You’d never slept over before. Not for lack of trying—he’s invited you a few times now, usually in that whirlwind, fast-talking, Bokuto way: “You should stay! I’ll make popcorn! We can watch that terrible space movie you love—wait, not terrible, just… objectively confusing!”
And eventually, you said yes. You’re newly dating, still figuring each other out. Still brushing pinkies under the table, pretending not to smile when he calls you his favorite distraction, and marveling at how easily he can light up a room. Last night was nice. Messy and real. He made you laugh so hard you snorted water out of your nose. You fell asleep curled around his arm, warm and stupidly happy.
You wake up expecting him to be gone. You’ve heard the stories—how Bokuto’s up with the sun, always the first at the gym, how he “accidentally” does 200 push-ups before breakfast because he couldn’t sit still. So when you stir around 9:47 a.m. and find him still beside you, wrapped in blankets and very much not at the gym, you blink in quiet confusion.
And when you try to sit up?
He groans. Loud and pitiful. Then immediately rolls toward you, snaking an arm around your waist, and slumps half his weight on top of you. “Don’t,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep.
“…Don’t what?” you whisper.
His face is in your neck, voice muffled and petulant. “Don’t leave. Too early.”
You laugh under your breath. “It’s basically ten.”
“I’m not emotionally ready for ten.”
You freeze a little, startled by how different this is from what you imagined. No bouncing. No bright energy. No dramatic grin. Just a sleepy man-child melting into you like the mattress is quicksand.
“Aren’t… you a morning person?” you say cautiously.
He groans again. “I am,” he mumbles, “just not when you’re here. You ruin everything.”
"Wow. Thanks."
“No, I mean… you’re warm. And you smell good. And your shoulder’s soft. And the bed feels better with you in it. So now I’m clingy and helpless. Congrats.”
You turn your head, just enough to glimpse his expression—eyes closed, brows drawn, nose scrunched into your skin as if he’s memorizing it.
“I was gonna make coffee,” you murmur.
“Betrayal.”
“You didn’t seem like the clingy type,” you tease, trying (and failing) to pry yourself from his arms.
He only holds you tighter, tugging you closer until your back is flush to his chest. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, lips brushing your collarbone. “You weren’t supposed to find out on the first sleepover.”
You go still. It’s the first sleepover. This was supposed to be casual, a night of snacks and movie reruns while trying not to overthink anything. But this? You weren’t prepared for this.
You clear your throat, flustered. “I could… come back after coffee?”
“No."
You laugh, helpless. “Koutarou—”
He silences you with a gentle touch, turning you toward him until there’s barely any space left between you. His voice is soft now—quieter than before, careful. “Just five more minutes.”
Then he kisses you. Soft and slow, not wanting to startle you. But when you don’t pull away—when your breath catches and your fingers curl instinctively into his shirt—he deepens it. His hand finds the small of your back, drawing you in, needing you closer. There’s no such thing as close enough. He’s still half-asleep, but he’s fully sure of this—of you.
When his lips leave yours, he says nothing. He just buries his face in your stomach and wraps his arms around your waist.
You lie there, stunned—lips tingling, the warmth of the kiss still clinging to your skin. Your fingers find his hair, brushing through the tangled, sleep-ruined strands without thinking. His breathing slows. His weight settles against you, easing something deep in your chest.
And even though your brain is buzzing and your heart is screaming, this is really happening—you somehow manage a soft response. “…Okay. Five more minutes.”
his face in between your thighs as you’re sprawled on the edge of your bed, legs quivering with one knee up and the other wrapped around the back of his head.
“oh fuck, yes !” you manage to moan out, eyes rolling up before your hands scramble to grip onto the sheets beside you.
dex is on the ground, holding you while his tongue spreads your folds apart before licking stripes and slurping all your juices. he’s practically humming inside of you, sending vibrations and shivers up your skin.
your whole body trembles, stomach feeling butterflies as you gather the courage to look down at him.
he’s purely in his element, far too focused on just your pussy, his strong hands moving to spread your legs further apart and grip onto your skin leaving imprints as if he doesn’t already have full access to you.
“just fucking delicious… mmh-ine. you’re all mine baby.”
almost impatient he’s kissing all over you, leaving pecks everywhere from your lower belly and clit all while not leaving out the beauty spot on the bottom of your right butt cheek.
you gaze with fluttered lids, blinking profusely as his tongue turns more intense and enters your gaping hole.
mouth wide open, you whimper out forcing yourself to lean your weight on your elbows to look at him with more ease. it’s almost like he remembers you’re there, eyes catching yours as you notice a glint peeking through. dex’s tongue works wonders as he stays holding contact with you and you can only breathe out his name softly. he begins moving his whole mouth from side to side, cheeks glistening with your wetness as his nose bumps the edge of your clit.
“ugh, p-please… i !” a hand of yours reaches out to entangle in his hair as you pull, only egging dex on to further bury his face in your soaking cunt.
it could have been from him resting a hand on one of your breasts, fingers squeezing on the surrounding skin and twisting your already extremely sensitive nipple or your pussy throbbing relentlessly needing a release.
ultimately your pelvis began rocking on its own to use his face while your hands controls his head to rub yourself out. he’s grinning against you, his clutch on you tightening as you shake, seeing stars.
he continues to inhale you and sucks on your folds until you slowly come to a stop, belly raising up and down. dex feels you twitch as your pulse comes to a calmer pace. heartbeat loud in your ears, you eyes flutter open and the fuzziness you see initially starts to disappear as you breathe out.
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, obsession / possession, stalking, manhandling, size kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, mention of f. masturbation, mention of crying (reader), reader is clueless.
benjamin knew he had to have you in every way from the moment his calculating eyes fell on you. you’re everything he isn’t. you’re sweet, you’re precious and innocent to a devastating fault. it almost makes him sick. faithfully, he took his time figuring you out. there’s nothing wrong with him watching you from a safe distance as long as it doesn’t get out of hand— that’s what he told himself as he memorized your routines, your tiny habits and mannerisms, the things in your life that alter your moods … all with the intention of getting to know you better.
months of preparation for when he finally gets close to you.
it wasn’t easy. you were skeptical that first time you met. maybe it was because you were clinging to an unsettling feeling. the feeling of being watched everywhere you went, whether it was day or night. it was enough to make you install a dead bolt on your door. he remembers catching a glimpse of it through your window. he scoffed, mostly because he was endeared by the fact you thought it made a difference.
he’d end up getting past those locks, anyway. time and time again.
like after your fourth date, when you invite him in and something about the way you purr your words tells him it’s not just for rosé flavored kisses and heavy petting or getting handsy on your couch. it doesn’t truly hit him until you’re pulling him into your bedroom with breathy giggles falling from your lips in between kisses. he’s nervous, a little fidgety as his deft fingers mess with the zipper on your dress— you’d never be able to tell by the grin that’s spread over his features. or the way he squeezes your waist with his big hands in the next second, muffling the mewl that falls from your swollen lips with his own.
you’re on your back and at his mercy in record timing. all it took was some tossing you around until you met your mattress with a soft sound. your dress is discarded, thrown to the floor along with your lacy panties and the delicate bra that matches. he’s careful not to tear anything no matter how badly he wants to let those urges take control for a brief moment. you can’t see that side of him yet.
the side you can see, however, is how attentive he can be while he has you folded up under him. while you’re gasping and whimpering and his hands are tucked under your knees, keeping your thighs spread wide and your pretty cunt on display for when he finally sinks in. you gasp in sync, and benjamin swears he’s never been closer to true salvation.
he wishes you both weren’t so desperate for it. he wishes he could take the time to press his face between your legs, kissing and sucking on your sensitive clit in earnest until you’re hiccuping for him to stop. he’s thought about it countless times, both on his own and while watching you play with yourself through your frilly curtains. whether it was your clumsy fingers rubbing yourself stupid or a pillow you decided to hump on, he’s seen it all. he’s thought about it all. and much like you, he’s thought about how no amount of finger fucking yourself to thoughts of him after your little dates could have prepared you to take him.
“look at that. y’did so good, angel girl— even after all that whining and crying,” he croons, running a rough hand down the length of your tummy as if he can feel himself under your tender flesh. he presses, just enough to make you gasp once more and whine. you can feel him right there, like weight of him is resting in your stomach. his gaze finally trails upwards, he breaks it away from where his cock pushes inside your soft, messy cunt and meets your dazed eyes instead. “but i think she wants more, huh? wants to be stuffed real good, yeah?”
he knows you don’t have the strength to respond fully. broken pleas and feverish nodding is all you can manage before he coos down at you and allows his hands to slip to the backs of your thighs. he feels your dewy skin as his fingers sink in for leverage, he rears his hips back before they twitch forward and chase after the silky, heated vice that your sweet pussy seems to be. yeah, he picked the perfect girl.
“fuckin’ made for me, you were made to take this cock,” he grunts out, peering down at you while you lose yourself little by little. pathetic sounds fall from your lips freely and he’s quick to shush you, leaning over your dizzy and manhandled form entirely as he speaks right above your spit slick lips. the words that leave his mouth send you into a frenzy— “i knew you were all mine from the second i saw you.”
doggy with caleb but his hips are so damn powerful and mean you can’t keep yourself up. no matter how many times you prop yourself on your hands and knees, it pitifully ends up being a prone bone situation. he’s laughing as he knocks you back on your stomach, “aww pipsqueak am I being too wough?” while pinning your head down so you don’t bother trying to get up again. he likes you like that: with no choice but to take his cock. completely under his mercy.
clark kent who is so ridiculously down bad for using a rabbit on you —!! (18+)
at this point, you’re convinced that he’s obsessed with that little odd-shaped thing of silicone. the infatuation is typically at its height when he spoils you, wanting you babbling and pliant before he fucks you good.
“please,” you whimper, ducking your scorching face into his tense neck. warm sunshine and the musk of oakmoss invades your senses, and you squeeze your eyes shut as another wave of pleasure blindsides you. “can’t take it, clark.”
you’re straddling his lap, legs spread wide on either side of his strong, unmoving hips, cunt swallowing the knob of vibrating silicone while the rabbit plays with your too-sensitive clit.
sparks fly up your spine again as clark presses a hand to your lower back, pushing at the burn in your thighs and making the head of the dildo nudge against an impossible spot.
“what do you mean?” he asks, and you can hear the cheeky fucking smile on his dopey face. “you’re taking it just fine.”
(bastard, bastard, bastard.)
you’ve already come once on his tongue, and twice more with the rabbit making your hips jump and arousal wet the soft, quivering insides of your thighs until they glistened.
he’s only got his underwear on, dick visibly straining at the precum-dampened cotton. your nails don’t even make divots as you scrape them down his chest, through the trimmed wires of his happy trail.
you palm the thick, searing heat of him, needy and not at all firmly, for your fingers tremble with tiny shocks of overstimulation whenever you rock your hips back so the head catches on that sweet spot that makes you moan.
