.
you flutter your lashes up at him, heart torn into pieces at who he might be talking about.
despite that, you still smile and playfully punch his shoulder. “yeah? who’s the lucky girl?”
he looks into your eyes, then your lips, then your eyes again.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ sukuna spends six months confessing his love through flowers and their hidden meanings, only to realize you’d kept every single one without ever knowing why he gave them to you.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, nerd flower!sukuna, yearning, acts of service as love language, friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lots of flower symbolism / hanakotoba, hand holding, kiss, sukuna is blushing!!, secretly romantic sukuna.
the campus greenhouse had always been sukuna's favorite place, which was something most people wouldn't expect if they only knew him from his reputation.
people only saw the sharp jawline, the permanent furrow between sukuna’s brows, the way his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than any one person deserved. they heard his dry humor, his quick wit, the way he could cut someone down with nothing more than a glance and a few carefully chosen words. they didn't see him here, elbows braced against a worn wooden table, fingers gently tracing the petal of a peony like he was handling something sacred.
you watched him from across the table, chin propped in your palm, half-listening to the lecture he'd launched into about fifteen minutes ago; something about victorian flower language, about the way people used to say things they couldn't speak aloud through carefully arranged bouquets.
sukuna’s voice was lower than usual here, way softer, as if the greenhouse demanded a certain reverence that even ryomen sukuna couldn't ignore.
"—and the thing is," sukuna said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't currently cradling a potted orchid. "people think it's all just romantic bullshit, but it's not. it's practical, really. a way of communicating when the words won't come out right."
sukuna’s tattoos shifted when he moved, those dark lines that crawled up his forearms and disappeared beneath his sleeves. you'd always liked that about sukuna; the way the boy never bothered to hide them even when professors gave him pointed looks on the first day of classes.
he was all sharp edges and hard lines, but then he'd show up at your apartment with a sprig of lavender tucked behind his ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you're not listening," sukuna said, but there was no accusation in it, just a statement of fact, accompanied by the faintest quirk of his lips.
"i am," you lied, sitting up straighter. "you were talking about... flowers saying things."
his eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
"i was talking about specific meanings. symbolic language. there's a difference."
sukuna set down the orchid and reached for another pot, something small with delicate white blooms that you didn't recognize. his fingers were careful, deliberate, the same way they were when he rolled a cigarette or tied his shoelaces or did anything that required even the slightest bit of precision.
it was hard to reconcile this version of sukuna with the one who'd shoved his way through a crowd last week just to get to the front of the coffee shop line, all elbows and impatience and barely concealed irritation.
"this one," sukuna said, holding the pot up so you could see. "is stephanotis. it means marital happiness, but also a willingness to be led. which is stupid, honestly, because why the hell would anyone want to be led anywhere? but the victorians were weird about a lot of things."
you laughed, and something in his expression softened just enough that you almost missed it.
sukuna had been leaving you flowers for months now.
not in a romantic way, or at least you'd assumed it wasn't romantic because this was sukuna, and sukuna didn't do romance. he did late-night study sessions that turned into ordering pizza at two in the morning. he did stealing your clothes and pretending he hadn't noticed they were yours. he did showing up at your door with a single yellow tulip tucked behind his ear and then plucking it out to hand to you like it was nothing, like he hadn't just walked across campus with a flower in his hair and dared anyone to say something about it.
you'd kept all of them, pressed between the pages of textbooks you never opened anymore, tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror, dried and hanging from string tacked to your bedroom wall. there was something about the way he gave them to you; casual and offhand, like he'd just happened to find them and thought of you.
but sukuna never said why, he never explained the meaning behind any of them.
well, until now.
"so then you've got your roses, obviously," sukuna continued, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
the movement pulled his t-shirt taut across his shoulders, and you looked away before he could catch you staring.
"red for love, white for purity, yellow for friendship. but that's way too simple. anyone knows that. the real interesting stuff is the obscure ones."
the afternoon light filtered through the greenhouse glass, casting everything in a warm, golden, and beautiful haze. dust motes drifted between the two of you, slow and lazy, and a bee hummed somewhere in the corner, drunk on something sweet and pink that you couldn't name.
sukuna's voice washed over you like honey, and you found yourself sinking into it despite your best efforts to stay alert.
"like gardenias," he said, and your heart did something strange in your chest because he'd given you gardenias. three weeks ago, tucked into a mason jar on your desk after a particularly brutal exam week. you'd thought they were just pretty. "they mean secret love. the kind that can't be spoken aloud. which is dramatic as hell, but victorians loved drama almost as much as they loved repressed emotions."
he said it like a joke, like he was mocking the very concept, but his fingers had gone still on the table with no fidgeting, no gesturing; just stillness, and the way his gaze darted away from yours for a fraction of a second before snapping back.
you thought about the gardenias, pressed between pages 87 and 88 of your ancient history textbook, still faintly fragrant when you opened them.
"and peonies," sukuna went on, reaching for the plant he'd been touching earlier. "they've got a few meanings. shame, anger, but also romance and prosperity. it depends on the context, really. the victorians loved context, too."
a little pause.
