kaijsmp3

"writin' songs about people who do not exist he's such a fuckin' phony"

[kajismp3]

monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, bad bitches have bad days too!

reminder: i am a black writer so i write with black women in mind always!

rules: i don't write smut! and please be respectful of my work! everything i write is MINE, i don’t use nor support ai!

masterlist

@kajismp3

[reveries0fmine]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Seen Through You

⋆.˚ synopsis: word has been spreading around that there'll be a new teacher at jujutsu tech highschool—you! excited to finally fulfill your dream of teaching and nurturing the next generation of sorcerers, you're ready to give it your all. your co-worker satoru gojo however, doesn't seem too thrilled at the idea of having (what he assumes to be) a spy for the higher-ups hovering over him all the time. but the more he gets to know you, the more of his expectations you completely shatter. and he can't help but find himself intrigued...

⋆.˚ starring: ── sunshine!reader: bright, optimistic, and hardworking, a real bucket of sunshine. grade one sorcerer who was approved to teach by the higher-ups. people tend to underestimate you because of your kindhearted nature and easygoing attitude, but you're quite strong. ── satoru gojo: overworked, exhausted, and still being expected to shoulder the world's responsibilities, gojo doesn't have the time nor the interest in playing ice-breaker with his new co-worker who probably won't last a week.

⋆.˚ tags: sfw, smau/chatfic + actual text, strangers to friends to lovers, bantering and competitiveness, fluff, happy ending, canon universe

── part 01 💭

── part 02 💭

── part 03 💭

── part 04 💭

── part 05 📂

── part 06 💭

── part 07

taglist: @jennyistrendy @superstaargirl @leyypqd @v3is @ynackerman9499 @cridtiins @sal1mav @dreamyreadinglover @in-aa @ivorysheart @5quidja @pjselee @boomgshakalaka @dlemmaonsight @hanges-wife @luvleyliaxx @mychemicalryomen @fixated29 @amazedfor @angel-bina @gojostit @mimisayss @outpostsworld @junghoonbooty @libsluvsu @meikstv @solarlovesxyz @lh8790 @satoruusgff

(if you want to be added, just comment!)

⤶ back to gojo m.list

[kajismp3]

"touch me softly i..." | shoko x reader

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

shoko who worked you a little too hard the night before...

shoko who now was woken up the fourth time by your over excessive alarms.

shoko who has to refrain from launching your phone across the room as she grabbed it from under the covers to end the torture.

shoko who now laid fully awake, taking in the atmosphere of the room illuminated by the dawning of the morning. she looks over at you, cracking a small grin. your cheek pressed against the off-white sheets, breathing in softly as your eyebrows scrunched occasionally. the bonnet that was supposed to be secured, slipping down your hair revealing a few stray pieces of the very hairstyle that got you in this predicament.

shoko who watched your face churn as her cold hands gently caressed your body, coaxing you awake. a deep sleep you were in, but you'd kill her if you were even a minute late to your lecture. she sighed, walking over to your side of the bed.

shoko who took matters in her own hands.

shoko who lifted you gently into her arms, even though you clearly seemed to be awakening a part of you was still stuck in a dream state.

shoko who carried you to the bathroom, setting you down on the counter. letting out a small hiss for you, it's probably super cold.

shoko who caught your head before it could tilt over. delicately grasping your neck to hold you up right.

shoko who felt oh so bad to wake her sweet, sweet girl.

shoko who lightly taps your cheek, watching you stir awake in her palm. you slowly opened your eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the change in brightness. the first thing your eyes landed on after adapting, was the girl who put you in this dazed state.

shoko who looking at the hand holding your neck steady, mumbling "i'm gonna let go now, okay? you have to get ready for class."

shoko who didn't give you another warning after that, just slowly withdrawing her hand.

shoko who hides her snicker when your head drops down, before you reflexively catch it. glaring at her with sleepy eyes and a puffy face.

shoko who pretends not to notice by grabbing your toothbrush from the holder. turning on the sink, running it under the water, applying the toothpaste, then running it under once more.

shoko who glances back at you, sighing at your dopey state.

shoko who taps your chin, signaling for you to open your mouth. half-consciously obeying her command, you opened your mouth leaning you head back against the mirror, exhaling softly. "i got you, just relax."

shoko who grips your chin, firmly. working the toothbrush inside your mouth.

shoko who places soft kisses on your cheek every few moments.

shoko who talks you through the process in her sultry sweet voice, "hm, open up don't close on me" "you're doing so good i'm almost done" "stick your tounge out, justtt like that" "my pretty baby is 'so sleepy huh"

and if anyone was listening from the hallway, they would've thought the two of you were getting freaky...

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@kajismp3 | happy pride month .ᐟ.ᐟ

i remember reading a fic on wattpad of someone brushing readers teeth for them & i still think about it often

[solarifle]

"we have to accept the fact that the r word is coming back" NO WE DONTTTT NO WE DONT

[raindailies]

❝ — CITY OF STARS. ❞ ✧ spiderman!gojo x reader

𓏵 ( you're my path ! and you're always gonna be my path . )

८ sypnosis. Being Spiderman's object of adoration after promptly saving him on the streets is, by definition, incredulous and delusional to a fault. Given those assumptions, what exactly was Spiderman doing on the comfort of your windowsill? You've ought to watch for spiders in your home, now!

(spiderman!gojo x fem!reader) wc: 8k

@ warnings; no-curses au, spiderman-au, they're in tokyo not nyc im not making a man called satoru gojo white, banter, bad flirting from gojo's side are we surprised, slight canon-typical violence and description, character analysis, down-bad gojo, gojo is stupid, angst if u squint, fluff mainly, a lot of movies mentioned ᝰ.ᐟ

── notes. ok so this started as a drabble bc i love spiderman & spiderman brand new day is coming out & i love gojo and i've been getting back into jjk surprise surprise but i accidentally entered some flow state & wrote too much MY BAD i just really like the idea of spiderman gojo and i wanna write more for spiderman gojo so this is like a test trial or something idk (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

art by @/aliyartss on insta !! god her stsg spiderman au is so good plz check it out

Spiderman!Gojo finds pleasure in your displeasure. 

The sounds of palpating rain, dragging across the streets in streaks of liquid. A body strewn under a shed without light, a noise without sound. You shifted the clear umbrella over his figure, letting the rain stop amid.

When your newly appointed residential spiderman didn’t speak, his head hung low, you hummed underneath your breath.

“I know superheroes have this mysterious aura they need to keep up, but I’d feel bad if I let the person who’s protecting my neighborhood get soaked in the rain. You’re staining the street red.”

Your voice filters among the recedes of rain water. He looks up blankly as you knelt down to his level, situating the umbrella over his figure, his mind half in its own head. 

He watches, eyes half-lidded, as you dig among your bag for an aid kit. His mind swirls as you wrap a barely adequate bandage over the bleeding part of his mid-section, hands slightly shaking - from the cold, he presumed. His brain is rushed with impeded adrenaline, taking in everything and nothing.

You’d stood up, leaving the umbrella over his head without taking it for yourself. “Thank you, Spiderman.” You’d mouthed, before hastily running off as his eyes followed you in a sense of fanatic wonder - strewn by adrenaline, drawn by reverence.

You’d saved him (save, really, is a strong word. He’d say it’s more like you aided him) from certain clutches of death with an on-hand first aid kit outside the alleyway of some fucked up run-down building – much to his personal delight, and much to your chagrin as you realized that now, you’ve inadvertently placed a spider on your back that refuses to get off. 

Spiderman!Gojo was never one to believe in miracle encounters - or placements by fate's design by which he meets another that his soul tethers to. He stopped believing in the goodness of fate once his duty was bound to the city's.

His name is Satoru Gojo - he's was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for only 4 months - he'd been the one and only Spiderman.

You know the rest.

Spiderman!Gojo, who may or may have not taken your grace as something by the fates. His mind half in a delirious state, he takes it upon himself to impede into your life.

After a few days, Spiderman!Gojo finds out where you lived (it’s not creepy! He swears! You don’t believe an inch of his words, though) and is rather determined to ‘pay back his owe’ in interest of your ‘grace-saving action’ for his mental and physical wellbeing, claiming he would succumb if your actions were not returned in earnest.

“I told you, I don’t need the help.” You frown, trying to usher the large (6’3, to be exact) spider out of the comfort of your home, swatting at his chest. 

Yet, much to your discontent, Tokyo’s spiderman stays perched on your windowsill, legs planted in a squat as his hands balance him in between. The weight distributed among his muscles, tensing on your window.

Satoru grins under his mask, crooked and all – you can imagine it’s an egoistical sight. Different from his stature under the rain – the Spiderman you are now privy of, is a man of confidence and charisma.

The eyes on the suit crinkles in the corner, prominent testament to his amusement. “What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t provide charity, sweetheart?”

You flush, tempted to push him off from the window as he finds humor in poking fun at your apparent frankly impoverished lifestyle. “There is no need for charity!”

Satoru tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. “Your creaking windowsill begs otherwise.”

“That’s because your fat ass is sitting on it.” You scowl. “Besides – I certainly don’t need a superhero to do me any favors. I’m getting by just fine.”

“I’m repaying you,” Hums the said superhero, all smiles and amusement. “And I never let a debt go unpaid.”

You scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, slumping your back as arguments begin to fail you once you realize rejection is not in the hero’s understanding. “You don’t look like you can clean. Or cook. Or housekeeping.”

“Tsk, tsk. Stereotype, much?” He clicks his tongue, hopping uninvited into your home. Feet landing onto your carpet with a thump! – staining bits of the carpet with dirtied mud. 

“Hey–!”

You panic, he smiles and lingers around, eyes joyfully taking in your home, lingering on the framed photos on your wall. He whistles as he takes in the plants on your wall, flicking at one of the leaves. “I can fight. You know that, yeah?”

“I don’t need you to fight for me– or whatever it is you think you’re trying to do!” You hurriedly attempt to clamber at him to leave, he doesn’t budge. Not an inch. Not even as you attempt all your strength to grab at his arm and pull him towards the door. 

“What? There’s no one pissing you off?” Satoru raises an eyebrow, placing a hand on his hip lazily as he negates your puny endeavor of pushing him away. “No way! Geez, are you trying to be all sunshine and rainbows, sweetheart?”

“You’re such a– okay, number one! Stop with the nicknames.” You huff, defeated as you stand back onto your own two feet, relenting to the hero’s casual trespassing into your home against your legal will. 

Spiderman smiles – again, you can’t see it because of his mask, but he does. You could tell by the crinkles of the corner of his eyes.

“Oo, rules. Exciting.” He rubs his chin candidly, irking larger abundances of your indignation. 

You interrupt him with a scowl by holding up two fingers to his face. “Number two! If you do something without my knowledge, I’ll kill you.”

“There it is. Threats. That’s hot.” He enunciates the last word with a smug grin. You want to die at whatever implications he believes is supposedly suave.

You are fairly tempted to kick him. Though, you wager it’d be more like kicking a brick wall. “Number three, no fighting anyone.”