“oh, honey, you’re hardly doing it with conviction,” clark teases, though you know he’s biting back a groan. serves him right, not letting you stray from orgasm while he sits under you, neglected.
grinding up, the peak of his tent presses hard against your raw clit, still helpless to the onslaught of vibrations from the rabbit. you gasp, brow furrowing, arching deeper to chase the sticky heat of his clothed cock again.
clark releases a heady moan, tilting his head so that his plush lips pant straight into your ear. “that’s it, sweetheart…”
you can feel yourself barreling towards cumming again, pleasure burrowing at the base of your spine, stomach coiling with every noise that escapes his mouth.
clark’s low whimpers grow in frequency as you begin to chase your fourth orgasm, as the low hum of the vibration meshes with the filthy schlick noises from your soaked pussy that echo in his bedroom, as you fuck yourself desperately on the toy like you’re convincing yourself that it’s really his cock.
“fuck, fuck, clark—” you choke on a gasp, rubbing your clit (still wrapped in the ears of the rabbit) against his erection “—please, need you inside—”
your head spins, and suddenly you’re panting with your back against the sheets, breaths colored with a whine at the loss of stimulation.
you don’t have to wait for long, because before you know it, clark’s tossing the last scrap of fabric away and dwarfing the toy in his stupidly big hands.
just as the smooth, hot head of his cock meets your fluttering folds, he presses the dildo end to your clit, tapping warm silicone against your twitching bundle of nerves before switching the vibration back on.
his voice rumbles from above, thick with desire and tired of waiting. “i’m holding it here, baby. ‘s not going anywhere, even when i’m inside.”
summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
jason todd being a velcro boyfriend. You wake up from your long nap and stretch till you feel a weird heavy weight on top of you under your blanket. You were still groggy and slightly panic out of confusion. You lift up your comforter and see Jason is resting on your pelvis as he doomscrolls on tiktok. You can hear the stupid memes he swears aren’t funny from his phone. He looks up and his scarred lips softly grins.
“G’mornin, sleeping beauty! How’d you sleep?”
“How long have you been down there?” you chuckled, still holding up the blanket.
[Jason does not answer the question but flutters his eyes]
“So, are we grabbing food later? I was thinking sushi or something spicy-” His casual tone makes you giggle in amusement.
“Baby, how long?” You glance above the blanket and can clearly see the other half of jason sticking out of the blanket.
“Not long enough. What are you craving for dinner?”
“I just woke up, babe. Um, I don’t know.” You rubbed your eye.
“How’s some pho?” Jason’s green eyes smiled.
“That’s fine…”
“But how did you sneak in without waking me-“
Jason kissed your thigh and slowly pulls the blanket back down and turns back to his phone, opening up Yelp for a nearby restaurant.
Unfortunately for your stalker you’re funny as fuck. Well at least I am.
You come home and in less than five minutes your on a tangent, “and I told her shittake Benihana teriyaki and this bitch wasn’t getting it”(scary movie quote) you clap your hands to your cat. She stares up at you.
He’s in the corner of your house. In your sun room listening, and he has to clasp his hands over his mouth because this is not the time to get caught.
Your talks to your cats and to yourself could honestly make you the next Katt Williams but you just do the standup for your everyday honestly.
He never knew that stalking you was going to be this hard.
older toru keeps receiving cute lil drawing on his usual table in a cosy cafe that he goes — very morning.
age gap ( 40s/20s) 🩰 ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ
it was a normal morning like, every other day in Satoru's life. His little morning routine always end up with grabbing a sweet tea from the cosy cafe downtown. The tea was warming his hands that has aged throughout the years of hardworking he did. He kept humming a tune that was playing on the radio this morning in his apartment.
Satoru just couldn't help but glance at the showcase that was filled with various pastries. It's like they were inviting him to take a bite. His doctor warned him to not to eat too many sweets, but god forbid a man has a sweet tooth. In this case though Satoru might be having the most dramatic sweet tooth ever known to man.
He got up from his usual spot where he nursed his tea like every other morning. And had to choose between having diabetes soon or having a sweet little treat to get through the day. Of course, he paid for the most sugary pastrie of them all. Satoru's grin was absolutely joyous, holding his sweet treat like someone might snatch it away from him.
Grinning like an idiot, he made his way to his table again, sitting down impatiently to take a bite of his strawberry icing filled shortcake. But then Satoru noticed a piece of paper folded and put under his phone. He could swear that was not his. Abounding his task of eating the shit out of the cake, wow progress one might say — one step of beating diabetes, he grab the small paper that was tucked under his phone safely.
it's a drawing, of him but the cartoon version of him? he tried remember. Chibi version of him. Yes that's the word. Satoru chuckled at the cute little drawings of him drinking his tea, looking at the pastries where he had doggie ears and sparkles in his eyes like he's begging to have some treats. He looked around to find the culprit of this doing but no vain. Everyone in the cafe was either busy ordering or rushing out to their jobs.
Satoru kept smiling softly while looking at the drawings. He then safely folded the small paper and put it on his pocket. Looking around the cafe and he tried to make out, who's this mysterious artist. He's having secret admirers now? In his 40s. He sighed dramatically. " I'm still charming as ever then."
Grabbing his sweet tea in the morning was only meant to be a task on his morning routine, he sometimes used to skip that if he overslept or simply feeling bored to get up in the morning but now, he couldn't miss out his morning tea for anything even if the world was ending at 8am — he would still go the café at 7am. Why one might ask, but of course it's because of the fan drawings as he address them, kept appearing on his table out of nowhere. Satoru thought it might be a one time thing by a passing stranger who drew him out of boredom but to his utter delight they kept appearing day after day.
This eventually became Satoru's highlight of the day that his whole mood began to depend on the mysterious drawings that magically appeared on his table. Its always tucked under his car keys or whatever he leaves behind the table to order something. He tried to catch this mysterious artist but every time he was outsmarted by them. Satoru couldn't help but get impressed by their sneaking skills. Today it's a drawing of him eating a shortcake, his eyes were sparkling dramatically and he had a thought bubble on his head written with the cutest handwriting ever,
❜❜ 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒈𝒈 ~❜❜
Satoru let out a obnoxiously loud series of giggles like a teenager. He got a few side eyes from the people who remained in the café but he could even care less about them. He pocketed this drawing to his wallet, this one is going on his collection of small stack of papers that sat in a cardholder on his bedside nightstand.
After months of hide and seek game with the secret admirer of his, Satoru was getting awfully desperate to meet them. He couldn't sleep without making their appearance in his head, it's driving him mad. After sulking around his apartment thinking about his new found obsession of finding about the mysterious artist, he finally got dressed up to leave for the café.
Ordering his usual, he made his way to table now officially had his name on it. His eyes bulged out when he saw a piece of paper already there but it was tucked under a plush key chain, it was that one cartoon character that always appeared on the drawings beside his chibi. It had the same signature colours of him too. He found out its name, apparently it's named as " cinamonroll ". Satoru snatched the key chain and the piece of paper in one go and aggressively whipped his head around to make out anyone who looked suspicious enough to be his artist.
His desperation to finds you — of course, it's you, who else would salivate around a 40 year old man, finally reached the breaking point of his patience. Satoru was never a patient man. So, he took desperate measures to get a whiff of your identity. He asked around the café workers, even bribing them hefty. They had no clue of you either, this only made Satoru's unhealthy obsession towards you root even deeper in him.
You were late to grab your morning coffee, you usually step it into the café 6:55 am, right on time but you overslept because it was raining heavily last night. The sleep was so good that you didn't even want to wake up. Here you're at 7:30am, waiting for your coffee while clutching a piece of paper that you drew chibi version of the most attractive man you've ever led your eyes on. Snow white hair with cerulean blue eyes was a cherry on top combination, he looked like an angel.
And his hands. God his hands were doing things to you that not even a church could help you to be holy again. Those delicious veins that covered his arms were driving you through walls. He had such thick fingers that, only two would enough to fill you up throughly. Yup, you've an unhealthy obsession with his hands. You craved his fingers in unholy places that sun don't shine. He's very old compared to you obviously but age is just a number so, it's fine. More than fine if it's him to be honest.
Your heart almost jumped out from the shock after hearing your old man's — not yours but anyways, voice right behind. The heart was thudding so loudly that you were scared , he could hear right through it. You tucked the drawing to your breasts, and took several breaths to calm down. Then, stepping away from the counter to make him pass through you to make his order — you finally took your chance to slip your drawing to the back pocket of his dress pants.
High risk. No reward. One. Two. Three. Here we go. Ack you winced quietly while barely managing to slip the piece of paper to his pocket. You looked around to see if someone caught you through the act but thank god, you were safe. For now. You flinched like a cat that stole something from it's owner who obviously warned not to.
Thankfully, it was the batista calling your name to take out your order. You bite your lips with a mischievous smile while deliberately brushing past his arm that was in your way. It indeed was not in your way, you just did it for the love of the game actually. Then you got a glimpse of the key chain you anonymously gifted him, he used it to carry his car keys. You couldn't help but feel a rush of happiness. Paying for your coffee, you quietly made out of the café.
Meanwhile Satoru is restless, anxious and angry?! it was 8am now. Still no sign of your drawings. He kept going back to order something and still came back to nothing on his table. Did you get into trouble? Were you sick? Is this the end of everything? thousands of possibilities what happened to you and millions of what if questions were blowing up his mind. He hated that he doesn't even know what you look like. He whipped out his hand to take the wallet from his back pocket to leave a tip for the waitress who was serving him from the 7am. Poor soul must be exhausted from the amount of orders he did.
With his wallet, there was your little piece of drawing. Satoru was speechless, he doesn't get speechless every often but you were yet to prove him wrong by how sneaky you can get. You slipped this in to his back pocket and he had no fucking clue. Unbelievable. Is he getting fucking old now. Pushing 40 BTW
Satoru laughed quietly in utter disbelief, he couldn't help but fall even deeper for you. After squeezing the hell out of the cinamonroll plushie you gave him — like he was imaging it was you instead, he finally left the café. The waitress who was cleaning his table almost had a heart attack seeing a 200$ tip. Oh, she gonna serve him good after this.
- 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔,
You were running as fast as you could to reach the café downtown, praying quietly to the God that your old man would be there. You couldn't go to the café for the last three days — because of the assignment you were working on. " please please be there." you didn't stop praying until the very minute you step into the café. It was 10:30 am — darting your eyes around to find his figure that was usually sat on or the pastrie showcase, that he salivate on. He is not here. No no no please please. Where is he??
After all this time, after all those drawings and little gifts you gifted him, how did he just abounded you like this. Like sure, you couldn't even inform him that you will not be there for 3 days. But still, how could he!!
Your face was the perfect representation of a crestfallen maiden who missed her last chance of meeting with her solider lover. Accepting the utter defeat that he finally had give up on your silly little games — you stepped out of the café like a kicked puppy without even buying anything despite not eating anything from the morning.
Still lingering outside the café, you fought your tears that threatened to fall off — biting your lips rather harshly to contain your tears at bay, you looked around the roads near the café — hopelessly trying to spot his figure.
Wait.
It's him.
Yes, to think that your prayers did work after all. You spotted his retreating figure at a distance. You quickly moved your feet to catch up to him. Why the fuck his legs are so damn long. Your little ballet flats were working overtime to try to catch up to him faster.