"mostly, though, they symbolize a happy marriage. or a wish for one, anyway."
sukuna had given you peonies on your birthday. a whole bouquet of them, pink and lush and ridiculous, shoved into your arms with a gruff 'happy birthday, idiot' before he'd disappeared into the kitchen to make you dinner. you'd cried a little, though you'd blamed it on allergies.
your throat felt tight now, but you weren't sure why.
"basil is hatred," sukuna said, ticking off on his fingers now, counting down some internal list. "which is funny because it's also a cooking herb, so who knows what that says about italian grandmothers. ivy means fidelity. rosemary is remembrance. lavender is devotion, but also distrust, because again, context matters."
lavender. he'd left a sprig of lavender on your pillow last month after you'd fallen asleep on his couch.
you'd woken up to the smell of it, and to sukuna making coffee in the kitchen, humming something tuneless under his breath. you'd kept it tucked behind your ear for the rest of the day, and he'd looked at you differently after that; softer, maybe. or maybe you'd imagined it.
"what about camellias?" you asked, and sukuna’s hand paused mid-gesture.
your voice sounded strange to your own ears, thin in a way that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with the way your heart was suddenly trying to escape your ribcage. because he'd given you camellias too. pink ones, tied with a bit of twine, left in your backpack after a study session two months ago. you'd found them while looking for a pen and spent the rest of the night trying not to overthink it.
sukuna's jaw tightened for just a fraction, just for a second, but you saw it because you were looking, because you were always looking, even when you told yourself not to.
"camellias," sukuna repeated, and the word came out rougher than the others. he cleared his throat. "they mean... longing. desire, mostly. but specifically the kind that's acknowledged and accepted. not secret like gardenias, not hopeful like peonies. just... wanted."
the silence that followed was heavy and thick with something unspoken. a bee buzzed, a leaf drifted down from one of the hanging plants, landing softly on the table between the two of you like a tiny green question mark.
you thought about all of it.
the tulips and the lavender, the gardenias and the peonies, the camellias and the stephanotis sukuna had given you just last week, white and fragile and tucked into your coat pocket. you thought about the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he always, always made sure you ate even when you forgot, even when you were too tired or too stressed or too something to take care of yourself.
you thought about the yellow tulips he'd given you first, and what he'd just said about them meaning friendship, and how maybe that had been the beginning. maybe sukuna had started there on purpose, testing the waters, seeing if you'd accept something small and simple before moving on to gardenias and secrets and things left unsaid.
"why are you telling me this?" you asked, and your voice barely trembled at all.
sukuna's eyes met yours, and for once, there was nothing sharp in them. there was no challenge, no defense, no carefully constructed walls. there was just him, just ryomen sukuna, the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met with his flower meanings and his pressed specimens and his soft spot for things that grew from the dirt.
"because," sukuna said, and his ears were turning pink, actually pink, the color creeping down his neck and disappearing beneath his collar. "i've been leaving you flowers for six months, and you haven't said a single word about it. and i thought maybe you didn't know what they meant, and i couldn't decide if that was better or worse than you knowing and not saying anything anyway."
sukuna's hands were shaking slightly.
you'd never seen sukuna's hands shake before, not once in all the years you'd known him. he was always so steady, so sure, so infuriatingly composed, but now, his fingers were curled into loose fists on the table, and the faint tremor in them made something ache behind your sternum.
"so which is it?" sukuna asked, and his voice cracked on the last word. just a little. just enough. "did you know?"
you thought about the gardenias pressed in your textbook, the lavender behind your ear, the peonies on your birthday, the camellias in your backpack. you thought about the way you'd told yourself it didn't mean anything at all, that sukuna wasn't capable of meaning anything, that this was just something the boy did because he was strange like that and unpredictable and full of contradictions.
you thought about how badly you'd wanted to be wrong.
"i didn't know," you said, and something in sukuna's expression flickered, dimmed.
you reached across the table before he could pull away, before sukuna could retreat back behind whatever wall he was scrambling to rebuild. your fingers brushed his knuckles softly, and he went very, very still.
"i didn't know the meanings. but i kept all of them. every single one. they're in my apartment, sukuna. pressed into my textbooks and taped to my walls and stuffed into my jewelry box. i've been sleeping with lavender under my pillow for three weeks because i didn't want to lose the scent."
sukuna's breath caught; you heard it, the tiny hitch that he tried to disguise as a cough.
"that's—" sukuna started, but stopped, and then he swallowed. his throat worked around words that didn't seem to want to come out. "that's really fucking weird, actually. keeping flowers for months."
"you're one to talk," you said, and your lips curved into a smile that felt wobbly and fragile and too big for your face. "you're the one who gave them to me."
"yeah, well." his ears were still pink, spreading now to his cheekbones, and you'd never seen anything more beautiful in your entire life. "i'm in love with you, so it's different."
the words hung in the air between you, simple and devastating. there was no fanfare, and no dramatic pause, simply sukuna being sukuna, saying the thing he'd probably been trying to say for six months through petals and stems and carefully chosen blooms.
"you could have just told me," you said, and your voice was shaking now, but so were your hands, and so was he, so it didn't really matter.