He pouts, jutting his lower lip out – under the mask, that is. You can only see the pitiful expression expressed by his eyes from beyond his mask. “But that’s my whole brand..”

“So you don’t know how to do anything other than fight?” You raise an eyebrow, placing two hands on either side of your hips. 

“I’m perfectly good at fighting.” Satoru throws up a ‘thumbs up!’ motion – as if it would help his cause. You frown, corners of your mouth pulling at the senselessness in his confident words. Is this really the hero who was protecting your city?

“And nothing else?” You probe.

He hums. “.. Can’t I just repay you through fighting whoever you’re beefing with for you? Listen, I can take down like 10 frat guys in five seconds, light work, no reaction. Look at this!” He emphasizes his point by making a show of flexing his biceps, the muscles bulging in its place.

You try not to gape as you swat his arms down. You’re not as disillusioned as to claim that you haven’t seen his figure. It’s hard not to – especially when he’s towering over your form in your small Tokyo apartment. His presence fills up the majority of the cramped space – yes, he has a great body and an even better build. His body crowds the spandex of his suit, permeating around the seams. You try not to drool, you make it a point not to gawk at jerks – but wow, did Spiderman make it hard. 

“I just told you I don’t need you to fight anyone!” You argue with an unfortunate red tinge around your cheeks, chest huffing in irritation. 

He theatrically holds a palm to his heart, dramatically swaying in discomfort at your words. “Aww, you’re undermining my efforts here, sweetheart.”

“I just told you to drop the nicknames, spiderman.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Satoru sing-songs, throwing his hands up in exasperation at your adorable reaction. 

He can’t help but find it cute, the tiniest discomfort of a scrunch between your furrowed eyebrows, the fire glistening in your irises as you talk to him, the downturn of your soft, tender lips, the slight tousle in your hair as you move about his impeding presence in your space, he smiles in undisguised fascination.

“Since you so insist on repayment, or– Whatever!” You rant, stomping your feet on the ground as you moved about. Satoru’s gaze shamelessly follows you and the curve of your body, tutting his lips. “I’ll let you repay me – and that’s not because I want to be repaid, in case you go twisting this little tale around.” 

Your voice tunes out in his brain like a melodic tune on replay cascading from a consonant of a fine instrument. He smiles, not quite listening, leisurely rubbing your floor as he sways back and forth in your space. 

He feels it again. It lingers, this time. As if it had clawed into his cells and dug its place into the veins of his being. Like that spider. Yet this time, the bite is less radioactive. 

It’s compulsive. It makes him want to rake his nails into flesh and scratch till the bite burns. 

He’s might be addicted to you. Satoru ponders to himself with a smile. Perhaps it was your fiery personality, perhaps it was your looks – perhaps both or none. Yet Satoru, for all his cockiness and ego, can’t will his eyes away from you. He hasn’t been able to – not since you gracefully patched his sorry self up in that alleyway with much precision of gentleness in your touch. He feels he’s already become quite addicted. 

– Satoru also feels he doesn’t quite mind the addiction in the slightest.

His mouth curves up underneath the veil of his mask in a sickened sense of delight. His chest thrums with anticipation, churning in quiet, humming elation.

“That’s good with me.”

Spiderman!Gojo finds you at your home more often than not – and you begin to think he’s not doing this as a levity for repayment. 

By the fifth time that you found him lingering on the couch of your living room (much to your horror, how many could claim the friendly neighborhood spiderman was lounging in their home uninvited?) with his feet staked on the coffee table, disregarding rectitude in the existence of manners, you begin to suspect his goal isn’t repayment. 

Spiderman!Gojo is a man with zero manners – he walks around as if the nature of propriety does not exist to someone of his status and capabilities. Humble is not a word present in any version of his dictionary, and diffidence is not a species of spider.

He eats the food in your pantry while lounging on your couch after a long fight, wearing and stretching his legs onto the length of your couch.

He digs for a post-it note of your Netflix password to watch some dumb shows while munching on your celery when you were at work, and leaves a scribbled note of paper which he took from tearing a piece of your calendar on the wall, saying: ‘Word of advice: lock your windows, and change your Netflix password >3< what the hell is password123? Also i ate ur wholeeee celery shelf. I dunno why celery is so good when ur trynna cry to Train to Busan. Oh, that show ur half finished with - the heroine dies at the end :P!!!’

(You want to murder him. You want to strangle Spiderman and have him buy you a supermarket worth of celery supply. You want to kill him even more at his unprompted spoiler – what kinda jerk spoils like that? After desecrating someone’s entire celery stock and trespassing into private property? You crush the paper in your hand, aggressively palming it into a ball to throw at your wall.)

Spiderman!Gojo sometimes stares at you from outside your workplace window from a higher building. It’s not stalking, he promises to his own hero conscience. He’s observing. He’s.. cataloguing. Stalking implies there is intent and desire. Which – he can’t lie, there totally is. But, this is different, he swears again in his head. He does like to see that agitated frown on your face when he shows up at the lobby of your firm, though. 

A job as a journalist. Cute. Adorable, actually. His eyes tended themselves to search for your figure when the press showed up after a grueling match on the city’s skies and rooftops – it never is you, though. 

Spiderman!Gojo is completely not creepy nor does he ever imply negative insinuations with his actions. He only does that to super-duper-evil villain bad guys!

.. And with the generous exception of those guys that stared at you too long in your work uniform and scribbled down their numbers onto a receipt in hopes of being the recipients of your affection, staring at you as if you were some meat to devour. He wouldn’t fault them on appreciating a view, sure, but he could very well fault them on appreciating his view. 

“Hey, guys! Whatcha doing there?” Satoru dangled upside-down, his calloused fingers grip the ledge of his webs, hanging straight down, weight distributed evenly among his shoulders as he hung above the two men with their phones whipped out. 

“.. Spiderman?! Oh– oh, this is my lucky day! I’m a huge fan of yours.” Normie #1 said, not bothering to close his phone. Bad idea. 

Normie #2 holds a receipt with a number – your number, probably – Satoru immediately notes it in his head for later uses.

“Lucky day? Sure, you could say that,” Satoru hummed, eyes lingering on the man’s open phone. A picture of you staring back at him from the dimmed phone screen. He smiled, the mask stretching with the width of it. “Say, wanna have a chat?”

Safe to say, spiderman could indefinitely expand and entail his reputation anywhere – nobody dares to question the ‘friendly’ neighbourhood spiderman about the disappearance of two middle-aged males. Besides, he didn’t do anything entirely bad that they would completely cease their function in daily life. No one said you can’t talk with a few missing teeth.

He’s told you before – his talent is in beating the crap out of people.

Spiderman!Gojo loves science. Astrophysics. Physics. Astronomy. Space. Astronaut movies in space. You tease him for it. When you found him on your couch (for the nth time, this time, you’re less surprised at his presence in your home, almost expecting it) watching Interstellar with the widest expression on his face which stretched his mask upwards, you rushed to hand your local Spiderman the title of a nerd. He relents, but prefers to think of himself as a hunk - you disagree with a disapproving look. 

"Do you even have your own apartment?" You raise an eyebrow, body expecting his presence in your home, this time. He'd make it a point to invite himself in - you stopped freaking out around the 11th time.

Spiderman leans back on the couch - his mask slightly unraveled. Not revealing his face, gosh no. Just enough to see the pink of his glossy lips, munching on a standby of popcorn, manspreading on your couch while mulling over Project Hail Mary on your television which you paid with your bills.

"Uh, obviously?" He shrugs, popping another popcorn into his mouth, before his eyes find the TV again. "Wait! Get over here! Get over here! It's the good part!"

You frown, pointing at him indignantly from the entrance of the doorway. "I haven't even watched it! Don't you dare spoil!"

Spiderman ignores your words, flicking his wrist to produce a web to attach to your waist, pulling his arm back to swing your body to his on the couch.

He grins, and you see the peeks of his white teeth prickling out from his jaw as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side. "Whoops. Better close ya eyes then, it's the climax."

You punch him in the face.

Spiderman!Gojo is an insatiable man. He discovers, when he finds himself incapable of staying away from you. You’ve found it in yourself to accept that chasing Satoru away is no longer possible (not that it ever was), so you’ve made peace with his presence. Satoru, on the other hand, craves more.

“This is weird. Your suit feels so weird.” You groan, your side pressed firmly against his much broader and harder one, as he languidly draped his arms around your shoulder, head tilted back on your couch without much as a care in the world. 

The movie plays in the background, noises slurring into the backdrop soundtrack as he measures the rate of your heartbeat. Each thump! makes him tap his finger against the spandex of his thigh, creating a quiet melody from the rudimentary beats of your being.

Satoru could make a tune out of it, he thinks quietly, fingers tapping in patterns. 

Seeing that you are no longer threatening to bite his head off every time he gets so much as 2 meters close to you, he relishes in the touch you allow him to give. Similarly, delighting in every touch you initiate. 

(The first time you allowed your shoulder to bump into his own while you two obnoxiously sang to an off-pitch curated version of Britney Spear’s ‘Toxic’ in your messy kitchen, he fell on his way out of your window because he missed his web shot. He then rolled on the ground he fell on with a grin.

Onlookers are far too scared to question their residential spiderman rolling back and forth on the grass.)

“What? D’ya want me naked, or something?” He raises his eyebrow slyly, letting his words settle as he presses himself closer to you. The scent of your shampoo fills his senses euphorically. He hums, lightly sniffing the air around you.

You push his head away from coming closer to the crook of your neck. “Ew, no. I’ve seen enough depravities in my life. Naked means your mask comes off. That’s weird.”

You are past the point in your sad young adult life of miserable housing rents and harrowing job listings where you question things – so you do not question half-cuddling Spiderman, your city’s superhero, on your couch on a fine evening with La La Land playing in the background.

"City of Stars--

You are also past the point in which you question why you’re half buried in the chest of a man whose face and identity you technically do not know. 

The only thing you know is that he eats celery raw for some reason, sometimes sniffles under his mask after an ending of a sad dog movie, and spends an awful amount of time lingering in your home while pouring himself the coke that he snipped from your fridge. And you suppose his jokes are funny at times. 

Are you shining just for me?

“How is that weird? I’m handsome. Awfully, actually. Are you more scared of my face than my naked body? That hurts.” He pouts in a way that a grown man can make pouting look cute – you huff in delirium as he presses himself closer to you.

“I don’t want to imagine either, thank you very much.” You scoff, eagerly swatting away whatever concoctions your conscious decides to produce. 

“You don’t believe me? I’m extremely handsome.” He purses his lips together to garner pity and adoration – you only scowl at him from above. He pouts again. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah? Prove it.” You tilt your head, chin jutting up in a challenge. Spiderman stutters. 

“.. Maybe another time. Ugh, just take my word for it!”

You try not to sound disappointed when he sidetracks your challenge. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m just supposed to imagine it?”

City of Stars--

“Yup.” Satoru lifts his head straight, you sigh when the pressure on your collarbone is relieved. “Okay– picture this: six foot three supermodel body–”

“I find that highly unlikely.”