Meanwhile, Satoru was devastated — he couldn't even fucking sleep a wink for fucking 3 days. Dark bags sat heavily under his eyes to prove lack of his sleep. Even the waitress who always served his orders was so concerned when she saw him. He looked like he was trying to save the city at night.
He's losing his beauty sleep and appetite because of you. Of course, you. He felt like dying without your cute little drawings and — little charms that you get for him.
For fucking 3 days, where the fuck are you? He felt helpless. Utterly useless of not having any kind of information about you. After waiting on café for 4 hours straight from the 7am, he finally gave up for today as well and dragged his feet to get back to his apartment get some fucking sleep, as if he could do it now — after haunting his apartment in crack of down for last three days.
Then he felt something hold onto his dress shirt. He quickly turned around to look at what that was, and there was you, gripping his shirt with your fingers in a tight fist. You were wheezing to get some air into your lungs. You have never run so much like this, but honestly, it's so worth it.
" Miss, are you okay." Satoru was flabbergasted and kind of worried about the young woman who was flapping like a fish to get air. You were very cute, he noticed. He watched as you suddenly fished into your bedded bag in a hurry and whipped out a piece of paper — and slammed it right into his chest. He absent mindlessly took it.
" Your walking speed is not human at all, I can't fucking breathe. Walk slowly next time, I beg of you." You were blabbering like you didn't just drop a bomb on his head.
Satoru again went utterly fucking speechless by your antics while you were still fishing around your book bag — pulling out a heavy looking book and hold it out to him.
" apology gift, I'm really, really sorry for not showing up on the last three days, I was soooo busy with my assignments. Please don't be mad, okie?? " rambling to him about how sorry you were about the whole thing — throwing around your hands wildly and dramatically to convince him that the absence of you was not intentional. Not even a little.
Utterly bamboozled by this bizarre situation — all Satoru could do was watch you with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Then he took in the book that you were holding out for him to take with the cutest fucking puppy eyes, he has ever seen.
So, It's you — then, the mysterious artist that kept taunting him endlessly, the reason to his sudden insomnia illness.
The very subject of his unhealthy obsession.
Standing in front of him as if you didn't drive him through absolute hell for months after months of utter torture. Like you didn't play this hide and seek games with him?? He kept looking at your figure — that was still gesturing wildly with animated expressions. It was so fucking cute, you are so cute that he wanted to eat your chubby cheeks — tinged with pink blush because of the slightly chilly weather.
You kept nudging his arm with the book you were holding out to him, your arms were about to fall off because he keeps standing in front of you like a statue that was frozen under the cool weather outside.
Satoru came to the earth, finally — grabbing the book from your hands so carefully. 𝑨𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒚𝒖 embossed in gold letters with a woman in red standing near a grim looking castle. While compared to your little hands that could barely hold the book with one hand — the book felt so small in his giant ass hand. Of course you noticed his hands, you were such a slut for them, well not just his hands but for him, generally.
" I hope you will enjoy it. It's my favourite book ever. Do you know what!! it used to be a fan fiction of my favourite ship — Harry Potter?? You have to know that, okay!! Right, right. There's no absolute way if you haven't watched it yet. I WAS SO FUCKING HAPPY LIKE IT GOT PUBLISHED OFFICIALLY RIGHT THE DAY AFTER MY BIRTHDAY!! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!!! It was the best surprise ever. I almost cried. Well, I actually did cry a little. Hm, wait, you know what a fan fiction is, right?? "
You were yapping his ear off with the enthusiasm that he had only watched in animation films. Your eyes were sparkling so prettily while you excitedly kept rambling about your favourite book — now sat in his hands. Satoru was smiling ear to ear without him knowing he was doing that. Your absolute enthusiasm about your favourite ship, whatever that was — he took a mental note to search it on the Internet afterwards. The clue to your birthday was too hidden in this book. He was over the moon when he heard that tiny detail about you.
Knowing your birthday was a big step, right??
And, of course, he knows about Harry Potter. He didn't live under a rock for 40 years of his life.
" Hello, hello earth to Mr. Snowy hair." He was again brought back to earth by the little hands that were dangling left and right in front of his eyes. Your puppy dog eyes looked at him in anticipation to hear something from him. You just realised you were the only one who was yapping nonstop. Mentally face palming, you waited for him to say something too.
Satoru lowered himself to your eye level — starling you sightly because of the sudden proximity. You nervously gulped and tried to avoid his eyes, but it was almost impossible. His eyes were too captivating for you to just look away.
" Aren't I too old for you, baby."
YOUR HEART ALMOST ESCAPED FROM YOUR THROAT!!
His hushed tone felt so fucking delicious to your ears. You blinked rapidly to form some kind of answer using your now melting brain. It was useless now. You were gonna melt into a puddle in this very sidewalk. You opened your mouth multiple times and closed it immediately after. Satoru bites back a teasing smile that threatens to escape his lips. He didn't want to scare you away yet.
Not ever.
You were obviously very younger than him. He couldn't help but feel kind of insecure about that fact. But there's no way he could let you go now. You had wormed your way into his heart — very stubbornly, he might add. And he wanted to keep it that away.
He was too probably older than your father — before even he could form any kind of negative thoughts, you decided to open your yapping machine.
" Well, you don't look older than my father, soo~ " you quietly whispered it with a pout that slowly swallowed your cute pink lips. Glancing him under your lashes like a child who caught stealing midnight snacks by their parents.
Satoru barked out a laugh while you softly quivered your own lips like you were top fighting the urge to join his laughter.
He was in for a wild ride. Like in hell, Satoru would ever back down a good challenge.
" Feisty little thing, aren't you? " he teased while your cheeks started to resemble a cherry red tomato. Then, you mumbled your name to him. " I don't even know your name. It's rude to leave someone hanging."
" Hmm, I might have picked it up from someone who left me hanging for almost a year now."
Deliberately avoiding his eyes, you glared at the blocks of the sidewalk. After seeing you sulking around, Satoru flicked your forehead softly while you tried to soothe the nonexistent pain away.
" It's Satoru Gojo. Not beautiful like your name, Princess." You gaped like a fish yet again after hearing his honeyed voice. He almost gave you a heart attack by calling you baby and now Princess???. This man is trying to kill you at this point.
And his name is so beautiful, just like him. It's only fair that he had a perfect name for his flawless beauty. You're so whipped.
" and your age? "
" um 36..."
" how long have you been 36?"
" a while."
You just couldn't hold your laugh at his response. He's so fucking hilarious. Satoru was scratching his neck while trying to avoid your eyes, and the melodious laughed that was soothing his poor soul.
Your laughed like a fucking hyena btw — he's just blind when it's come to you. Maybe even deaf.
every inch of skin, every muscle, every crevice — all of them, littered with scars. some are smaller than others, while others stretch along the expansive of his body. he's not the same pretty man you fell in love with, far from it.
...so why?
you're tracing a finger on the ones along his stomach, eyes half lidded and almost in... is that awe? your lips are slanted upwards, tilted up in that soft lazy smile you get when the two of you lay under the covers, tucked away in the privacy of his room. only this time, you're even more affectionate, nuzzling into him.
"crazy girl," satoru mumbles softly, peeking at you through snowy bottom lashes. you rest the tip of your chin on his chest, nuzzling into his warm skin. "you really like 'em that much?" and for the first time, there's a hint of self deprecation that follows gojo satoru's words, accompanied with a throaty chuckle.
"how could i not?" your eyes shine. you rest your lips on his chin, trailing up the scars with your lips, smiling as you meet his glassy gaze with your own, "y'came back to me, toru." your voice breaks, but nonetheless, you keep on smiling. "they show me just how strong you are."
"the strongest?"
your nose brushes his as your lips brush one another. "the strongest."
gojo’s fingers are stained with a faint trace of soot and grease, his expensive black silk shirt torn slightly at the shoulder where a stray bullet had grazed him an hour ago. he doesn’t seem to notice or care. he’s sitting on the edge of the polished mahogany desk in his private office, one long leg dangling off the side, watching you pace the floor.
he wears his usual dark sunglasses instead of the heavy blindfold, the bright blue of his eyes visible beneath the rims.
“you’re going to wear a hole in my rug, sweetheart,” he hums, his voice entirely too light for someone who just survived a coordinated ambush by a rival family.
“ou could have died, satoru!” you snap, stopping right in front of him, your hands trembling as you glare up at his smug face. “you took off your vest. you promised me you wouldn’t do something stupid.”
gojo’s smirk softens, the playful, dangerous mask completely dropping from his features. he reaches out, his massive hands catching you by the waist and pulling you firmly between his knees. the heat radiating off his body is sudden and overwhelming. he tilts his head down, his dark glasses sliding down his nose so he can look directly into your eyes with an intense, fierce gravity.
“i took it off because it was slowing me down,” he whispers, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrates straight against your chest. his thumb brushes a stray tear from your cheek with an achingly slow, careful pressure. “the only thing that scares me in this city is the thought of someone getting past me to get to you. i’m the strongest man in the underground, my love. but the second you cry? i feel like i’m losing the whole world.”
a/n: everyone i write are losers in love, how i love simps ;(
…YOU LET ME CALL YOU BABY BUT I CAN’T CALL U MINE ?
sum. when geto is partnered up with you for a ‘fake family’ project, it gives him the perfect excuse to touch you as he pleases. but when you continue to laugh him off, can his frat brothers help him make you see him as boyfriend and not ‘bestie’?
“you’re partners with y/n?! that’s your sign to lock in, man. stop playing safe and take the fucking leap.”
ΣΧ
“i think we should name the baby ‘nagito komaeda.’”
“i think you’ve lost your damn mind.”
in the common room of the sigma chi frathouse, geto suguru has his legs spread lazily & his back against the old couch. he’s scrolling through his phone with bleary eyes as sato & sukuna debate a name for their project’s fake baby. sato gojo is scribbling names in red on the whiteboard. ryomen sukuna is taking up half the space on the living room couch.
“sukuna the second,” sukuna says with a gulp of his cola. he sets the can down with a thud & crosses his feet over the wooden coffee table, leaning back into suguru’s space. “it’s the only respectable option. suguru, what do you think?”
geto suguru thinks that sukuna hasn’t showered today.
he also thinks his privacy screen is his greatest investment. ryomen sukuna has his cheek smushed against suguru’s shoulder and his brown eyes blinking up at him, but he doesn’t notice that geto is scrolling through your instagram posts, staring at pictures where you look too pretty to be real with a tight jaw & stifled heartbeat. sukuna flicks his temple. “helloo. earth to suguru?”
suguru’s silver piercings are glistening in the heat. he blinks once, twice—memorizes the photo on his screen where you’re grinning while hugging a plush bear bigger than your head—& clicks his phone off with a sigh. his head rolls back in defeat.
“y/n is my project partner.”
the room goes silent.
gojo sato freezes against the whiteboard, marker still in hand. sukuna has leaned away from suguru, eyes wide, as if suguru has just admitted to not showering this morning. the two boys stare at suguru. then at each other, then back to suguru again.
“ouuuu shii,” they drawl simultaneously.