"where's the fun in that?" he asked, but his voice was rough, and his eyes were bright, and when you squeezed his fingers, he squeezed back like he was afraid you'd disappear.
outside the greenhouse windows, the afternoon was fading into evening, gold bleeding into amber bleeding into the soft purple of early dusk. the bee had gone quiet, the leaves had stopped drifting, and the only sound was your breathing and his, mingling in the warm, humid air.
"i'm in love with you too," you said.
because it was true, because it had probably been true for longer than you wanted to admit, because sukuna was a nightmare and a softy and the biggest flower nerd you'd ever met, and you'd spent six months tucking his gifts between the pages of your life like pressed flowers of your own.
sukuna closed his eyes just for a moment, just long enough for you to see the way his shoulders dropped, the tension draining out of him like water from a cracked vase. when he opened them again, sukuna was smiling. a real smile, not the sharp-edged thing he showed the rest of the world, but something small and private and almost shy.
"good," sukuna said, and then, quieter; "i have more at my apartment. flowers, i mean. i was going to give them to you tomorrow, but—" he shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling. "seems like a waste to wait."
your heart turned over in your chest, sweet like honey.
"show me," you said, and when he stood up and offered you his hand, you took it without hesitation.
sukuna’s palm was warm against yours, calloused from god knows what, steady now that the worst part was over.
he led you out of the greenhouse and into the cooling evening, and neither of you let go, not even when the campus paths grew busy with other students, not even when someone whistled and sukuna flipped them off with his free hand, not even when you reached sukuna’s apartment and he had to fumble for his keys because he simply didn't want to release you long enough to find them.
his apartment smelled like him, like cedar and something floral you couldn't name.
there were flowers everywhere — on the kitchen counter, on the windowsill, in a vase on the coffee table that was definitely too small for the arrangement it held. you spotted roses and tulips and something dark purple you didn't recognize, and sukuna followed your gaze and went pink again.
"i might have gone overboard," sukuma admitted, finally letting go of your hand so he could gesture vaguely at the chaos. "i wasn't sure which ones you'd like best, so i just kind of... got all of them."
you walked over to the windowsill, running your finger along the edge of a potted plant you didn't recognize. it was green and leafy, unassuming, nothing like the showy blooms scattered around the room.
"what's this one?" you asked, turning back to look at him.
sukuna was standing in the middle of his own living room like he'd never seen it before, like he was seeing it through your eyes and finding it lacking. he rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture you'd never seen him make, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a murmur.
"basil," he said. "it means hatred, remember? i got it as a joke. thought it would be funny to have something that meant the opposite of everything else."
you laughed, and the sound seemed to break something loose in sukuna. he crossed the room in three long strides and stopped in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at his face.
"i meant it, you know," sukuna said, and his hands hovered near your waist like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to touch. "every flower. every single one. i meant all of it."
"i know," you said, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands, feeling the slight roughness of his jaw beneath your palms. "i know now."
he kissed you then, soft and careful, like you were something precious he was afraid of breaking. his lips tasted like coffee and something sweet, and his hands finally settled on your hips, and the basil sat on the windowsill behind you, tiny and green and full of meaning.
when you pulled back, sukuna’s eyes were closed, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. he looked sweeter like this, softer, like all the sharp edges had been sanded away by the simple fact of being wanted back.
"i'm still mad you didn't look up the meanings," he said without opening his eyes. "six months. i could have just told you in the first week and saved myself a lot of anxiety."
"but then i wouldn't have gotten the flowers," you pointed out, and sukuna snorted, and you felt the vibration of it all the way down to your bones.
"i would have given you the flowers anyway," he said, finally opening his eyes. they were darker than usual, soft with something you were learning to recognize. "i probably would have given you flowers even if you'd laughed in my face. it's a problem, really. my therapist would have a field day."
you laughed again, and sukuna smiled again, and the evening stretched out before you both, full of possibility and pressed flowers and the quiet understanding that some things didn't need to be spoken aloud to be true.
but it didn't hurt, you thought, as sukuna pulled you toward his couch and wrapped his arms around you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it.
you and him have been dating for some time now, and at first he was pretty normal about it. of course, he didn’t understand everything that comes with being someone’s boyfriend and was obviously nervous whenever you’d both do anything romantic.
but now…he’s the one who makes you nervous. everywhere that you go, and i mean everywhere, he is always there. even if you can’t see him.
you’re in the kitchen making something? he’ll hug you from behind and hinder your movement, and when you scold him he’ll just stand next to you instead; just staring at the side of your face.
if you‘re taking a shower, he wont get in with you, but he will sit on the toilet and just talk to you about his day.
even when you’re in public and you need to use the restroom, he will stand right outside of the bathroom holding all of your things. at first you had to teach him that he can’t just waltz into the women’s restroom, and he was confused, but now he just waits patiently for you.
in other words, choso is soso clingy to you. he wants to be near you every second of the day. of course he’ll leave you alone when you ask him to, but not without whining a little and making it obvious that he’s bored without you. to him, just sitting in your presence is enough to entertain him and make him happy.
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