“Shush. Six foot three, extremely pronounced biceps and muscles that ripples with my abs when I take off my shirt to flex at the gym–”

“Ew? Girls don't like it when men do that, you know that, right–”

“Can you wait? Spiderman’s talking, sweetheart.” He obnoxiously places a finger on your mouth to shut you up. You fight the urge to bite it. “Anyway, my hair’s messy but fluffy in the best way– no products, by the way. Just genetics. My long, luscious eyelashes flutter when I blink, and my eyes are blindingly beautiful. You’d get pulled into it, trust me. Oh, and I’m super smart and charismatic and also I read feminist literature.”

There's so much that I can't see.

“Woww, color me stoked, ever heard of the word ‘humble’? You sound like every woman’s wet dream, and I also find that highly improbable. I mean, you eat celery raw.”

He groans, dropping his head back into the crook of your neck indignantly. “Will you stop mentioning that? My gorgeous, perfect body, face and personality quite overtake that slightly unbecoming quality of mine.”

“You raked my whole cabinet! How am I supposed to not mention that in this economy?”

“It’s not my fault your groceries consist of celery and spinach.” Spiderman rolls his eyes, shifting his weight onto you again despite your huff of protest under your breath. “A man gets hungry, sweetheart. And who even likes spinach?”

“You are so annoying.” You grunt, an attempt to push his head off the crook of your neck, to which it only pathetically flops down as you maneuvered.

“Annoyingly mesmerizing and charming?” He blinks a few times, poking your hip in the meanwhile as he utters an amalgamation of pathetic expressions under his mask.

Who knows?

You raise an eyebrow - you sort of believe him, but hell if you’d ever admit that. “Right, so the opposite of that.”

He whines. Digging himself a space in your body without shame. “No mercy. Whatsoever. How cruel!”

“Aren’t you popular?” You hum, a facade of nonchalance as you watch the tv screen - scratch that, watch him out of the corner of your eye. “Ask your fans.”

I felt it from the first embrace, I shared with you.

“Boo,” Spiderman laments and deflates like a popped balloon, indignation in his tone. “They’re boring.”

“Geez, narcissistic much?” You gave him an incredulous look, before a thought popped into your head. “People keep theorizing who you are underneath that mask of yours, did you know people like editing celebrity faces onto your cameo pictures?”

“They what?”

You detach yourself from his body to grab your phone on the coffee table, promptly ignorant to his breathless whine, shuffling through the likes on your profile. He wraps his arms around your waist when you return with your back to the couch as if it’s a normal occurrence – you don’t punch him or swat him away, so he takes the welcoming initiative to firmly press his face onto your shoulder, peering eyes watching your screen.

“Look.” 

He squints his eyes at the screen. “.. Is that Tom Holland’s face? He’s not even as tall as me– Andrew Garfield? Really? These are so farfetched– Tobey Maguire? Why am I white?”

You pause. “‘Cause you got a white suit.”

He grumbles into the crook of your neck. “This is why I don’t use social media.”

“No, you’re right. On second thought, Andrew Garfield is way too fine to be someone like you.”

“Excuse me?” Satoru pinches your hip with his fingers, you swat him away with a laugh that derives a grin onto his face. The mask flexes – he almost forgets it’s still there, on his face. It felt as if he was laid atop and stripped of his layers by you. 

That now, our dreams--

“You’re soo mean,” He huffs sorely at you, to which you grin. “Come on, you got the real Spiderman here.”

You shut him up immediately when your hand instinctively went to the bed of white hair on his head, fingers lightly tangling through the locks with a hint of a smile which he delights at. “Yeah, suppose so.”

Spiderman starting to find it harder to remind himself there indeed is a mask atop his expressions.

Satoru tries not to remind himself that still, the mask is all you see.

"Oh, it's the divorce arc for Mia and Sebastian."

"-What?!"

They finally come true."

Spiderman!Gojo dabbles in photography. It never really was his thing - not really. He never cared about freezing a moment of joy in time, or creating moments he could come back to because, often times, there was nothing for Spiderman to come back to in the end.

Spiderman supposes he's had a change of heart. While testing out a stupid mechanic camera he'd been experimenting on to input into the model of his suit to conveniently take pictures of criminals on the run, he'd had the brilliant idea of testing the mechanics of his creation on you.

Click!

You pause in your laughter, face turning red as Spiderman, legs crossed on your couch, lowers a budget-looking camera from his face, eyes peering into the picture taken with added wonder.

Satoru hums, reveling in the result. The picture came out sort of blurry, but candid. You mid-laugh about an overdone romance niche, it feels so so personal. The way the corner of your eyes crinkle just the slightest, the way you lips part in giggles.

"–Delete that!" You shuffle, hands frantically reaching for the camera which he took from your line of grasp. "You're such a jerk! Delete that!"

Satoru laughs, holding the camera by a hand as you crawl over his body in a feeble attempt of over-powering a superhero. "No way! Oh my god you laugh like those seals–"

"I'm starting to wish you got hit by that truck last night–"

Satoru raises an eyebrow. "Oh? You watching my news now? Don't tell me.. you're worried about me! Please, you shouldn't have." He drawls out, leaning into your personal space, fingers clasping at your wrist to stop your reach.

"That's– not the point!" You grovel, frowning.

"Don't look so pouty, I won't post it or anything."

"Yeah, right. Who knows what you'll do with it?"

He printed the photograph and placed it into the pocket of his suit, that's what.

Spiderman!Gojo is unfortunately a charming man, against your better knowledge. Because whether consciously or otherwise, you’ve become entwined with whatever the hell Spiderman is doing – which is oftentimes, a lot of bullshit (fighting pigeons on the Tokyo tower? Really?). 

Still, you find yourself wondering when he’d come home, when he’d come to you. 

You feel like a fool, at times.

“Aren’t you an idiot.” You huff, tightening the bandage around his abdomen, causing spiderman to wince in pain as he tilts his head back on the backrest of your bed.

“Be a little nice to me, sweetheart. I am injured and terribly in pain from saving the city you reside in.” Satoru sulks, eyebrows knitted together in inexplicable pain from his wounds, though he’d vehemently deny such.

“I think not. This feels like charity work.” You mimic his words from your fateful meeting on the windowsill, he frowns.

“You’re so mean. Awful. You’re mean. Is this all you do to repay your savior?” He whines exasperatedly as you tie a knotted bow from his bandages, soothing with the lingering touches of your fingers.

“Savior is a strong word, you know,” You hum, finishing the cleanup on his mess of a body, trying not to grimace at the drying blood on your sheets. “Besides, I don’t even know this so-called savior’s face.”

He winks, shrugging off your idea. “It’s part of the charm, remaining faceless and maintaining that mysterious identity. You know the saying, ‘the chase is better than the reward’, or something?”

You think it’s his deliriousness speaking, because there certainly are no phrases as such. You play along for his sake, lest he spouts more bull. “Sounds like something a fuckboy would say.”

“Hah! Is there something you wanna tell me? You’ve imagined me as a fuckboy? How scandalous, (name). That impeaches on my purity.”

You pinch his wound, he yelps. 

“It’s awkward to bandage you up when your face is the only thing covered up.” You approach the topic again, hands wavering in indecisiveness.

Satoru parries your words with ease. “Is it?” He laughs obnoxiously, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s nothing too exciting. Anyway, how about that movie we were finishing? I’ve been thinking about the ending for–”

“You’re deflecting.” You frown, opening the cupboard drawer of your nightstand, avoiding his large, white eyes, which flickers around inches of your room behind his mask. He’s staring at you. Yet, you can’t stare at him back.

“I told you it’s nothing interesting! It’s just a face.” 

You slam the drawer close, letting the sound reverberate as your shimmered fury did. “It’s your face.”

Silence draws out. You finally stare back at him, yet you aren’t, at the same time. You’re staring at the mask – you’re staring at Spiderman. You’re not staring at the man who invites himself into your home, the man who integrated himself into your life, drawing your being into the webs of his making.

You’re not quite staring at the man who loudly commentates on horrible romantic comedies he dug out from Book-off, the man who makes it a point to mess up your hair when he sees you, grinning like an idiot when you hit him for it, the man who you might’ve unintentionally fallen in love with.

Oh.

Oh.

You’re still staring at the hero. 

Not him.

Fuck, you don’t even know his name.

Spiderman isn’t a name – it never has been. It’s an identity. It’s his identity, but it’s not the identity of the man under the mask. 

Spiderman sucks a breath, his voice silently wavering, the mask captures it, placing the imprudent vulnerability back into the qualms of his open mouth. 

“.. Does that matter?” His voice goes softer. Less teasing. Less spiderman, more Satoru. The Satoru he never wanted to show you, yet his heart moves a length which he does not follow. 

You furrow your eyebrows, biting down on the flesh of your lip. “Are you serious? I’m asking you, so of course it matters.”

“Aren’t you content with this?” Spiderman’s arms shoot up, gesturing to himself boisterously. His voice is sharp, unbecoming of him – you’ve always been unbecoming for him. “What more do you want? You have Spiderman.”

“Okay, have you ever considered that I don’t want Spiderman?” You scoff, straightening yourself. You clench your palms, drawing crescents into skin from the press of your nails. 

Satoru stands up within record speed and pries your fingers away from the skin of your palm, the spandex suit over his fingers trail over your pulse, resting on your wrist with an intimacy rivaling that of tenderness. His eyebrows are furrowed again.

“.. Stop that.”

“No– no, no! You stop– whatever this is.” You furiously step back, yanking your hand away from him. His expression is pained – you could imagine in your head. The part that hopes you are something to him. Something personal.  “I never pried because something deep down I hoped that you would tell me. I hoped that I could at least chip some of those walls down because– because you’re a good person, and fuck– I’ve barely even scratched any surface!”

“You know why I don’t tell you anything. It’s dangerous–”

“Dangerous?” You could laugh. You tried – stifled laughter bubbled out, heavy in your throat. “Oh please, since when did you care?”

Spiderman straightens up with a displeased frown. “Don’t say that. I’m protecting you. I’m doing the duties of Spiderman. Revealing my identity– do you know what that does? What danger it could bring if you had that knowledge?”

You purse your eyebrows, your voice catching in hoarse shout, ignoring the rationality in his argument in pursuit of pettiness and the overwhelming stimulation of swirling emotions in your head. “I’m not asking you to– what, share your government credentials and social security number. I’m asking you to share something. Something to make it seem like I’m not just some dumb game to you!” 

“You aren’t!”

“Oh, right. I’m supposed to believe the guy who I don't even know the name of thinks I’m someone special?” You sneer, Spiderman takes a wavering step towards you – you step back, he steps forward again.

“I know I seem like I’m full of bullshit–”

You scorn under your breath. “Because you are.”

Satoru steps closer to you regardless, his feet bringing him across the mattress of your room as you back up to the wall, him stepping in front of you tentatively even as you glared him down, eyes sparked in anger. Deserved anger towards him. He frowns. 