“please don’t start this nonsense…”
“suguru, this is huge!” sato lets his marker fall to the floor, and runs to crouch in front of geto, elbows on suguru’s knees. “think about it, man. you and the girl of your dreams. partnered up to play husband n’ wife and take care of a plastic baby.”
suguru bites his cheek, neck hot. “it’s just a project.”
“no, it’s an opportunity,” sukuna corrects. “this is the girl who calls you bestie even when you look at her like you wanna eat her alive.” he snaps his fingers. “this is your chance, idiot. to show her you’re husband material. you have an excuse to call her wifey, for fuck’s sake.”
suguru’s phone is tight in his palm. his thumb is still tracing the line of your smile in the image he was staring at before he clicked his phone off.
“she thinks i’m her friend,” suguru murmurs, voice half-gone as he slips his phone into his pocket. “she’s comfortable with me. i’m not gonna ruin that by acting like a feral dog.”
“you’re already feral, idiot. y’think i didn’t see you staring at her IG photos like a creep?”
geto blinks. “how did you—“
“not important!” sato interrupts, slapping suguru’s thigh. he rests his chin on suguru’s knee, blue eyes glimmering in the light. “what’s important is, you have an opportunity. she’s already comfortable with you—you just have to take it further. call her sweetheart. baby. wife. see if she doesn’t stop you. take the leap, suguru.”
“take the leap,” sukuna grins.
take the leap. but the leap is a jump with no safety net. geto suguru knows what’s at stake. he knows if he ever let himself get too greedy—too carried away—he risks losing the friday mornings spent at the library with your head against his shoulder while you pretend to read from a book. he risks your voice calling his name across campus, and the way you hug his arm when you haven’t seen him in days, and the way you tug the piercing on his lip with a playful smile when you want his attention. geto suguru knows better than to risk it. he knows not to take the leap.
but he nods, lips tight as he reaches for his car keys on the table. “i’ll take the leap.”
“let’s go, daddy geto!” sato roars, dapping sukuna up. the boys watch with stupid grins as geto shoves things in his pockets. geto glances at the time: 5PM. “i’m going to her place now, we agreed to meet up.”
sukuna clutches his heart, then waves. “go get your wifey, asshole.”
suguru doesn’t look back. it’s time to fucking leap.
# SHOW TIME !
“suguruu, stop acting responsible and come cuddle me.”
ah, you’re such a fucking bother.
it’s sometime after six and geto suguru is in your bedroom with his shirt tossed somewhere on the floor and his silver chain cold against his chest. he’s putting together the plastic baby crib in preparation for the project’s official start on monday, and trying very fucking hard to ignore the fact that you’re all sprawled out on your bed behind him: hair fanned out, pillow to your chest, and whining his name because who are you if not a tease?
“you’re such a bad husband,” you mumble wistfully. “leaving your wife all alone on her bed like this…”
god.
geto’s throat bobs. there’s blood in his throat but his eyes skim the instructions with hazy focus. lord knows he wants nothing more than to press you into the covers and kiss you till you’re laughing his name and you can’t fucking breathe, but he knows the minute he pads over there you’ll laugh in his face.
his mouth dries.
“someone has to build the crib, angel,” he murmurs. it comes out lower than he intended, but whatever—it came out regardless. pet name number one, okay. “unless you want our fake baby sleeping on the rug?”
“i want my fake husband,” you hug your pillow tighter, and geto can hear the pout in your voice. your eyes are still on the ceiling, and geto doesn’t miss the fact that you don’t comment on the pet name. perhaps you didn’t hear it. perhaps you just don’t care. “and the baby is plastic,” you grumble. “it doesn’t care if it sleeps on a mattress or a floor.”
he hums. “bet it doesn’t complain as much either.”
“hey!” you gasp, chucking your pillow at him with a laugh. geto’s lip twitches in a smile. he rubs the back of his head, sweeping away the black strands falling in his face. he turns to glance at you, and then he wishes he didn’t, because you’re staring back at him with the brightest eyes he’s ever seen.
he bites his cheek. and then he pads over to you.
you watch, starry eyed, as geto lets the instruction manual glide to the floor. he presses a knee into the mattress, leg swinging over your thighs, bed dipping underneath his weight. his hair tickles your jaw and his chain dangles in front of you and geto suguru smells like dogwood and something too warm to have a name.
you blink up at him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he murmurs. “you look cute like this.”
he shouldn’t say that, he knows he shouldn’t, but you’re already curling your hand around his necklace and letting your thighs squeeze underneath him. and geto’s eyes rake down your body—just once, just a little, because he knows better than to leap that fucking far. so he bites his lip.
“i always look cute..” you mumble, lashes fluttering and voice fading underneath him.
“mm, but you look extra cute today,” he mutters, “like a real life mommy.”
you tug his necklace, grin cheeky. “geto suguru. are you trying to seduce me?”
“no,” he murmurs, and his voice is too low and the words come too fast. “i’m being a good husband. taking care of my wife’s needs before she even asks.”
he’s still propped up over you, bare pecs heaving & chain glinting too close to your face. the heat of his body pricks at your skin. you tug him closer by the chain: “and what needs do i have?”
“attention,” he murmurs, thumb grazing your cheek. “you've been whining since I got here. wanted me to stop working. wanted me to come cuddle you.”
“i was only joking..” you mumble, slightly shy. and geto wishes you wouldn’t say that. wishes he didn’t know that already.
but he’s a patient man. and how can he be upset when you look so pretty underneath him?
“i know,” he murmurs, voice warm, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “i’m sorry. am i making you uncomfortable?”
he says he’s sorry but his thumb still grazes your cheek, because he can’t not. you lean into him reflexively, and then you blink.
“what—? no, no. it’s just—“ your brows furrow, and you frown in that way that makes geto want to kiss it off. “it’s just… you’re so good at this, geto!”
his thumb pauses over your cheek. “what?”
“this husband thing!” you grin up at him, cheeks flushed. “you made me feel all hot and funny inside. your future wife is gonna be so lucky.”
geto blinks. you keep going.
“you were so hot,” you cup his cheek with a palm, and geto’s jaw is slack. “and you’re so responsible setting up the baby stuff. whoever you date and marry is gonna be so lucky. in a way this is perfect practice, isn’t it?”
his jaw tightens. “yeah, practice.”
he doesn’t say you’re the only girl he’s ever wanted, the only girl he’ll ever want, that last summer when you fell asleep on his couch with his hoodie on your shoulders he thought about you with his last name; or that every time you swat his chest and laugh away his efforts his heart cracks a little in his chest. he doesn’t tell you he’s only a man and his heart can’t take much more much longer.
but he squeezes your hip. bites your neck so you giggle and swat him away. rolls off you and pretends his chain isn’t still warm from your grip.
geto suguru pads away to kneel by the crib’s side. “is my wife gonna keep whining, or is she gonna help me fix this?”
SATO’S REMARK : TOUGH LUCK. BUT KEEP AT IT, BROTHER!
HUSBAND TACTICS #2: GET DOMESTIC !
taught by: toji zenin
“wanna woo her? take her on a family-esque activity. that’ll show her you’re husband material.”
ΣΧ
sigma chi’s frathouse kitchen is two bottles of bourbon & cranberry jam left open on the countertop. in the kitchen suguru geto is there, a hyper-realistic plastic baby on his hip as toji scribbles grocery items in handwriting geto will have to pretend to understand.
“here’s everything,” toji grumbles, clicking his pen and passing the note to suguru. geto’s face scrunches immediately, piercings glimmering as he squints his eyes in a desperate attempt to read the list. “how the hell is your handwriting worse than sukuna’s?”
“you’ll figure it out. it’s for meg,” toji answers, bored, drumming his pen against the sticky counter. “and some of the organic stuff my girl likes. i’ll be back late today, so i need you to drop it off at my place.”
suguru shifts the doll over his chest, taking one last look at the sorry note before stuffing it in his pocket. “are you taking meg with you today?”
“no, he’s home with the babysitter,” toji grunts, slipping his hands into his skinny jean pockets to hide the fake ice on his wrist. “new job’s paying good, so i’m taking the missus out on a date.”
“aww,” suguru softens, smile tugging at his lips. he’s pleased to see toji doing better, to say the least. he’s engaged to a pretty, rich lady now; working hard as a ghost writer for drake, all while being a good young father to meg. he pats the doll’s head absentmindedly. “that’s cute. what are you planning?”
“luxury shopping date,” toji mumbles.
“really?” suguru tilts his head. “where are you going?”
“shoppers drug mart.”
geto doesn’t comment.
“you should take that girl with you,” toji says, hands still in his pockets. “take her n’ your plastic doll grocery shopping. it’s good domestic practice. get her some expensive strawberries and see if she doesn’t fall head over heels.”
suguru bites his lip, phone already heavy in his pocket.
can’t hurt to try, right ?
# SHOW TIME !
suguru wishes you wouldn’t do this to him.
wishes you wouldn’t look all cute standing by the store’s glass doors, lashes fluttering as you blink around trying to find him. he should raise his hand, text you he’s just two aisles over and you should move before the lady behind gets mad at you for blocking the entrance. instead he watches with a fond smile as you frown and fumble to grab your phone from your purse.
he sighs, walking over to stand behind you with the fake baby in his arms. your eyes are still on your phone as your thumbs tap frantically, typing a message to send to his contact: ‘SUGURU. where are u???’
his lip twitches. he’s leaning so close over your shoulder that he can smell your shampoo, and your hair is tickling his nose, but you still don’t notice. so cute. geto thinks you’re so cute.
he hums into your neck. “who are we texting?”
“suguru!” you gasp, whipping around at the sound of his voice. he’s looking down at you with those half-lidded eyes, teasing smile, dark sweater sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. you frown at him. “you scared me! don’t you know you shouldn’t sneak up on vulnerable young women?!”
suguru blinks. “what?”
“you heard me,” you grumble, fake pout on your lips as you lean down to the plastic doll in his arms. “hi, lafayette. daddy’s being mean to mommy again.”
“i still can’t believe you named our baby after a revolutionary leader.” geto mutters.
“he’s my fave in hamilton,” you hum, slipping lafayette into your arms. “shall we get shopping?”
——
in geto’s shopping cart, there’s five shades of lipgloss, a bag of plantain chips, and four other items that are not on the shopping list.
geto suguru needs to start saying no. but it’s hard to deny you when you look up at him with those pretty eyes, batting your lashes all sweet in that way that makes his chest hurt. so he pushes the cart, resigned, watching the sway of your hips as you balance lafayette on your side and coo silly things to him like he’s a real human child. he shakes his head, bites his lip. geto suguru is utterly fucked.
“suguru! look at this!”
he shouldn’t look. because it’s just going to be another item you’ll seduce him into buying, but he looks anyways. you’re pointing at a box of dinosaur cereal—a clear off-brand version of froot loops. “lafayette would love this. can we get it for him?”
he pads around the cart to get a better look. “lafayette can’t eat cereal.”
“i meant megumi,” you coo, running a hand down his pecs. “he likes dinosaurs. he’ll love this.”
“no, he likes gummy worms,” but geto suguru is already distracted by your hand stroking his chest. his lip twitches, “you want this for yourself, don’t you?”