“Right, no, you’re right. I am full of bullshit,” Satoru said slowly, as if he was finding the words as he spoke, his arms finding no place but besides his body, his eyes helplessly stare at the floor. At his feet. At anywhere but your eyes which see nothing more than a mask – your eyes which so heedingly wanting to take his mask off. 

Wanting to see him.

He fears that he would allow you, he realizes under the haze of his mind. He fears that he would not stop you had you asked to tear every little layer of his skin until your hands wring him down to his core. He fears what he’d become under the solace of your presence.

Silence stretches out between the two of you as Satoru stares blearily at the floor. As you stare at his stretch of vulnerability with invigoration. 

“.. Gojo Satoru.” Satoru breathes out. The words escaping his mouth one syllable at a time, unwilling, impulsion threaded in each tone. He finds it in himself to tear his eyes away from the ground, to meet yours as they widened to his words. “My name. It’s Gojo Satoru.”

You blink, shoulders tensing up as he towered over you. Your words leave in haste as you taste his name in your mouth. “.. Gojo, then.”

Satoru laughs softly, his hand coming up to rub at his neck – was he nervous? Spiderman? (Gojo Satoru, now, you suppose. Not spiderman, you retract.) Nervous? He’s never looked this scared, you surmised. “Call me Satoru. It’s.. personal, right? We’re personal.”

You gape in shock. “What are you–”

Satoru steps closer. Crowding you against the harsh wall behind your back. You thump into it as he takes another step, jaw clenching in action. He’s staring down at you – expression unreadable, like always. Like it always has been. He’s never shown past the facade he wanted you to see, after all.

“I get it. Fuck, I get it. Don’t you think I do? I want it so badly– to show you what’s underneath,” Spiderman stutters out, words spilling in tandem as each vowel jumps over another, prancing in heedless consternation. 

You blink, unsure of how to respond to this side of Spiderman.

“But what happens after that? What becomes of us? Of me? Of you? I’m not allowed to be lenient, (name). But you keep making me want to do all these – stupid, idiotic stuff. Like I’m some lovesick idiot that’s been bewitched and–” Satoru prattles, his rambles wavered in each word as he brings a hand up to his face, dragging it downwards as he faces you. 

“And I don’t know what to do. You’ve ruined me. You might as well have. With your stupid thirty percent rate of butter in popcorn and dumb movie takes and vanilla scented perfume– you’ve totally irrevocably ruined me. What should I even do? What should Spiderman do? Tell me.”

Oh wow.

Oh wow.

Oh wow.

Oh wow. 

If someone had told you Spiderman was going to give the most pathetic confession (was it?) a yearning desperate man could ever make in front of you 2 years ago you would’ve laughed in their face. Present you, however, is unattended in the headspace to comprehend what just transpired.

Why did Spiderman just practically say he was in love with you? Quite pathetically too, you silently note.

Why did you like that? You figured self-discoveries were being made presently, not that it was important. 

“.. Why do you keep asking what Spiderman should do?”

“Huh?”

“What about what you want to do?”

“Spiderman doesn’t get that luxury, sweetheart.” 

You frown. Hands lightly itching to reach upwards. “But you do, don’t you? Satoru has that luxury.”

“Satoru is Spiderman, and Spiderman takes precedence. It’s.. no offense, but it’s nothing you would get. And that’s for the best, alright?” He murmurs softly, tenderness lacing in his tone as his gaze traveled over you against the wall.

Him towering over you. Still masked, unabiding even as his nerves rupture for closure, burrowing for gaze.

Gaze to him.

Gaze to the man behind the mask.

But Spiderman can’t do that. Life-threatening stakes are familiar to him in his workplace, if he could even call it that. But with ‘great responsibilities comes great power’, right? How could he bare to expose you to that? He swallows loudly, throat closing up in apprehension.

“Just what are you so afraid of?” You bring your hands up to his face, to his mask. Slipping your thumb under the mask falling off on his neck, threatening to tear down every barrier he’s ever built in this sick occupation of his. “What are you so scared I will see?”

His hands come up instinctively to your wrist, holding it in place. Scared that you’ll do it. That you’ll take it off then– then, what?

Run away? Why would you run away?

His head runs in a space he cannot follow, as it always had been.

He suspects, sometimes, that it was the spider running instead of him. He’s merely catching up to the bug that idly sucked on his possession.

“That’s– that’s not it. Don’t you see? I’ve always shown you what’s underneath. Everything. Everything, but this.”

“That’s not fair, Satoru.” His name glides off your tongue with euphonious resonance. You’ve one more barrier to rid of, and greed claws like a parasite leeching. “I want everything. Especially this.”

“This is the one thing I’m not supposed to give you. Ever. I can’t – what do you think I’ve seen, huh?” His voice breaks off shakily, his hold on your wrist tightens as you keep your finger hooked underneath his mask. “Innocent people are used as leverage. Innocent people are used to draw me out. What do you think they’d do with someone I actually care about?"

“You can’t continue to keep someone out and expect them to stay.” You lift his mask up lightly. The slip of his neck is exposed, Satoru’s breath hitches at your contact against his skin. His real skin. Real. This is real, he appalled himself in the shiver of your hold. 

“– That’s all I've ever known how to do.” 

“Okay,” You hum. Calmer. You lift another inch up again. “Learn. Even spiderman could learn.”

“Pfft. Thought we were past that now. I’m Satoru to you, forget about Spiderman. That guy’s last week’s news.” The corner of his lip quirks up despite himself, his fingers on your wrist softening to a loose hold. 

“Oh?” You laugh. “The stains of Spiderman’s blood on my bedsheet are very much not from last week. Something tells me this Spiderman guy will have to do my laundry.” 

Another thumb juts another inch upwards. He doesn’t resist – not anymore. Not against this, against everything he’s ever wanted – normalcy – you. You take it as an initiative to drag the spandex of his mask further elevated. 

“No need. Satoru here can do aaalll your laundry.”

You’re angry. No, that’s not right. You were angry.

Because he’s reckless, stupid, and he’s been keeping himself locked up in walls cladded with iron. Spiderman – Satoru – you reiterate inside of your head, is still all of those things, and more– yet you can’t find fury to shimmer beneath your veins, for all you find when you dig the vessels out of your skin, is a lenient tenderness.

Perhaps you’re terrified. That must be it. If not anger, you’re terrified. Your thumb juts upwards again, Satoru’s breath hitches against the air as your fingers tenderly review his lips. Pink. A little glossy, upon your surprise. Human. 

Him.

“This is weird, huh?” Satoru laughs, and you see his mouth moving. You gape silently, the way his lips move, the way his mouth forms vowels. “I’m gonna start to think you want to kiss me if ‘ya keep staring at my lips like that, sweetheart.”

“Is this okay?” You mutter. Your fingers moving further and further up the top of his head. His fingers finally detach from your wrist, a leniency following his actions, a peace of acquiescence in his mind.

“Yeah,” Satoru’s hands wander around the air, before settling on your waist tentatively. He nods, the mask bunching up. “More than okay.”

“Just to preface,” You purse your lips in wait. Biting down on your bottom lip, before meeting him in the eye – your thumb touching his jaw, the most skin-to-skin you two have ever been. “Regardless of what you look like, I– I'll still–” Love you.

“I’ll still let you eat my celery.” Great improvisation. 

But Satoru’s mouth quirks into a boy-ish grin, a toothy smile grazing his lips. “Are you implying there was a chance that if I was ugly, I can’t eat your celery anymore?”

“Okay, I get it! Celery’s an old joke–”

Without giving you much as a moment to react, one of Satoru’s hands detached from your waist – the other bunched up around your shirt – to swiftly tuck his thumb underneath the front of his mask, pulling it swiftly off.

The first thing you noticed was– wow. His eyes are blue. They’re bright – a hint of mischief swirling as the corner of his lips tugged up, eyes curling in satisfaction. His white eyelashes are framed against his eyelid as he drunk the site of you up. As if his eyes didn’t know where to flee, now that they were out in the open. Now that they bore you in their orbiting site. 

His white hair caught on the light in your room – ruffled up, strands of hair stuck clinging to his forehead when his mask came off, sticking to a million little places. Ivory under light, snow under flash. For a moment, all you could do in your sensible brain was gape.

“Speechless already? I told you I was handsome, didn’t I?” A grin fixated on his lips, you don’t miss the way his eyes soften almost imperceptibly at the notice of your eyes running over the girdles of his face.

He was. You didn’t think you’d ever admit that – not even in your head. Those Reddit threads hypothesizing on Spiderman’s identity were right. He’s handsome. Intricately so. Your cheeks flush lightly a darker hue. 

“.. You’re such a dork.” You finally huff, hands designedly cupping his cheeks, jaw flexing on your palms. He leans into your touch, a smug roll of shoulders escaping him. 

“Yeah,” Satoru smiles crescively, his hand dropping the mask on the ground, not caring as he lowered himself to your body against the wall, his hand finding purchase on the curve of your waist once more. 

“I guess I am.” He beams, igniting an aura of inconspicuous satisfaction. “I’m your idiot though, right?”

“Yeah, that’s–” You hum, fingers drawing fingers around his jaw. “That’s debatable.”

Satoru laughs, head leaning into your touch as you hold them closer to you. Your face is a mere breath away from touching, bright blue fixated on you, pulling you into its gravitational orbit – you don’t seem to mind, anymore. You hold him closer. Paralleling his orbit with your own.

“.. You’ll stay, right?” Satoru breathes. His voice low.

You looked at him. Without the mask. Without the pretense. The surficial identity. You laugh as if you never considered the possibility of doing otherwise. “Did taking away your mask remove your brain too?”

“Of course I’ll stay.”

He didn’t even have to ask.

You were sucked into the tinsel of his webs since the day you found him bleeding. Since the day he made a point to (against your own understanding, and his own, too) make a home out of your house. You’ve been caught, tangled and wrapped around the silk of his webs since he set his eyes on you–

And you’ve never thought to pry it off.

“Good,” Satoru purrs, his hand digging further into your waist. “That’s good.”

Spiderman!Gojo is an idiot who usually fumbles – but you suppose now, he’s your idiot. 

BONUS:

“Take your mask off.”

Satoru rocked back and forth on your bed, his knees drawn together in a criss-cross-apple-sauce seating. “Whaaatttttt?”

“Satoru.”

“Ya want a kiss? Just ask, sweetheart.” Satoru grins, hooking a thumb underneath his mask, pulling up just enough to only reveal his lips, puckering them obnoxiously for you. “Here, mwwwwuaahhh—”

You ignore his obnoxious smacking of lips, and pull the rest of his mask off. Lo and behold – your residential (long-term) neighborhood superhero and (newly appointed) boyfriend with a black eye smearing his face. At the revelation, Satoru shrugs, pleading innocence as he sticks his tongue out.

You exhale. “I knew it! What did you do this time?”

Satoru had the nerve to stick a finger to his chin, pondering your question. “Mm.. my job?”