“caught me,” you flash him your sweetest smile, squeezing his pec before setting mamdani in the cart. geto watches as you lean up to the top shelf, skirt riding up your thighs as you reach for the box of cereal. his eyes drop. but then his neck heats and he quickly looks away.
“suguruu,” you frown, still reaching. “help me.”
suguru lets out a rough breath. he shouldn’t help, but he always will—what else can he do when you call his name like that?
he steps behind you, chest pressing against your back, arm reaching up and caging you in the process. your breathing hitches. suguru doesn’t miss it.
“suguru,”
“hm?”
“what are you doing?”
your voice comes out breathy, and suguru has to pretend he doesn’t like the way you sound or how you’re staring up at him with big eyes. he hums coolly. “i’m helping my wife.”
“oh,” your lashes flutter as he reaches to tug down your skirt. his knuckles brush your thigh & you glance down at his arm snaking around your hips before mustering up a smile.
you tease, “such a good husband, protecting my modesty.”
“mm,” he murmurs, “the best.”
your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. geto watches your lashes flutter—shy? nervous?—as your hand curls around his bicep to steady yourself. your palm squeezes his arm. he lets his hand dip to squeeze your inner thigh, and prays you don’t hear his breathing hitch.
“do good husbands usually grope their wives..?” you murmur, and geto thinks you’re teasing, but your lashes are low and your voice is so small and god he wants to kiss you so badly.
“don’t think so,” he mutters. “am i bad?”
“so bad,” you breathe. and your breath is hot & he’s leaning so close he can feel it on his lips. you squeeze his arm, eyes boring into his, and you really need to fucking stop before he leans down and kisses you. “but i don’t mind.”
god. you’re gonna fucking kill him. geto parts his lips to speak but you get your words out first.
“so,” you beam up at him, “the cereal?”
oh. the cereal.
fuck you and the cereal.
he doesn’t mean that, though. his jaw tightens as he lifts the box and drops it into the cart. his hands shove in his pockets, and geto suguru can only blink away the irritation burning in his eyes.
“thanks, sugu,” you lift lafayette into your arms. he’s gripping the cart handle right now, trying to ignore the fact that you’re smiling up at him and cursing himself because even now he thinks you are so beautiful.
“well then,” you chirp, grin sweet, “back to shopping!”
TOJI’S REMARK : SHE DON’T WANT YOUR ASS 🤦🏿♂️
HUSBAND TACTICS #3: GET SMOOTHER.
taught by: toru gojo
“your problem is that everything you do maintains plausible deniability. i think it’s time you claimed her in a way she can’t deny.”
ΣΧ
the good news is, even though geto ended up spending $200 on items not on toji’s list, the plantain chips you roped him into getting were really good. the bad news is, sato gojo is lying here on his lap, forcing geto to feed him said chips while gaming on sukuna’s nintendo switch.
“sugu, i want one,” -> geto feeds sato a chip. chew, swallow. “i can’t believe you embarrassed yourself like that.”
suguru’s eye twitches. “no more chips for you.”
they’re on the bed in toru’s room, and toru gojo sighs before slipping his headphones off at his desk. “sorry, but you guys are getting crumbs on my bed.”
sato laughs. “as if sukuna doesn’t jerk off in here every other day.”
“that was before he finished therapy,” toru mumbles in response, cheeks flushed in dismay. god bless geto for enrolling sukuna in therapy for his exhibitionist kink, despite sukuna’s wishes. toru takes his glasses off, runs a hand through his hair. “suguru, what’s this about you and y/n?”
“every time suguru tries something with her, she laughs him off,” sato snitches. he flashes geto a clumsy grin, smile totally innocent. “sugu, i want one.”
geto shoves him off his lap.
“maybe you’re not obvious enough,” toru plays with the stem of his glasses. “you guys are super close. even if you’re touching her, she might not take it seriously because she’s used to touchy friendships.”
“yeah!” sato agrees, fist pumped up, face flat on the floor. “my thoughts exactly, twin brother.”
“shut up.” geto and toru say simultaneously.
“anyway,” toru continues. “maybe get bolder. do something she can’t pass off as ‘just friends’.”
geto stares at the chips in his lap. “just friends, huh?”
#SHOW TIME!
geto leans by the kitchen door. “hi, mommy. what’re you doing?”
suguru’s over at your house for dinner. he’s just put lafayette to sleep in his crib, and he has his hands in his pockets as he pads over to you, sweatpants low on his hips. his arms cage you by the stove. “you smell good,” he mutters.
you ignore him. “i’m making dinner!” you beam, turning to face him.
geto can’t even tell what you’re showing him. in your hands is a charred mess, and geto can only pray the squiggly thing on the plate is spaghetti and not something else. his brows furrow in amused confusion as you beam up at him, lashes fluttering.
he cocks his head. “is this a burnt offering?”
“rude,” you swat his chest, and geto only smiles, eyes tracking the way your hair falls over your shoulders. you mutter curses as you shift the plate away, staring at the pot in dismay. “i wanted to cook for you.” you grumble.
his lip twitches. “like a real life wife?”
“yeah,” you turn to him, lips in a pout as you play with the chain on his chest. “but it didn’t work out. can you believe it?”
“i believe it,” he hums, but in reality he’s trying not to laugh, or rather, avoiding thinking about how glossy your lips look when you pout. his palms find your waist, “need your hubby to help?”
you smile up at him, “if he’d be so kind.”
geto lifts you by the hips before you can think better of it. you yelp as he sets you down on the counter, gripping him in a panicked hug. “suguru! you can’t just do that!”
he smiles, big. “do what?”
“lift me! and without warning!” you’re still hugging his neck tight, heart racing against his collarbone. he laughs, face in your hair to muffle the sound. his hands are splayed on your back, anchoring you against him.
“stop laughing at me,” you frown, and geto pulls back. he still has that lazy smile on his lips. “i’m not laughing,”
“yes you are,” you cup his face, smushing his cheeks in your palms. “look at your smile. it’s mocking.”
“adoring,” he mutters, gaze reverent.
“lying,” you pout, frown deep.
geto doesn’t argue. he only watches, eyes half-lidded, as you lift a palm from his cheek to card through his hair, stroking softly. you’re still pouting, still pretty. his thumb presses into your spine.
“i’ve never lied to you in my life,” he murmurs.
“yeah?” you’re still raking his hair, eyes never meeting his own. “then were you laughing at me just now?”
“no, mommy.”
“see?” you cock your head. “liar.”
he lets out a long, shuddering breath, hands sliding from your back to your waist, then down to squeeze your hips. you’re still stroking his hair, unbothered. no idea that you’ve got him crumbling beneath you.
“you feel so soft,” he murmurs before he can think better of it.
you tilt your head. “my hips?”
“and your waist, and your thighs,” he drawls, and he’s not even thinking straight anymore. “everywhere.”
you stare at him, brows knit, hand pausing in his hair. “suguru,”
“yeah, baby?”
“you’re being bad again.”
he lets out a strangled breath. he’s staring at your lips, he has been for a while now, and his gaze is bleary & eyes half-lidded. “sorry mommy,” he mumbles, “are you uncomfortable?”
“no?”
“then i’m gonna kiss you now.”
“sugu—“
and he does. he pauses just slightly—just enough to let you pull away if you don’t want this, if you don’t want him—but you don’t so geto presses his lips to your own. his first thought is gloss. your lips are so glossy; strawberry sweet & sugary fake. he lets his tongue slip out to lick your mouth, before cocking his head to kiss you deeper. you squeak, moaning into his mouth, kissing him back as he presses you into him. your thighs squeeze around his waist and geto slips a groan past your lips.
“so good,” he chases your lips when you pull away to breathe, “taste so good, pretty,”
you let him press sloppy kisses to your jaw, hands still in his hair.
but geto doesn’t notice how you freeze underneath him.
TORU’S REMARK: MY ADVICE WORKED?! THIS IS WHY I’M THE BETTER TWIN!! :)
HUSBAND TACTICS #4: GO GET YOUR WIFE !
taught by: ryomen sukuna
“good progress, bud. now all you gotta do? maintain the pace. keep showing her you’re the man now.”
ΣΧ
in sigma chi’s living room, ryomen sukuna is strapped to an armchair as sato hooks him up to a birth simulator.
idiots, the both of them. it started with sukuna saying that taking care of their plastic baby isn’t much work after all, and so motherhood can’t be that bad, and giving birth must not be that bad either. sato, ever the feminist, decided to challenge him on that. now it’s a weekday evening and sato is pressing electric pads to sukuna’s belly with his tongue in his cheek. sukuna the second (their plastic baby—sukuna won the argument it seems) is crying somewhere in the distance.
“nice work, daddy geto,” sukuna hums, shifting so sato can press another pad to his belly. “you’ve gotten the girl.”
geto has. so why doesn’t he feel like it?
you kissed him back. kissed him again. in fact, he’d say he had your lips for dinner. but the texts he sent you this morning are still unread: did you sleep well? can we talk?
geto shakes his head, relaxing into the sofa with his legs spread out as he watches sato fumble with the machine. “now all you gotta do is keep up the good work,” sukuna mumbles. “easy-peasy.”
“i feel like something’s wrong,” geto plays with his necklace. “but i’m not sure what it is, exactly.”
“nothing’s wrong, dumbass,” sukuna squints, watching sato frown at the remote. “you’re just not used to being forward. months of holding back will do that to ya. what you need to do now? ramp it up. tell her you wanna put a baby in her or something. girls love that shit.”
“oh, i agree with that. it’s like saying she’s wifey type.”
“you get me, sato.”
sato grins. then he presses a button on the remote and sukuna screams.
“jesus christ of nazareth!” sukuna roars, jerking in the chair. “fuck—! turn this shit off! sato!”
sato watches him jerk with his hands on his hips, lips bent in a clumsy smile. “what? i can’t hear you over your screaming!”
suguru eyes his frat brothers, both sukuna’s—and sukuna the second’s—cries roaring in his ears. he’s still not sure why this is even happening, but he’s long concluded both his frat brothers were born with a brain. he sighs, burying his face in his hands.
he really needs to fucking see you.
#SHOW TIME !
geto wasn’t sure you’d want to see him.
but you’d already planned to meet up today; long before he kissed you on the countertop, long before he sent you six messages & deleted them all when he received no response. it would be wiser to stay home but he shows up anyway, because he’s a coward who’s trying not to be, and he hasn’t eaten anything in days because everything in the sigma chi kitchen suddenly tastes like your lips.
you greeted him with a smile on your face.
lafayette on your hip, pretty smile as you beckoned him in. said you were just about making lunch. asked him to go handle it in the kitchen because obviously you don’t want to see his face.
geto shakes his head, stares at the water running off his hands in the sink. he has to think positive.