“That’s not what I–”

“Whateves, whateves. C’mere!” Satoru promptly ignored your worried glance over his injury, drawing his arm around your waist, easily shuffling you atop him, straddling his lap as his other arm braced his figure on the bed. “‘S nothing. You should see the other guy.”

You pinch his arm at the attempt of levity. “Stay here. Let me grab the first aid kit–”

“Noooo, come on. ‘M missing my vitamin k.”

You frown, endeavoring to get up, yet even with one arm, Satoru holds you down to him effortlessly. “Vitamin k? That does not exist.”

His blue eyes flash with a mischievous glint at your skepticism, drawing his face closer to yours. He relishes in the way your breath hitches as his mouth comes a near breath from yours. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face, reverence in his touch. “Sure it does.”

“Now you’re just making things up–” You start, but your sentence is yet to be finished before his mouth feathers over the brush of your soft lips, connecting the two of you by a soft, yet equally electrifying in-measure act. 

You groan against the plush of his lips, his mouth readily swallowing it up as he deepens the kiss, fingers pressing onto your sides as his arms move to hold you in place, situated over his lap. You try to move away – maintain what little dignity which you have – his head follows suit, lips still pressed firmly against yours as your hands move to his shoulder despite your mind’s slower protests.

Satoru kisses like a man needing water. You think, your breath losing as you attempt to pull away once more, yet his lips refuse to detach, his arms swirling you closer in contact. Yet, you begin to waver, losing the mind to move away, you kiss him back just as feverishly, needing the contact in the marrow of your bones.

You forcibly detach your lips from his when air begins to run out of your lungs, his face a dexterously red hue as he stares at you, eyes half-lidded. 

“Told you,” A grin forms onto his face as you pant, swollen lips heaving hot air, a string of saliva connecting your lips together. Satoru’s eyes glints with satisfaction. “Vitamin k. Kisses. I need those. Like, I would've died, you don't understand the severity.”

“You,” Breaths heaving out of your lungs, you send a half-hearted scowl at his smug expression. “Are so insufferable.”

Your hands situate themselves onto his shoulder, bracing your body over his in a manner which he very much appreciates, as the view of your body is one he is not attended to be shy with. “You like it.”

Satoru leans closer again, his lips a breath away, feathering the ghost of your own, swollen lips. You sigh in exasperation, a hand moving up to cup his cheek. 

“Debatable.” You hum, feeling the vibrations between your mouths, before pressing down against the creeping of his lips. Hands moving into the cradlings of his hair, tugging on his white locks, to which his hold on your waist tightened.

Spiderman!Gojo finds pleasure in your displeasure – but you can’t say wholeheartedly that you mind, anymore.

© 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms in any way, shape, or form without my permission. if found, you WILL be blocked.

NOTES:

- woah JJK listen i havent been in this fandom since the ripe of 2020 & it's weird being back because so many of the fans are illiterate whoops did i say that - office au gojo fic next oouhh - sorry for the dumbass jokes idk how to flirt it was lowk unfunny but a girl can try - this is the opposite to the normal spiderman x reader tropes - which in this version, reader knows spiderman before they know the man beneath the mask, as opposed to finding out the guy you've known is spiderman. Idk i wanted to see where that could lead & what it means for a relationship built up of spiderman - UGHHH THEY'RE ROUGHLY based off of Peter Parker & Gwen Stacy from the Amazing Spiderman & SORT OF Peter Parker & MJ from Spiderman: Homecoming but this time they're both adults and i wanted to go a lil different route for spiderman - this is lowk buns but we ball bcs exams r coming up & im DEAD - next oneshot reader fucking dies (JK!! i wouldn't do that! I don't like angst at all! wink. turns head slowly, hair swaying in the wind.) - The narrative changing from 'Satoru said' and 'Spiderman said' interchangeably is on purpose - the words that are more vulnerable, Satoru said it. The words that are casual or 'demeaning', Spiderman said it. - omg i love writing spiderjo FUCK I LOVE SPIDERMAN MY GOAT - Taking off the mask as an allegory for letting people in, letting people close, and opening yourself = taking your mask off - Kinda based off of the song City of Stars from La la land but i'm ngl i didn't know what to title it so I just grabbed city of stars from my playlist - Ryan gosling is the goat & Andrew Garfield is the hottest spiderman i rest my case

❝ is this a start of something wonderful or new? Or one more dream, that I cannot make true? ❞ 

[liahcharms]

𖥔 ݁ ˖─ not a lot, just forever.✦

The mission in space was every physics teacher's wet dream. And yet, when you found yourself alone on a spaceship, dread filled your mind. Fortunately, it turned out you weren’t quite alone. As a weird creature you’ve met by accident seemed to be quite happy in helping you finish a mission and keep a warm company.

𖥔 ݁ ˖pairing: ꒰ Alien!Gojo Satoru x Physics teacher!Reader ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖content/warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ : fluff, fluff, fluff : also a bit of angst : mutual masturbation : use of sex toys : happy ending : women in stem, doomed to never being able to touch each other : prepare some tissues : space : aliens : Satoru is a brat in every universe : alien's D : mates and mentions of mating ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖WC: ꒰ 15k ꒱

𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: This story is based on the movie Project Hail Mary. Shoutout to @indiewritesxoxo whose story The One That Got Away inspired me to write a space-based fanfic!

dividers by @diviniyae art by daichichirou on tt

"Miss, what's the space like?" a little girl with round frames asked you once during the class.

What's the space like? You wondered for a moment, with similar glasses resting on your nose.

Little models of planets swirled under the ceiling, clashing against each other with warm beams of sunshine curling around their painted bodies. The classroom stilled with silence, heavy and curious, marked by a dozen little eyes glancing up your furrowed forehead.

"Unfathomed," slipped almost in a whisper. But the kids were too young to understand this word, so you tried again. "It's endless, deep, mesmerising, silent, like–"

"Like a night?" a boy from the first row asked, playing with the wooden spaceship, all the children in the class had just finished painting.

You chuckled, playing with your own little toy, brushing the little silver window with a thumb.

"Much, much quieter," the spaceship landed on your desk, right next to the little, soft ball painted like Earth. Your eyes shimmered as you looked around the class of a dozen munchkins. "What do you hear while sleeping?"

Something began to coil in their little Einstein heads, with soft foreheads furrowed in thought. A flicker of an idea – a spark, their young minds were yet to discover and nourish throughout their lives.

You watched them with a smile, something warm spreading beneath your chest. Not everyone was born to be a teacher, with the day-to-day tiring work of preparing materials for classes, conducting lessons and checking all the foolish assignments that neither you nor the children liked. The education system truly was a shit hole from the very first steps those young minds took.

"Miss, that's a silly question," a little girl without one front tooth giggled. "We can't hear anything while we're sleeping!"

You hummed softly as you picked up the small earth ball. It yielded gently beneath your fingers, and the woollen toy, crocheted by your mother herself, felt pleasantly soft against your skin.

The bell would ring soon, and the afternoon sun was high in the sky, creeping through the tall, clean windows into the small classroom. Summer break was almost here, and the sweltering heat lingered in the stuffy air, filled with children's coughs and soft breathing.

"Exactly," you said, sitting on the desk and tossing the ball into the air. "That's what space is like. You can't hear anything."

"But what if I close my ears?" another boy said, pressing his hands to them. "I can't hear anything now, miss!" he screamed, setting off a wave of sweet giggles from his classmates.

The small green ball flew his way, and the boy caught it in one hand, scowling. "Hey, miss, that's not fair!"

"That was not, I do admit," you slipped off the desk, walking around the classroom. All small pairs of eyes followed you like puppies. "But you see, in space, there would be no need to cover your ears, because there is no air or matter for sound to travel through. Even when you're sleeping, there's always something out there, right?" Your eyes met a few nodding Einsteins before drifting towards the window. "You can hear the crickets singing under your window and the wind swirling between the leaves. But in space, there's nothing. Simply an empty, endless realm stretching beyond our comprehension."

A few droplets of sweat coiled on your temple, and you quickly brushed them with a thumb. Glasses sat crookedly on your nose, hair slipped away from a pin-up, and so you pushed them behind your ear.

"Miss, the space sounds so scary," the girl with round frames sighed. "I don't want to be an astronaut anymore."

You chuckled, coming to the previous boy and stealing a soft lump of earth from his sticky fingers. "The space may feel lonesome if you're there alone. But now, astronauts usually go in groups." The ball landed back on your desk, brushing gently against the wooden spaceship. "But even if you were alone, I think the view would be worth the night spent in loneliness."

And as it would soon turn out, nothing was worth the years spent alone. On the huge spaceship, with endless darkness spreading across the little window and years spent somewhere doing God knows what.

"The sun is dying," the government envoy had said. "Can you help us save the world?"

She caught you right after one of the classes, with a half-empty cup of instant noodles and cheeks peppered with crimson chilli-oil kisses. She arrived with a tall, muscular man and a printout of the PhD dissertation, placing a copy on your messy desk.

Your forehead crinkled, eyes landed on a neat, Times New Roman formatted title, An Analysis of Water-Based Assumptions and Recalibration of Expectations.

"That's not mine," you mumbled, going back to the cup of noodles. You hadn't eaten anything for a whole day, and your stomach was already pressed against your spine, with hunger twisting your weary mind.

"That's your name, isn't it?" she said, pressing a neatly trimmed nail against the smaller letters beneath the title.

You didn't even spare her a glance and simply shook your head. "No, I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Both she and the man sighed, rolling two small chairs from the children's desk to sit in front of yours. With eyes fixed on your face, grimacing in ignorance, and a few locks of hair slipping into the cup.

"I'm Yuki," she said, crossing her legs before looking at the man with the dullest, most bleary eyes you have ever seen. "And that's Choso. We're from a… well. Now you only need to know that we work for NASA."

And that meant one thing – trouble.

Seeing your utmost disinterest, she continued in a warm tone. "Listen, we know your dissertation was a fantastic breakthrough that the supervising committee didn't appreciate. But–"

"A small correction," you interrupted, with eyes still glued to an almost empty cup. "They did not not appreciate me, but completely failed me. My research was proven wrong, and I spent almost five years chasing something that was never there. So no, it wasn't a breakthrough or anything."

"Her long fingers clenched into a fist, and a tongue nervously filled a creamy cheek. "Listen, in our current world situation, we believe that your research wasn't pointless. The hypothesis that life can exist without water–"

"Which was ultimately proven that it cannot," slipped in a whisper, gaze still following anything but those two.

"Right," she sighed, staying shockingly patient. "But the thing is, it actually may."

And for the first time in the past five minutes, you finally looked at her. With eyes hidden behind librarian-like glasses, a white shirt neatly pressed against your body, and chilli oil still coating lower lip. You brushed it quickly with a tissue before clearing throat.

"You have five minutes."

But Yuki needed just a second.

"There are some… microbes, the nature of which we aren't yet sure, that are slowly eating the sun. If we don't do something, in thirty years the global temperature will drop enough to kill every life on Earth."

A long, heavy silence stretched between the three of you, though she was the one doing the talking. The man in a suit sat in silence. He was rather handsome, with dark hair falling long down his neck and purplish under-eye bags framing his deep, doe-like eyes.

Feeling your eyes fixed on his face, Choso wriggled in place. "We believe that you are one of the few scientists who can help in research on those microbes."

A deep sigh slipped past your lips as you took off your glasses and closed eyes. A pulsing headache was filling your mind, weighing down an already overstimulated brain. A few short strands of noodles clung to the bottom of the plastic cup, looking up at your weary eyes, pleading to go home.

You finally murmured, throwing the cup into the bin, "I don't see how that's my problem. I'm just a physics teacher, the academic environment pushed me away, and I believe there are many more qualified scientists for this role."

Yuki's forehead furrowed, lips pressed in a line. "Not your problem? The world is dying, and you think it's not your problem?"

You could almost see a grey smoke drifting above her head, eyes shining like two coffee beans. Golden hair brushed against her suit-covered breasts, with a few straight strands sticking to soft cheeks. She appeared magnificently commanding, exuding a dominant aura of someone beyond the law. Even sitting on a small children's chair, you felt goosebumps cover your bare shoulders.

You leaned back in a chair, the hard backrest digging into your spine. "I just don't understand why it should be me. This," you pointed at a three-hundred-page dissertation, "was just a foolish fantasy of my younger self. And trust me, I felt how stupid it was," your eyes fell to your fingers, playing with a soft, earthy ball. "No one treats me like a scientist anymore."

And then, Yuki stood up.

Suddenly, reaching over the desk right to your shirt, before pulling you closer with a single move. Eyes fixed on yours like a deadly viper, and a sweet note of heavy perfumes hit your nostrils.

"Try it," she gritted through her teeth. "Accept my offer till I'm still begging. I don't want things to get messy, but I really need your help on this one."

And so, feeling rather threatened, you nodded swiftly and followed the kind smile that lifted up her lips.

Now, three years later, reflecting on that time, you never felt as happy and alive as you did then. Surrounded by the world's most exceptional scientists, working on alien, new microbes – the freshest discoveries in current scientific research – spending days and nights fuelled by bitter coffee, sitting in the labs.

The time didn't matter, as long as you could work on your research. To once again feel like a valuable input to the academic environment and a student from your PhD days, when the world was most beautiful under the microscope and while collecting the newest data.

Your heart raced during the meetings as your fingers carefully noted each idea, each plan that other scientists put forward. The greatest minds in the world, flooding your own with plans and speculations you could've never thought of. Your brain fired multiple times a day, always running, always getting fed with new questions and solutions.

Why is the sun dying?

How can we stop it?

How to produce enough fuel to go all the way right to the sun?

Is that even possible?

But then it was revealed that an alien microbe was composed entirely of water, and your world collapsed. Because it finally confirmed the very point you've been secretly trying to reject for years, proving to you that cells cannot survive without water.

Your heart broke, and a wave of shame washed over your spine. The shame connected to your younger self, foolishly believing in a greatness of discovery no one has ever made. Something worth the international conferences, massive grants, Nobel Prize, and yet, you needed a single, alien cell, something not belonging to the human world, to finally prove those old geezers from your committee right.

The white, big lamp of the lab flickered; darkness spilt over the endless night. Nothing but a faint buzz of mosquitoes filled the lab, hitting the window again, and again, and again. Hungry and relentless, looking at your body hunched over the failed experiment and slightly trembling lip.

You haven't noticed someone else's presence until something cold and wet touched your cheek. Turning the head around, you noticed a can of soda and Choso's pale fingers wrapped around it.

"Thanks," escaped in a whisper, as you took the drink.

He nodded, sitting on the stool right next to you. Your lab partner, who's been through your highs and lows for the past few weeks. The biggest encouragement and life support, always reminding you to eat well and drink something other than a third coffee in a row. He was another government body, Yuki's closest friend, yet – you liked him.

He felt the most normal here, and thus, your head rested on his shoulder, while hair covered the slightly wet cheeks.

"Are you crying?" he asked quietly.

Your head shook, and a second later, a loud sniff rolled. Choso chuckled, offering a tissue.

"Thank you, Cho," you mumbled, trying to hide the streaming tears behind the wide glasses.

He nodded, waiting for you to calm down a bit. The white lamp buzzed quietly, and the screen of the computer shone bright with your PhD dissertation. The thick letters of the title, with your name written right below.

Three hundred pages of bullshit born from your silly dreams. The Nobel Prize? Dear heavens, you barely deserved to be part of the current team.

"That's not the end of the world, you know?" he said, then pressed his cheek with tongue. "Hm, no. It actually is."

You laughed disgustingly, with a snort slipping out of your nose and another wave of tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry," slipped almost silently. "I'm sorry, I proved you all wrong."

Choso sighed, looking at your sorry state. He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and brushed away a single tear with a soft thumb. "No, you didn't. Now that we know what it's made of, you can think about another solution."

But there isn't another solution, you wanted to say, and instead bit down on your lower lip. The words bubbled in your throat, but a thin thread of hope still pulled at your heart. A faint wish that maybe this discovery wasn't a disaster. That the alien cell, made almost entirely of water, could somehow help with the mission.

That you could still prove yourself as a true scientist.

"Hey," Choso whispered, turning your face towards him. Deep, warm eyes shimmered with kindness as he offered a soft smile and gently pinched your cheek. "You are one of the smartest people I have ever met. I'm sure you can figure this out. Yuki believes in you. I believe in you." Staring into his eyes, you nodded with a pout. He chuckled and opened your soda with a quiet hiss. "Alright, let's call it a day and get back to it tomorrow. We still have time."

But the fact was that – you didn't.

And it was painfully obvious in how Yuki glanced into your lab every few days, asking about progress and results in halting the spread of alien microbes on the sun. Her neatly plucked eyebrows furrowed whenever you shook your head, and a short, stressed sigh escaped her rosy lips.

Try to hurry up, she would usually say, pulling a not-so-comforting smile.

Weeks went by, and everyone's stress increased. Yuki decided to set up a deadly mission, sending a team of astronauts to collect data personally.

The catch? They wouldn't return.

While there was enough fuel to reach the star teeming with alien microbes, there wasn't enough to return. Their goal was to collect the microbes, find a way to stop them from consuming the sun, and send all the data back to Earth.

The first time you heard about it, your knees almost buckled. It sounded outrageous, absolutely crazy, and the chance of finding someone mad and healthy enough to meet the requirements perfectly was already impossible.

And as it turned out, you were wrong.

The four astronauts were more than willing to sacrifice their lives for the greater good – to venture into the vast, endless space and perish there, in the company of strangers and eerie silence. To become saviours on a mission that could save the entire world.

Except, there was a risk the mission would fail.

Except, no one knew if they wouldn't lose their lives for nothing.

Because if that happened, if it turned out that all the money and sacrifices the government has invested in it would go to waste, the world would truly descend into shambles.

You stood against it from the very beginning, but You stood against it from the very beginning, but Yuki had already decided. And so there was nothing left to do but help the spaceship travel the twelve light-years towards the only star that was also dying, devoured by an alien microbe.

One hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres.

An unimaginably vast distance a simple mind could not grasp, yet you had to find a way to make it work. To figure out how to gather enough fuel to propel the massive, metal spaceship through every single kilometre.

And after a few weeks of getting yourself filled with coffee and nights spent outside the NASA base, gazing up into the endless darkness, you finally got it.

"The alien microbes possess unimaginable power," you said in one breath, looking like a madwoman. With hair twisted into a messy braid, hands shaking from too much caffeine, eyes glimmering as if possessed by Einstein himself. Your fingers gripped the black marker before drawing another black dot on the whiteboard. "You see, what we can do is allow the engines to feed the alien microbes into a reaction chamber and boil them to the point of natural breeding. This way, the cells will multiply and multiply, allowing us to use them in a much more efficient way," the black marker swooshed all over the board, drawing a crooked picture of the spaceship.

At least thirty pairs of eyes, seated in a conference room at NASA headquarters, stared into it with furrowed yet hopeful gazes. Yuki and Choso, among them, tried to understand the point you were making. The crazy discovery you had made mere hours earlier, before quickly asking for a meeting.

"Our ship doesn't need turbines, generators or heat exchangers, because there's no conventional fuel. It works as a sort of ship driven by light energy–"

"That's impossible," someone among the other scientists interrupted. "You cannot fuel a ship of such dimensions with light alone."

You nodded, whispering like a psycho under your breath, head buzzing with numbers. "Yes, you cannot do it with the sources we have here, on Earth. But," you turned back towards the whiteboard. "Our ship is not like the others, and the microbes allow us to actually use the light force as a fuel. Look, for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's third law, we all know it, right?" A few heads nodded in unison. "Well, our ship will emit light in one direction, while Newton's law will push it in the other. I know it used to work only in theory, but with the amount of power packed into a single microbe, we can use it for our good. In short, the alien power goes into the ship, the light comes out, and we can move forward."

A long, heavy silence filled the room as you finished your little drawing. Black lines coated the board, crossing the black dots and twisting around the childishly drawn ship. You pushed your glasses up your nose and tucked a strand of hair back behind your ear.

That was it. Nothing else could've been done on your side. If none of the scientists and governmental bodies believed your crazy plan could work, there was no other way to put the ship on a direct course towards that star.

Yuki sighed and looked around nervously. While people whispered, shook their heads, or took notes, no one offered you a warm nod or made direct eye contact. But it also seemed that no one else had a better idea.

"Are you sure it can work?" "Are you sure it can work?" Yuki asked, a heavy gaze lingering as warmth crept up your cheeks. "It's over a hundred and thirteen trillion kilometres. Are you sure the ship can be fuelled only by this alien microbe?"

Something weighed on your heart. Fear, panic, years spent believing you weren't good enough to become a real scientist. Those snickers from the PhD commission stating your research was useless. The rejections from one scientific conference after another, as no one wanted to accept your proposals.

Days spent on crying and staring at your dissertation, as if looking at it long enough would suddenly make it all worth it.

And then, under the cold light of the conference room, with thirty heads staring at you in blank mimicry, you needed to make a decision.

The one that would soon turn into a weight on your life.

"Yes," finally slipped. Strong and confident, as you corrected glasses slipping off your nose. "I can make it work."

But then…

But then the catastrophe came.

The betrayal.

Yuki apologising with utmost sincerity. Choso sitting quietly in the corner of her office. Three men keeping your body down.

From the moment you saw the space crew, one thought kept lingering in your mind. You dismissed it with a casual "they'll figure it out" wave, ignoring the instinct that indicated something was off – something that should have been clear from the start.

Why didn't the space crew have the scientist?

And a day before the departure, you finally discovered why.

"I'm sorry, I'm really so so sorry," Yuki said, trying to calm your wriggling body. The man's hands dug deep into your spine, keeping the hands and knees in place, with a cheek pressed to a dirty carpet. "We don't have any choice, and you wouldn't agree if I asked–"

"Of course I wouldn't!" you screamed, trying to bite the soft hand that reached towards you. "It's a fucking suicide! I'm a simple teacher; I can't go to a fucking space–ah, can you be a bit more gentle?!" But the men's fingers were already wrapping your hands with a thick rope. "Yuki, you can't do it to me!"