“lafayette, baby, please don’t cry,” your voice comes from the living room. “mommy’s trying so hard—oh my god. i swear i’m gonna take out your batteries!”
geto laughs through his nose before he can think better of it.
he wipes his hands, pads over to the doorframe to watch you fuss over lafayette in the living room. you’re bouncing the plastic robot in your hands, trying to get it to stop its automated wailing. “shhh. want me to sing you a song, baby? you like songs from hamilton, right? okay, okay. why do you cry like you’re running out of time—”
lafayette screams. geto falls in love.
well he was already in love, but somehow his heart has gone sticky in his chest. it’s silly, isn’t it? but geto’s thought about it a lot. your laugh in the kitchen on sunday mornings, your contact saved with his last name, you waking him up at 3am for some ridiculous craving; and he’d get up to retrieve it, of course. because geto suguru would go to the ends of the earth for you if you’d allow it.
is it weird to think of domestic life with someone you aren’t even dating?
probably. but then he thinks about your thighs squeezing his waist on the kitchen counter, your pretty moans in his mouth, your hands in his hair—and god. god god god. geto suguru has never wanted something so badly.
so he doesn’t think too much before padding over to join you in the living room, arms wrapping around your hips. “hey.”
you tense, just a little, just enough that geto doesn’t notice, then relax into him just slightly. “hi. are you being bad again?”
he can hear the smile in your voice, but your usual playfulness isn’t as strong. “maybe. you look cute, bouncing our baby like that.”
you force a smile, eyes dropping to lafayette wailing in your arms. “well—“
“you’d make such a pretty mommy,” geto breathes, and even he’s not sure what he’s saying. all he knows is you’re warm and pretty and in his arms and it’s all he’s ever wanted, all he’ll ever want.
you don’t respond, and geto’s in his feelings now, so his mouth keeps moving: “i think about it a lot,” he murmurs. “mornings with you. you burning the eggs because you’ve never been a good cook.” his palm shifts to your belly. “and i’ll eat them anyways.”
“suguru,”
“and you’d get mad at me for eating them,” he breathes, collapsing into your neck. “tell me you don’t need my sympathy and frown up at me while bouncing our baby on your hip. and then you’d kiss me because you secretly find it sweet of me.” he breathes. “i think about it a lot.”
“you’d make such a pretty wife, such a pretty mommy,” geto breathes. and your neck is so warm, and his lips are ghosting over it, and as his palm glides over your belly his dizzy mind flashes back to sukuna’s words: girls love feeling like they’re wifey!
so he kisses your neck. “can’t wait to see you round with my baby.”
if you were tense before, you’re frozen now.
“suguru.”
“hm?”
“i’m uncomfortable.”
geto freezes.
you step out of his hold, lafayette to your chest, pretty eyes looking up at his. but you’re not looking at him with your usual fondness. your eyes are bored—unimpressed—something geto’s hazy mind can’t seem to name. your lips are tight. “i think you should take lafayette for the weekend.”
“y/n—“
“and don’t contact me,” you snap, irritated. “don’t call, text, nothing. i just—“ you bite your lip, “you need to leave, geto.”
not suguru, geto. okay. okay.
geto leaves with lafayette in his arms. his heart is still in your living room.
SUKUNA’S REMARK : WHO TOLD YOU TO SAY THAT?!
HUSBAND TACTICS #5: DIVORCE COURT !
taught by: nanami kento
“you’ve been leading with actions instead of words. are you really surprised?”
ΣΧ
is it so bad to be forward?
geto has his head on the steering wheel & his heart in his throat. lafayette is crying in the backseat but geto doesn’t care, doesn’t care to rip out the batteries or at least sing the doll to sleep. instead he grips the steering so hard his knuckles turn white.
can’t wait to put a baby in you.
why did he say that? he wants to blame it on sukuna but he can’t. geto knows it’s all on him, of course. he let himself get too love drunk, too hope drunk, too drunk on a future that will never exist. he thought about sato and sukuna who don’t think before they talk and still manage to get the girl. but life has never let him have anything easy, and with you in his arms he managed to forget that. now the only girl he’s ever wanted thinks he sees her as just flesh, and geto is a coward so he doesn’t plan to redeem himself.
it’s best to let you go.
“do you intend to drive?”
nanami’s voice is flat beside him. it’s more of a bored comment than a question, and geto lifts his head up slow. nanami kento is beach-blond hair & pressed on clothes and a bored look that never seems to leave his face. he stares at geto. geto stares back.
“i’m going through a crisis.”
“i observed. should i get toji to drive me instead?”
“have a heart, kenny,” geto slumps against the driver’s seat. nanami’s license is on a three-day suspension for being slightly tipsy while driving, and it’s unusual for kento, but we all have our problems. geto reaches for a cigar in the glove box. nanami smacks his hand away.
“this is about y/n, correct? sato told me all about it.”
of course he did—what a snitch.
geto rests his head on the wheel, careful not to let the horn sound. “is it my turn for some advice?”
“i suppose,” nanami pushes up his glasses. “did you ever try speaking english?”
geto blinks. “english?”
“the others advised you to be forward, correct?” nanami starts. “touch her, kiss her, all of it. but did you ever speak english? tell her that you liked her? wanted her?”
geto blinks. but kento’s not done.
“i heard about what happened most recently, sukuna told me all about it,” nanami sighs. “telling a woman she’d make a pretty mom. telling her you can’t wait to see her round with your baby.” kento scoffs. “you have your domestic fantasies, geto. but do you know how terrifying that is to a woman who you haven’t even told ‘i love you’?”
ah. geto knew he’d been missing something.
he’s always been a coward. at thirteen, he pierced his own ears with a ballpoint pen and hid the bleeding from his parents for weeks. at seventeen, he got his first tattoo, and charred it off with cigarette butts until all that remained was the outline. at nineteen, he kissed a girl and blocked her the next day. at twenty-two, he fucked up his chances with the only woman he’s ever loved. geto suguru has never known how to handle wanting something. he either destroys it or runs far, far away.
“so what do i do now?” geto asks, brows knit. “she told me to stay away from her.”
“then you do exactly that,” nanami’s already unbuckling his seatbelt. “give her the space she needs. you’ve crowded her for long enough, suguru.”
he has, hasn’t he?
“i’ll ask toji to give me a lift,” nanami is standing outside the car. “you’re in no condition to drive.”
nanami slams the door shut. lafayette is still crying in the backseat.
# SHOW TIME !
geto suguru is back in your room again.
not in the way he’d like, not sprawled on your bed or with you curled into his side. he’s sitting diagonally across from you on the mini-table you have laid out, because he’d tried to sit opposite you and caught the way your lip twitched with irritation.
geto is on his best behavior.
the plastic doll is asleep in its crib as you and suguru fill out spreadsheets. logs on feeding times, that sort of thing. he stares at the gleaming columns—empty. they’ve been empty for an hour now, because geto suguru can’t stop his eyes from shifting from his laptop screen to your face.
“feeding log,” you say flatly. “did you do the 2PM ?”
“yeah,” he did—he thinks. everything is blurry.
“no you didn’t,” you bite. “i’m literally looking at the column right now. it’s empty. and it shouldn’t be.”
geto’s fingers twitch over his keyboard. the spreadsheet in front of him is empty, but the previous one—the one you’re looking at—shouldn’t be. he remembers logging it yesterday with his back bent over the kitchen island, eyes clouded over, thinking, wondering if he should send you a message.
he croaks, “i did fill it in. check the—“
“you didn’t,” you snap, and geto’s never had you snap at him before so he’s not sure what to do with that. “i’m literally looking at it right now. can you please take this seriously?”
“okay,” he swallows.
you turn back to your laptop, irritated. geto fills out the spreadsheet in front of him. he won’t give you reason to be upset with him any longer.
———
the second time geto sees you after the incident, it’s at the local library.
you’re already done with today’s work, and the walk back to the residences is long & winding. geto suguru knows his place. he has his eyes down on the pavement, wind flinging his hair in his face, three feet behind you because you’d eye him if he got any closer.
you’re shivering.
and geto noticed it three minutes ago, to be honest. noticed how your shoulders hugged together, how you shoved your hands into your pockets. he should give you his jacket. you’re cold, and he doesn’t want you getting sick, and he doesn’t want you to snap at him or shoot him down but you’re cold and you’re beautiful and geto suguru is calling your name before he can think any better of it.
“y/n—here.”
he holds out his jacket. you turn back to look at the material, and then back at him.
“i don’t want it.”
he should stop. “you’re freezing. i don’t want you to catch a—“
“i’d rather freeze.” you deadpan. “can you not speak to me?”
geto bites his lip. he stops himself before he can say okay.
——
in the library’s study room, geto suguru has his head on his keyboard and eyes staring at the glass door.
his phone chimes, but he doesn’t check the message because he knows it’s just team snapchat. but then it chimes again, and geto reaches for his phone even though he knows there’s no point.
—
y/n :)
where are you
i have your location.
we need to work on the project
—
geto scrambles—actually scrambles, he accidentally knocks over the chair behind him—and then he breathes. wipes his face with his hoodie sleeves. breathes again.
when you walk in, you don’t say hi.
you sit diagonally across again, and open up your laptop. you look pretty today. hair loose over your shoulders, cheeks flushed from the weather, lashes fluttering in the light. and your lips are glossy again, like they were in the supermarket, like they were on the kitchen counter—and oh god. geto needs to stop staring.
but he doesn’t. he watches, mouth slightly agape, as your nails click at your keyboard. he can tell you’re upset or irritated, and he thinks—no, knows it’s because of him, and he really needs to get this work done so you won’t get sad and snap at him again. he doesn’t want to be in trouble. he doesn’t know what to do when you get like that. so he turns his eyes to his laptop. but somehow, they drift back to your face again.
“can you stop fucking staring at me?”
“sorry—“ he flinches. “i’m sorry, i’ll look away.”
there’s a lump in his throat. he’s looking at the screen but he can’t quite see it, and the numbers and columns have mixed together and swollen up on the page.
but you aren’t done.
“seriously, what is your problem?” you snap, irritated. “we have a project to do. and you’ve been letting your stupid feelings get in the way of it all!”
he wants to say he’s sorry again, and that his feelings aren’t stupid but he’s sorry, and it’s all he’ll ever be, but instead his voice comes out as a croak. “i’m trying.”
you stare at him in disbelief. his fingers are shaking under the table. has he always been this jumpy?
“you need to try harder,” you snarl. “or what? too busy thinking about marrying me? having me round with your baby?” he shrinks. “what the fuck, geto?”
he doesn’t know how to explain that that day in the living room he wasn’t thinking of actually giving you a baby, at least not right now. he doesn’t know how to explain that when he looks at you he thinks of forever, he wants forever, and ever since starting this project ‘forever’ has looked like wedding bells and sunday mornings and grocery runs with a mini-you in the cart. he doesn’t know how to say he wants you to be his, your last name, your everything, and it’s sick and twisted and too much too fast but geto suguru has never been able to want in increments.
so he shrinks. stares at his keyboard. you snap, “say something!”