The woman didn't say anything. She merely opened her office door and beckoned someone inside. Wearing a white robe and holding a syringe between their fingers.

Your mind raced, breathing became almost impossible, and your throat clenched as you fought the sudden urge to vomit on the carpet. You tried to meet Choso's gaze, but he sat in the corner with his head in his hands, avoiding your gaze since you entered the office.

"Choso," you cried, as the doctor came closer. Long, thin needle shimmered under the office's cold lamp, sending a shiver down your spine. "Choso, l-look at me. You fucking coward, you bastard!" Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as the man sat like a stone figure. "You knew about it from the beginning, right? How could you do this to me?!"

Deep, warm eyes that you spent days gazing into finally looked up. Slightly wet, a bit hazy, while taking in the miserable state you found yourself in. Your glasses slightly crooked, lying a bit away from teary face. A few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, arms twisted painfully behind back.

His fingers dug into the leather chair, as if trying to force himself to stay back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't bring myself to tell you…"

"That I'm going for a fucking suicidal mission?!" you interrupted, still trying to kick the men off your body. "I thought we were friends! I trusted you! And you simply sold me away?"

Yuki shivered, her gaze shifting between coldness and heartbreaking warmth whenever she looked at your writhing body. She slipped her trembling hand into the pocket of her jeans before giving the doctor a small nod.

"N-No," you cried, when the man in white bent down. A sudden, sharp pain washed over your body, tickling the ends of your fingertips. "Please, I d-don't want to, I can't…"

And then, a weariness slowly filled your mind, lulling it into a deep sleep. Your body relaxed, eyes half-closed, as if weighted by the countless sleepless nights you had spent in labs.

The men lifted you up, keeping your head steady, but you didn't feel a thing. Your feet felt funny, light, as if blending into feathers. Some hushed voices started to argue, someone's warm hand brushed your cheek, and a heavy, musky smell filled your nostrils.

And before you lost consciousness, a silent save the earth sneaked into your ear.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

"Amazing," a low sigh slipped past your lips as you watched a massive ship slowly follow yours.

Monstrous, at least twenty times larger than the spaceship you called home for the past three years, which couldn't be contained within the small window you looked through. It appeared incredibly bright, almost as if it were made of glass, yet you couldn't see anything beyond the thick walls.

It's been shadowing you since yesterday, and it has been following you since yesterday, regardless of how long you travelled or how fast you went; it remained right there. Always in your line of sight from your window, constantly mirroring every move you make. 

It was… fascinating. To say at least.

A little frightening? Sure, as you were alone on a ship, with the crew long gone and drifting silently through the vast emptiness of space.

Bit still – fascinating. It marked the first time a human saw an object outside Earth. Majestic and otherworldly, it looked somewhat familiar yet vastly different. A faint cosmic glow shimmered on its diamond-like walls, casting short beams through your solitary window, as if attempting to communicate. As if the creature within tried to contact.

Still drifting slowly, you bit down on your lower lip. "Maybe I should stop?" you thought out loud, as another flicker of light hit your window. "What if they'll attack me?"

But at this point, already being alone on an impossible, suicidal mission, it seemed that an alien attack would be the least of your problems. In fact, maybe it would even sweeten your life a bit, and before meeting death, you would still have a chance to make the first human contact with life outside Earth.

"Okay," You took a deep sigh, pulling down the engine handle. "Let's see what you want from me."

Your ship stopped, and the monstrous glassed vehicle followed right away. With your forehead pressed to the window, you waited.

And waited, waited, till ten minutes passed and the ship stood still. Your tongue pressed against the soft cheek as you walked back and forth, awaiting any sign of activity. Yet, the vast galaxy outside remained tranquil, a gentle glow reflecting off the smooth, wall-like surface of the enormous ship. It lacked doors and windows, being just a glassy, shimmering exterior that–

"Oh no," your throat tightened as it drew closer. And closer, closer, swooshing towards you, something long slowly sliding out of the ship's tall wall. "Oh, that's bad, fuck."

A panic squeezed your heart, thoughts rushed through a tired mind, and there weren't enough cuticles on your nails to bite them all. The window was too small to see the thing clearly, but it seemed to be heading straight towards your ship's door. A long, shining tube swooshed closer and closer until your ship suddenly vibrated, as if gently brushing against a foreign object.

Your fingers fidgeted with the plush fabric of the shirt, while droplets of sweat made your glasses slide down your temple. With unsteady legs, you cautiously moved toward the astronaut's suit and started pulling it over your body. The zipper felt heavy under your touch, and the bubble-shaped helmet was more suffocating than usual. The oxygen backpack almost doubled your load as you headed toward the door, with heavy pounding in your chest.

Your heart was always perfectly healthy, and yet for the first time in your life, you tried to remember all the possible symptoms of a woman's heart attack.

Chest pain, severe shortness of breath, nausea, radiating pain in the neck and jaw, you counted in your mind, marking each and every sign in your current state.

"Fuck, okay," trembling, glove-coated hands squeezed the handle of the massive, metal door, before you pushed it. It opened with a low, soft creek, inviting you into the endless tunnel filled with darkness.

To your surprise, gravity worked here, and thus you dropped heavily onto the hard floor. A soft oh filled the helmet as you lifted the flashlight a bit higher. Something shimmered at the end of the darkness, yet you weren't sure what.

Your steps didn't echo from the thick walls as you slowly approached the entrance to the alien ship. Thoughts clashed painfully in your mind, questions rose one by one as you breathed with a squeezed chest under the weighty kilograms of a spacesuit.

How many of them were there?

What did they look like?

Were they friendly?

How quick and painful would your death be?

Your mind tried to ignore the last one, as the chance of a cardiac arrest before meeting an alien seemed much more likely. Fingers clutched the flashlight tighter, feet moved carefully, one step after another, sticking to the tunnel's crooked surface.

"Hello?" Your voice bounced off the walls, lined with terror. "Whoever you are, I come in peace!"

Oh, what a cheesy line, you thought, biting down on your lower lip.

After a few steps, the glimmering thing came fully into view, and only then did you notice it was a thick glass wall. Or at least something similar to glass, with a hard surface that stopped you from going any further.

Glove-clothed hand touched it, helmet bumped against it, as you tried to light the darkness spilling behind it.

"Hello?" slipped a bit louder, with your fist knocking on the glass. "Anyone there?"

A silence, dull and endless, filled an eerie tunnel. Looking back, you took a note that your spaceship was still there – safe and sound – and you let out a deep sigh. It's not as if it would suddenly float away, but–

A heavy thump suddenly shook the tunnel's floor.

Your head snapped back, breath hitched, fingers squeezed with a tremble around the flashlight.

"H-Hello?"

The light reflected off something towering and shimmering, slowly moving toward you in a relaxed, unhurried manner, nearly as tall as the tunnel itself. A bluish halo beamed off the creature's body, filling the dark space with a soft aura.

You stepped back, trying to direct a flickering beam straight at the thing coming your way, but your hand trembled too much. The heart was on the verge of stopping, and dread haunted the mind as it drew closer, revealing its height. At least two and a half metres, brushing the ceiling of the tunnel's crooked walls, filling the narrow space with its wide body.

And when the light caught on their face… oh.

The pale blue skin shimmered softly under a luminous glow. It appeared unnaturally smooth, soft, and a sudden, foolish wish to brush it with your thumb swirled inside your mind. White, snowy hair touched the handsome forehead, while nearly inhumanly pale-blue eyes gazed down at your spacesuit-covered body. You looked tiny and short in comparison, with a gloved hand once more resting on the glass wall.

The creature was dressed in a white suit, clinging tightly to its body and digging deep into the hard muscles bulging under its skin. Alien's head tilted, knees bent down, and within a second, it found itself on eye-level with you.

White lashes decorating endless, luminous blue fluttered, as if trying to take in the terror twisting your face.

"⊑⟒⌰⌰⍜," a low, manly voice crept past the glass.

Your eyes bulged like two porcelain plates, fingers pressed closer to the wall.

So he was a man.

Well, you could already figure that much based on his looks, but the warm tone slipping under your bubble helmet was evidence enough.

Your mind didn't register the language at first, but when his soft brow travelled up, and lips curled in a smile, you thought that maybe he was awaiting an answer.

"Oh, um," you took a step back, waving your hand clumsily. "Hello."

The creature's head tilted again, and he mimicked your gesture.

You blinked twice, still struggling to believe the situation you're in. "Uh, okay, what now?" you whispered. "I am..." You pointed at your head and said your name clearly and loudly. "What about you?"

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the creature said, and a wave of different sounds and tones once again hit your ears.

You sighed, pressing tongue against your cheek. "Right, it's not going to work."

He looked at you, and you looked at him. You, with a slightly furrowed forehead and your mind rushing through all the possible ways to communicate with the alien. He, with lips curled cheekily and pale eyes fixed on your face.

"I wouldn't mind your cooperation, you know?" you mumbled, but he tipped his head left and right, like a curious puppy.

"⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒," the same sounds once again slipped past the glass wall.

His head was tipping and tilting, and a second had passed before you finally understood that he wanted to say something.

"What? I don't understand," you said, mimicking his movements.

And thus both of you were shaking and tilting your heads, going over and over the same ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⋏ ⏚⍀⟒⏃⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⟒⍀⟒,and I don't understand.

His brows furrowed as if irritated, and large hand touched his chest. He took a deep breath – first and second – then pointed at his head and finally at yours.

Oh.

"You want me to..." you gestured as if removing the helmet. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and eyes glinted. "But I can't breathe here."

He didn't understand and thus pointed at your head once again. "⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⏁ ⍜⎎⎎."

Your head shook. "Whatever you say, I cannot take it off. Because I will…" Your hands slipped up to your throat before a wave of trembling convulsions bent your body. It wriggled, shook, before, with a theatrical cough, you fell down the crooked floor.

The creature was staring at you with a furrowed forehead and a gentle flicker of amusement coiling in his spectral eyes.

"Not the best first impression, I know," you muttered, swiftly standing up. "My point is, I can't breathe without it."

But it seemed he either didn't understand or was simply relentless in his pleadings. As the long fingers hit the glass wall, pointing right at your head. Another deep breath slipped past his lips, and he nodded, as if trying to say it was fine. Whatever he filled the tunnel with, you could breathe here.

And thus, the thought of what if slipped quietly into your mind.

What if he was right?

What if he really did fill your half of the tunnel with oxygen?

But what if he was wrong, and the moment the helmet would go off, you would die in inhumane suffering?

Light blue eyes shone with anticipation, lips curled into an encouraging smile, and a finger pressed harder into the glass wall.

You took a deep breath, feeling the droplets of sweat coiling at the nape of your neck. He seemed to be a highly intelligent creature, with the ability to communicate as well as you and a rather comprehensive understanding of the differences between your species. For some reason, trusting him felt almost natural, and the assuring look of his spectral gaze made you drop your head with a sigh.