“i’m sorry,” he croaks, eyes on his lap. “i didn’t want to—i wasn’t trying to—“
“you scared me!” you snap. “geto, you scared me. you’ve been scaring me! these last few weeks—“ you slam your book shut. “touching me. kissing me. and i don’t mind—swear to god i don’t. but you’ve been acting so weird so suddenly! saying things you’ve never said before. is this some kind of twisted roleplay?!”
geto stifles a breath. tries to count in his head so he doesn’t breakdown in front of you. he knows that wouldn’t be fair. you keep going:
“i don’t know what i’m supposed to think,” you grip the table. “my best friend of how many years gets partnered with me for a project, great! but then he starts kissing me on countertops. standing too close in grocery stores. telling me i’d make a pretty wife and mommy and—it’s weird! i don’t know where it’s coming from! he’s never said he likes me in his life, but he can’t wait to see me round with his baby?”
you’re sniffling now. “what the fuck, geto?”
your shoulders are shaking, and you’ve sat back down, and your pretty face is in your hands as you cry. geto’s heart aches. because you’re not supposed to cry because of him. because he’s not supposed to make you uncomfortable, or confused, or upset, and he’s done all of that in the span of a week. and geto’s mouth dries. he wants to pad over and hold you in his arms but he knows he doesn’t have the right to fucking do that.
he breathes in, deep.
“i’m sorry—for moving too fast,” his hands fist. “i’ve been in love with you since freshman year. and i tried, i swear i did, to show it. but you always laughed it off. and instead of telling you outright, i just got more and more aggressive with it. i think part of me has always thought you’d never feel the same,” he swallows. “so i thought it’d be safer to show it than say it out loud. but that was only safe for me.”
he bites his lip. you’re still bawling into your hands, small and terrified, and geto‘s eyes sting. he can’t believe you’re shaking because of him.
“baby—“ he catches himself, “please don’t cry,”
“i hate you,” you sob, “i’m never gonna forgive you ever.”
he swallows. “you don’t have to. but please don’t cry,” his hands tighten on his jeans. “i don’t know what to do when you cry.”
and it’s the first time geto’s been honest, because he really doesn’t know. because you’ve never cried because of him, and normally if you ever cried at all he’d drag you into his chest but right now that doesn’t feel appropriate.
but he gets up anyways.
takes your hands from your face. and you’re so gorgeous even with tears on your cheeks, eyes glistening wet, lips puffed out & nose flushed from crying. and he wants to hug you so badly, but for now he settles for crouching to your height and wiping the tears from your eyes.
you glare down at him, and he should be scared again but all he can think is that you’re so fucking cute. your nose is all puffy and your eyes slightly red. “you’re such an idiot.”
“i know.”
“and this is so cliché.”
“i know.”
“and i want you too, but slower.”
“i didn’t know that.”
“you know it now,” you curse. “you’re an idiot, i swear.”
geto breathes. and then you cup his face, watching the way his eyes glisten with wet. “you still haven’t confessed to me, suguru.”
“i love you,” he says too quickly. “since freshman year. i think about you too much. you’re always on my mind, and i don’t want anyone but you, and i love you so much y/n and i’ll love you forever if you’ll let me—“
you interrupt him with a kiss.
BONUS !
“i can’t believe he said he wants you round with his baby.”
the project is long over, and today you’re on the countertop of the sigma chi kitchen, legs swinging as you gossip with sukuna. he has your plantain chips in his hands, leaning against the counter as he eagerly munches on the snacks.
“i told him to approach you calmly and honestly, y’know? told him girls love communication,” sukuna clicks his tongue. “nobody listens to me in this household.”
you laugh, “really? that would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.”
“right?” sukuna shakes his head, passing you a plantain chip. “he’s got his brain in his ass cheeks, i swear.”
you giggle, and right then, the door swings open. sato gojo hurts in with his arms spread out in glee. “we’re back!”
geto trudges behind him, holding too many shopping bags for one person. sato has already run towards his room, leaving you and sukuna confused—but then geto drops the bags to the floor with a thud. he looks up at you. “hey,”
sukuna absentmindedly blocks your head with his own. “yo, man.”
“can you move your fat fucking head?” geto walks past him, ignoring the gasp sukuna lets out. he brackets you on the counter, forehead slightly sticky with sweat, chain glistening in the afternoon heat.
he murmurs, “hi, baby.”
“hi, handsome,” you cup his face. “back from your date with sato?”
“not a date,” he mumbles, kissing your palm, then your cheek, then your jaw. “was getting groceries.” he murmurs. “missed you so bad, pretty.”
you gigle, squeaking and squirming away as he attacks your face with kisses. he pulls back teasingly, smile smug, before you tug him back in by his chain. sukuna watches calmly, shoving another plantain chip in his mouth. he nods in approval of the flavor.
but he quickly grows bored. “don’t get too comfortable guys. i’ll whip out my dick and start stroking right now.”
“what...?”
“can you pretend to be normal?!”
before suguru can strangle sukuna, sato bounces back into the kitchen. his grin is clumsy, cap tilting off his hair, and in his hands is a machine that looks like a mini-tablet and a bunch of wires connected to pads at the ends.
Simon hovers above you, his soft eyes burning against your skin, scanning your face to watch for signs of discomfort as his fingers work your pussy. You moan softly when his digits curl inside you, hitting a spot you didn’t even know was there, his thumb circling your clit at the same pace his thick fingers slide in and out of you.
You cover your mouth, embarrassed by the fact that he can feel how wet you are for him despite how inexperienced you are, but he quickly pulls against your wrist, softly placing your hand on his chest instead. Your fingers curl against his skin, nails digging in ever so slightly, all while your body reacts by lifting your hips, squirming around underneath him, begging him for something you’ve never even had.
“Don’t hide from me lovie,” he whispers, voice low and rough around the edges, desire evident regardless of how slow he has to be with you.
You nod, gazing up at him, allowing yourself to feel the way he pleasures you. His calloused fingers slide through your walls, rubbing you inside and outside with his thumb on your sensitive bundle of nerves. All of it is new to you, every single last feeling he is pulling out of you is something you have never experienced.
When he pulls his fingers out, you whimper from the loss of friction, but he quickly takes your mind off of that by sliding his cock through your folds. His head leaks precum against your pussy, and he smears it against your clit before slapping it against you gently. Your body jerks from the feeling, a whine ripping from your throat from the harsh contact somewhere so sensitive, but you wish he will do it again.
Once Simon feels as though you are ready, he notches his tip at your entrance, and your eyes begin to water just from the slight burn. He rests his elbows on either side of your head, digging into the mattress where his arms cage your head in, and he places a feather light kiss to your soft, swollen lips.
He pushes in slowly, and when you cry out, he kisses you harder, swallowing the sounds of pain that have yet to turn into pleasure as if he can’t bear to hear you like this. Pulling away, he stills inside you with only the tip in, rocking ever so slightly without pushing anymore in. Your walls stretch around him, tightly wrapped around his length, slick coating him to make it easier.
“It’s okay. You’re okay… you’re doing so good,” he praises, waiting for your body to adjust, for you to tell him you’re ready for more.
When you nod your head, he pushes in some more, but your body is so tense he can barely sink another inch into you. His thumb quickly finds your clit, and he rubs slow, tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves to ease your body into relaxation. You moan louder for him, your body giving in to the pleasure racing through every last inch of you, and your walls relax around him, allowing him to sink the rest of the way in.
Tears well up in your eyes when he stops, fully buried inside of you with his tip leaking precum against your cervix, and he kisses you with the utmost passion. He takes away the pain of your first time, rocking into you slowly, barely pulling out before pushing in again. Your walls mold to him, the burn and stretch from his impossibly large length turning into the most blissful feeling the longer he works your muscles.
"So good for me… you feel so good for me," he praises, resting his forehead against yours, letting your warm breath mingle with his from the proximity.
He pulls out further now, the delicious feeling of his length inside of you consuming everything you know. He takes you slowly, the veins and ridges of his cock sliding through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no space inside of you empty for long.
You moan out from the sensations running through you. Your nipples drag against his chest, your cheeks are wet from tears due to the previous pain, your mouth hangs open from the overwhelming feeling of being so close to the man you love. You whimper and whine, you cry and beg for more, for so much more.
"Goddamit- you're so tight lovie," he curses, your walls wrapped so tightly around him, and he tries his hardest to hold back his release from happening too early.
Arching your back from the mattress, your chest presses against his, and the warmth of his skin floods your body. Your hips meet his every thrust, your body begs for more without you having to say a word, and he meets you there in every way. His fingers find your clit, and he rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves with tight, quick circles. His pace picks up as he begins to pound into you, pulling out until only the tip remains before sinking back in and knocking against your cervix.
It isn't until he slides a pillow under your hips that you truly feel the pleasure he can give you. He thrusts in hard, hitting your sweet spot with precision, and stars burst in your eyes when your lids shut tight.
"F-fuck Si," you cry out, your hands curling around his biceps where your nails dig into his rough skin and you listen to him grunt out from the pleasurable pain of you.
He keeps hitting that same spot, over and over again, devouring the way your body writhes beneath him, knowing he is the first person to ever make you feel this way. Heat pools in your lower belly, unfamiliar and scary, and as it sits there like a coiled spring ready to snap at any given moment, you try to warn him.
"Simon… p-please it feels weird," you whisper, pulling his body closer to yours, unable to control the feeling building inside of you as he continues to please your body.
His thrusts slow, his fingers on your clit matching the same pace, and he moves his mouth to suck in a nipple. It peaks between his teeth, and he sucks, bites, licks against the sensitive bud until you're writhing again despite the slow pace. He builds up your orgasm, knowing what it is even if you don't, and he reassures you the best way he can.
"Just let it happen lovie," he says, slowly picking up his pace again, angling his hips to hit that sweet spot buried so deep inside of you.
The feeling builds again, undeniable and intense, and before you can protest, his lips find yours and he swallows the words right out of your mouth. He thrusts into you fast, deep, hard, anything to push you over the edge that your body so desperately craves. Your walls tighten around him, pulsing and clenching with need, your body becomes rigid and your muscles draw taut.
Cum gushes from your entrance, soaking his length in your pleasure, leaving rings of cream around his base as he continues to fuck you through your peak. You squirm beneath him, the feeling so foreign and addicting, and you give your body to him, knowing he can take care of you in every single way it demands.
"That's it… you did so good for me," he whispers, placing kisses along your jaw, moving down the length of your neck where he finds the spot on your soft, salty skin that makes you weak.
His hips roll against yours, his release inevitable as he chases it, and with a guttural groan and a few more thrusts, he's burying himself to the hilt. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out with each pulse of his cock, coating your walls in everything he has to give. He pumps himself in and out, slow with unsteady movements and jerky hips, until your pussy drains every last drop of his seed.
Simon collapses on top of you, his body warm and sweaty against your own, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. He stays inside you until his cock softens and your body grows exhausted, and then he pulls out and cleans up the mess with his tongue, promising you that he will have you squirming on his face as soon as he can catch his breath.
│Masterlist│
𑣲Click HERE to fill out my taglist form or comment on THIS post
pairing: Bruce Wayne x Batmom
warning: Y/N used, Jason cameo, Oliver Queen mention, Superbat mention, nicknames (honey, my love), this is just cute Bruce & batmom, if you see grammar mistakes...no you don't
wordcount: 2,293
author's notes: Surprise, you get this earlier than I intended. Thank you all for the support with the first part. I'm so glad everyone is enjoying. As always likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :)
[Batfamily Interviews Masterlist] | <- previous - next ->
The video opens up with a clip of a moment later in time. Bruce Wayne is in the hot seat with you asking the questions.
"I feel like this is going to be boring because you generally don't really lie." you say.
"What? I lie to the press all the time…and our children." Bruce states.
"Truth." the operator, Judd says.
You stare at him with wide eyes, "Honey, you can't say that."
The video cuts to both you and Bruce sitting next to one another. Both of your hands are clasp on the table while Bruce's are hidden under. One of them of which is on your thigh though the camera doesn't see it. A female crew member from Vanity Fair sits just off camera on the other side of the table.
"Y/N, Bruce, you were both brought here today to take a lie detector test. One of you will be hooked up onto the machine and the other will interview. Then you switch." She tells you. Both you and Bruce nod in understatement. "This is Judd, our polygraph operator." she introduce the man sitting off to the side.
You and Bruce both turn to him. Bruce gave him a greeting nod, you smiled and gave a small 'hello.'
"Who wants to be in the hot seat first?" the crew member asked.
You laugh nervously and turn to look at your husband and he looks at you.
"Is the hot seat the lying seat or the other one?" Bruce asked.
"This side is the test and also it's the truth seat." you tell him.
"Well then ladies first." Bruce says, which you gasp in shock.
You are getting hooked to the machine and are suddenly getting nervous. Judd, the lie detector operator, places your right arm on the table.
"Try not to move this arm too much." he told you.
A montage of setting up the lie detector starts to roll before the camera is on Bruce, now sitting opposite of you.
"My love…to calibrate the machine, I'm going to ask you some straight forward questions. Please answer honestly. Is your full name Y/N M/N Wayne?"
"Yes." you say.
"Are you 39 years old?"
Once again your eyes widen, "Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to ask a women her age?" Bruce just gives you a smug smile. "Yes." you finally answer with an eye roll.
"Are you about to take a polygraph exam?"
"Yes…everything I say feels like is a lie." you say then looked over at Judd. "Is it registering than I am?"
Judd shakes his head, "No, you're doing fine."
Bruce raised an eyebrow at you, "Are you nervous?"
"Well I wasn't before we arrived, but now being hooked up, I am. I guess I never realize how much I lie in life. Now I'm actively trying not to and it just feels wrong." you say.
"You lie more times than you think you do." Bruce stated.
Y/N Wayne Tells The Truth
Bruce reads off the first prompt, "You once told the Gotham Gazette that you feel like everyone hates you." you nod your head. "Do you still believe that?"
You nod your head again, "Yeah."
The camera switches back to Bruce, whose face had nothing but concern written on it.
"Why?" he said so quietly that it also didn't get picked up by audio.
"Um…I mean I don't know why anyone wouldn't have like some resentment towards me. You are like Gotham's baby, the prince of Gotham City. The city loved your parents and by extension you. Then here I come, a low-middle class girl from Star City, somehow got the playboy to settle down. I was living most Gotham girls fantasy and different from everyone else. So yeah I knew people hated me and I think some still do."
"I wouldn't trade you for anyone." Bruce stated.
"Awe you sap."
"Is the real reason you took the job to be my assistant because you secretly wanted to date me?"
"Really? That's the next question, even after what I just said?" you rolled your eyes, "No."
"She's telling the truth." Judd said.
"I truly had no idea who you were. I'm from the west coast, we didn't care about what was happening in the east. Which also if we are being honest…I think Alfred was looking for someone who didn't care who you were."
Judd nods, "Truth."
"Am I a good husband?" Bruce ask with a straight face.
You take a moment to answer, "Yes."
Judd shakes his head and Bruce tilts his head at you.
"What? No! You are you're a great husband…I will say though that you weren't a very good boyfriend, but I've had worst."
"That's the truth." Judd says.
"Okay so then follow up, what made me not that good of a boyfriend?"
"Well, there are two big things, but for legal reason…I can't say." you say.
"You went to the same high school as this person." Bruce slides over a picture of Oliver Queen.
You knit your eyebrows in confusion before realizing who it was, "Oh Ollie."
"Don't like how you said that…" Bruce mumble. "You dated during your senior year. Would you say that he was one of your worst that you were talking about?"
Your mouth twist as you looked at the picture, thinking hard. You opened your mouth to speak, but then retracted it.
"No." you finally say.
"That's a lie." spoke Judd.
Your jaw dropped as Bruce laughs a little, "What? I didn't lie. Sure he wasn't the best and he owns up to that…now at least. The ones in college though…" You make a face.
"Ones? Plural?"
"Oh, don't act like that…you practically had a new girlfriend every month according to Alfred."
"I already know the answer to this one," Bruce says and you give an offended look, "Do you look at fan accounts dedicated to you?"
You laugh, "I look at fan accounts dedicated to all of us. Especially ones about Dami."
Judd nods, "She's telling the truth."
You look into the camera, "I gotta make sure everyone is being respectful and appropriate about my baby."
"We see it all." Bruce comments.
"You make me watch a lot of reality TV." Bruce says.
"I don't make you, you enjoy it."
"Do you think we should have our own reality TV?"
You shake your head, "God no. We are kind of public enough, I don't need the world seeing into our home life."
"Truthful."
"If I asked to with hold information from a super villain to cover for me, would you?" Bruce makes a face.
"No." you say equally making the same face.
"I would never ask you to do that."
"I don't even think our kids would cover for you." you and Bruce both laugh. "Also, I've done that before…wouldn't recommend."
"Did you lie at any point of this interview and we didn't catch you?" Bruce asked.
"I think I was pretty truthful consider that fact that I felt what I was saying was all lies."
"My turn I guess." Bruce said tossing what he was reading off of behind him.
The camera cuts to now Bruce getting hooked up to the polygraph machine.
"Bruce, to calibrate the machine, I'm going to ask you some straight forward questions. Please answer honestly." you read off of a note pad. Bruce nods. "Is your full name Bruce Thomas Wayne?" you asked.
Bruce nods, "Yes."
"Are you from Gotham, New Jersey?"
"Yes."
"Are you about to take a lie detector test?"
Bruce smiles at you, "I suppose that I am. Yes."
You look toward Judd, the lie detector operator, "Good?"
"All good." Judd says back to you, and you turn your attention back to your husband.
Bruce Wayne Tells The Truth
"I feel like this is going to be boring because you generally don't really lie." you say.
"What? I lie to the press all the time…and our children." Bruce states.
"He's telling the truth." Judd says.
You look at him with wide eyes, "Honey, you can't say that."
Bruce shrugs, clearly not caring.
You look down at the paper the crew gave you. Pre-reading the first one, it makes you laugh.
"I'm already not liking this." Bruce admits.
"How often are you faking that you remember people at Galas from when you were a kid?" you ask.
Bruce doesn't hesitate to answer, "Oh, all the time."
"That's so bad." you say, "You're horrible."
Bruce shrugs again.
"The family group chat often talks about how hot this person is " you slide a picture of Clark Kent in front of Bruce.
"Oh no…" Bruce says already knowing where this was going.
"There is a part of the internet that is very dedicated on shipping you two together..,"
"Shipping?"
You gave your husband a deadpan look, "Don't try to act like you don't know what that is. I know Stephanie's explained it to you before."
Bruce chuckles.
"The two of you are seen pretty close with each other. So the question is would you leave me if Clark Kent declared his love for you?"
Bruce draws his lips into a thin line. Staring a the photo of Clark on the table, contemplating. Five minutes go by and you, on the other side of the table, look at your so call lover with with shock.
"Bruce this is a long time, goodness!"
Bruce shakes his head, "No, no I wouldn't leave you." You turn your head to Judd.
"Truth." said Judd, but you shake your head.
"I don't believe you. Would you leave me for Clark Kent?" you ask again.
"No." He said it clear with a stern voice.
You are narrowing your eyes at him as Judd tells you that Bruce was telling the truth.
"Before dropping out of Gotham University, you were dorm mates with Former District Attorney, Harvey Dent. Was he a good roommate?"
"I think we were both equally bad roommates…" Bruce said.
"Would you say that you are or were more successful than him?"
"Ohhh." Bruce made a face like that question psychically hurt him. You laugh at his reaction, "No absolutely not."
"Deceptive." Judd said, causing both you and Bruce to laugh.
"Oh well I already know the answer to this, but when was the last time you made a dinner reservation?" you laugh. Bruce makes a face that you couldn't describe. "Never." you said as you shook your head. "I don't think you ever have, Alfred does it for you."
"If I did and this was before you, I would just call and pretend to be my own assistant…" Bruce revealed.
"Well, you didn't have to," you told him laughing, "It was just something you chose to do."
"You're quite well know for your physique. What's your secret for staying so fit and or hydrated?"
Bruce thinks on how to answer, "I get wet when I…"
The camera cuts back to you. You are slightly shaking your head, trying not to laugh.
"No…say something else." you say. Bruce breaks into silent laughter. "Please say something else."
"What was the question again?" Bruce asked.
"What's your secret to staying so hydrated or fit?"
"I get wet when I-"
"NO!" you yell, "Bruce say it another way…" you tell him.
"I drink water? I work out almost everyday?" Bruce responds.
"There you go. Oh my god, Bruce." you say.
Bruce laughs at your panic expression.
"Moving on from whatever that was-"
"What I was trying to say-" Bruce began, cutting you off.
"NO! Honey, we're done." you say.
"We have a lot of kids." You state reading of the card, "Out of all of them, who is your favorite?"
"Are you trying to start a war?" Bruce ask.
"Not me, Vanity Fair."
"I don't have a favorite." Bruce claims.
"That's a lie." Judd tells you. You burst into laughter
"It varies week to week. Who ever runs my patients the least that week the is favorite."
"Truth." Judd says.
"So then who gets on your nerves the least?" Jason's voice said from somewhere off camera.
"Cassandra…and Duke."
Judd nods, "Truth."
"Are you the crime fighting vigilante known as Batman?"
Bruce sighs, "Am I going to get asked this every interview we do?"
"Answer the question, honey."
"No." Bruce declared.
Judd's face twitch a little, "Ask him again."
You let out a little surprise noise, "Did it not pick up?"
You lean forward looking into your husband's eyes. He was staring back at you, with a shit eating grin on his face.
"Are you Batman?" you ask again.
Bruce leans forward too, leaning into your eyes. You're enjoying this, he could tell.
"No." Bruce answered.
"He's telling the truth." Judd announced.
You fell back into the chairs, "We almost had him guys." you say referring to the people of the internet.
"Okay that was all the question. Did you lie at any point during this interview and we didn't catch you?"
Bruce nods, "Yes."
"True." Judd said.
You looked wide eye at your husband, "Are you serious?" Bruce smiles and nods. Mouth open with shock, "When?"
"I'm not going to say."
"Can I say what I think you lied about?" you smiled.
"What?"
"Leaving me for Clark Kent." you laughed.
1,1010 Comments
@ shootingforthestars
Bruce knew exactly what he was saying
@ littleotter13
"Is that the lying seat' bruce for you every seat is the lying seat
@ FemboyJackie1
She looks at the camera like she's in The Office
@ noname-kA17
the concept of the industry's biggest pathological liar taking a lie detector test.
@ DCalc12
Y/N Wayne taking about Blark was not on my checklist for 2026
@ harleendefender09
Whose out here hating on our queen???
more notes: can you guys guess what three lie detector test videos inspire this??