When fingers hooked on the helmet's edges, your heart was nearing its death. Chest squeezed painfully, eyes closed till the eyelids dug deep into your balls. The sweat was now dripping down your spine, wetting the nape of your neck and shirt that clung to your body under the heavy spacesuit.

"Okay," you whispered, both to yourself and him, and it seemed that he was rather amused by the agony twisting your mind. When he chuckled, your brows furrowed. "Don't laugh. There's a rather big chance this air will burn me from the inside."

And so it happened – your fingers slowly unclasped the neck ring, allowing the pressurised seal to loosen with a soft puf. The bubble helmet was lifted unhurriedly, as if your lungs were still trying to grasp the rest of the oxygen swirling inside it.

With still closed eyes, you took the first breath. And the second, and the third, and then, looking back at the alien, a sweet, loud scoff slipped past your lips, and flushed cheeks.

"⌇⟒⟒, ⟟ ⏁⍜⌰⎅ ⊬⍜⎍," he chuckled, pressing his forehead to the glass wall.

Still in shock, you stepped closer, also touching the warm, crystal surface with your brows. "Sure, whatever you say."

You looked at each other for a while, with beaming smiles and foreheads almost brushing as you leaned in, a rather intimate gesture. It seemed that the first meeting with another species broke down some specific walls for both of you. The curiosity and fascination with one another blurred the lines of proper manners, breaching all the careful first steps you surely should think of.

His eyes flickered, suggesting a new idea had just come to him. He raised a finger and gestured for you to stay put. After your gentle nod, he vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, leaving you alone with your thoughts swirling in your mind.

Five minutes passed, then ten, and as you sat on the crooked floor and took off the heavy spacesuit, he finally came back, with something gripped by his hand.

You looked closer, noticing the collar-like device and a small earplug. He placed it inside his ear while wrapping the collar around the pale neck. A faint, crispy sound filled his side of the tunnel, and milky brows furrowed as he pressed onto the device in his ear.

And then, with a gesture, he asked you to say something.

"Um," your head tilted, and he sat right in front of you, waiting with a soft smile. "You are rather pretty for an alien."

His fingers still pressed the small device, and after a second, cheekiness flickered in his eyes. "Am I, question? You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

To say you froze in shock would be an understatement.

Your lips parted, eyebrows nearly touching hairline, as body leaned forward before your hand pressed against the glass wall. You didn't know whether you were more surprised by either his ability to speak your language or the casual compliment that caused your cheeks to heat up.

"You can…" You shook your head, barely breathing. "But how is it…"

He pointed at his ear. "This device recognises your language," then gestured to his neck. "And connects with this. Whenever I speak in my language, this collar converts it into yours."

A soft ah slipped past your lips, eyes fixed on the thin, crystal band made of a sort of rubber material. Your finger brushed the glass wall, as if trying to feel the device beneath it.

Your brows furrowed when another issue started to bite into your curiosity. "But how do you know my language? How did you build this translator? Our species never made contact."

He sat closer, pressing his forehead to the glass again. At this point, you started to wonder whether it was a sort of typical signal from his species, carrying a special, unknown meaning. And when he beamed with joy, you noticed little white droplets shining faintly, sprinkled around his cheeks. Was this an equivalent of a blush?

"You didn't with us," he pressed a finger to yours, and only then did you see the true, monstrous size of his hand. "But the Reds had been studying you for years."

The reds…

"Oh gosh!" A gasp ripped out of your throat as you covered your mouth with a hand. His head tilted. "The Reds, you mean, Martians?"

"Why are you shocked, question?" he asked, carefully eyeing as you quickly stood up and started walking back and forth between the walls.

Your mind pulsed, trying to comprehend everything that had happened over the past hour. The strange spaceship, the first-ever human contact with life beyond Earth, the final confirmation that aliens did, in fact, kidnap people and conduct experiments on them.

"I'm shocked, because humans never made any contact with life outside our planet," you said, biting down on a fingernail. "How long have you known the Reds?"

A low hum slipped past his lips, and smooth, blue forehead creased. "Five hundred years, I say."

"What?!" Your knees buckled as you once again sat in front of him, with hands and forehead and breasts pressed tightly to a glass wall. "Five hundred years? How is that possible? Are your planets close to each other?"

His head shook, but forehead remained wrinkled. "Humans are very underdeveloped."

You chuckled softly, noticing small, adorable language mistakes the translator made here and there. It's still, robotic voice muffled the creature's deep tone, and something squeezed your heart, as you surprisingly discovered that the honeyed warmth of his tone wrapped your mind in a rather pleasing manner.

"Yes, it seems so." Your head turned, with flushed cheeks pressed to the wall. "But till now I had no idea how far behind we are."

He stayed quiet for a moment before tapping gently on the wall. Your eyes slipped back to his, noticing the droplets sprinkled across his face, radiating adorably like flickering stars.

"My name is Satoru," rolled quietly, as the shimmering dust coated his cheeks ever wider. "Your name, question?"

When you said it slowly, he nodded, still tapping on the surface. Right against your pressed hand. "That's a very beautiful name."

"Yours is not bad either."

He hummed, as if in agreement.

Your head grew heavier and heavier, and the warmth was gently trying to coax you into sleep. As you yawned, Satoru's ghostly eyes carefully followed the exhaustion clouding your forehead.

"Are you tired, question?"

His throat bobbed when you giggled. "You don't have to add a question at the end of each ask, you know?"

You assumed that, because of his grammar rules, he needed to emphasise the difference between normal sentences and inquiries. You've noticed that his language sounded much more melodic than yours, yet it lacked the upward pitch humans use.

"But I am tired, thank you for asking." Looking over your shoulder, you've noticed that your ship was, fortunately, still there. "How about I go to sleep, and we'll get back to our talk in a few hours?"

You slowly stood up and grabbed your heavy spacesuit. Glasses slipped off your nose, and hair stuck to still-warm cheeks, as you lifted up the flashlight and… oh.

It seemed that you missed the sudden sorrow deepening between Satoru's brows. Eyes widened in panic, big palms plastered to the wall with lips just slightly opened, as he looked with a fearful expression at your attempt to move away from the wall. From him.

"Satoru–"

"Can you please sleep here?" His voice trembled, although the translator's robotic tone remained unwavering.

You looked around the tunnel, feeling the crooked ground bending beneath your feet and the dark walls emitting a deep, earthy smell. "I don't think that's a good idea, Satoru." A warm smile lifted your lips as you turned towards your spaceship. "But don't worry, I'll be back. Sleep for a bit, and before you'll notice, I'll–"

"Please," the anxiety filling his shaken voice stabbed right through your heart. "Please let me watch you sleep."

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him in the same position. With hands pressed against the wall and eyebrows furrowed deeply.

"Watch me sleep?"

He nodded. "I… I didn't watch my crew sleep. The crew died. Satoru has been alone for the past forty years." Your lips fell open, but he quickly added, as if afraid you'd refuse again. "I watch you sleep, you won't die."

Seeing his face – filled with anxiety, pure fear, and misery – you could only smile softly and nod. As the mere thought of this man spending over forty years in space all alone tore your heart apart in the most inhumanely painful way.

"Yes, okay," barely pushed past your lips, before you cleared your throat. "Just let me bring my stuff."

You quickly changed into pyjamas, gathered a few blankets, a pillow and enough water for the night, before going back to the warm tunnel.

And then, as you drew closer to the glassy wall, you noticed a slight change in its shape. As during the five minutes you were gone, Satoru had prepared a special shelf for your body to lie right next to him. With his own feather-like blanket, he lay on his side, waiting for you to slip into the long space and hug him.

You giggled, filling the space with your own things. "That's quite intimate, Satoru."

His body was much taller than the width of the tunnel, and thus, he curled his legs a bit before trying to get even closer to you. "What does intimate mean, question?"

With head hitting the soft pillow and blanket covering your body, you turned his way. Nothing but a thick crystal wall kept you away from brushing noses with each other.

"It means that you're trying to be romantic with someone," but then you thought he might also not understand what romantic means. "Hm, it's when you do nice things for a certain person that you wouldn't do for anyone else. For example, make a special bed to be closer to someone."

A soft crease wrinkled his forehead, and the peacefulness of his eyes told you that he was deeply thinking. "I wouldn't do it for anyone other than you."

The sincerity beaming from his eyes was enough to assure you of the innocent truthfulness of his words. So you sighed, nuzzling deep into the pillow, hoping he didn't notice the warmth on your cheeks.

"That's very romantic, you know? Something you would say to your special someone."

"To your mate, question?"

You hummed, softly closing eyes. His presence somehow made your body tingle with a pleasant warmth, allowing the sleep to haunt your mind in a much softer, calmer way. In a way, you didn't feel for a long, long time, spending days in loneliness and a maddening need to feel someone else's warmth again.

You couldn't feel Satoru's heat, yet your heart fluttered fondly as his gaze truly watched you sleep.

"Yes, although humans don't mate."

"Why, question?"

When you giggled – sweetly, kindly – droplets coating Satoru's cheeks lighted up. Solely for a second, but it was enough to make him slip closer, and closer, and closer, till the glass wall was digging painfully into his body, and his heart still rushed your way.

You bubbled something under your nose. An answer he could not hear. With your lips falling open and a crystal string of saliva dripping down the soft pillow.

His finger pressed against the glass, as if wishing to brush it away.

And when another five minutes passed, a soft snoring filled your side of the tunnel. Breath calmed down, and body drew closer to his. Trying to curl into his – big, burning hot, utterly dangerous for yours.

"I watch you sleep," he whispered, brushing the glass with your pressed cheek. "You never die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Satoru was much more intelligent than you expected.

It's not that you treated him as beneath you, but the true power of his mind exceeded your expectations.

And as it turned out, he was in the same situation as you – researching the alien microbes that were also eating his sun. Except that his species discovered the problem forty years before yours, and thus a wave of panic washed over your mind. Because if a creature like Satoru couldn't find the solution to the problem that apparently touched not just Earth but the whole universe, you wouldn't do it either.

One difference between you and Satoru was that, as an engineer, he could actually do things himself. Simply produce them, with all the glassed walls and tiny models of planets made from a strange, gluey substance that rolled off his fingers. He wasn't a scientist like you, so when he heard that you were the "brain" of the crew, his eyes flickered. 

"We can work together," he proposed, already considering the path to the only planet not consumed by alien microbes. Since it wasn't infected, it suggested there was something in its atmosphere that enabled it to withstand the lethal bacteria. "You will be the mastermind of the entire operation, I will develop the sources. Also, I have spent forty years here, so I know how to navigate."

His eyes were fixed on creating another little planet, rolling the gluey strings between his pads, moulding them into a ball and waiting until the substance dried into a crystal orb. After a few days, your glassy wall had advanced enough to have a small opening for a shelf where you could exchange little presents.

Although you forgot that Satoru's atmosphere was close to boiling lava in temperature, when your hands accidentally brushed, a nasty, red bump was left on the skin of your thumb.

He put the ball on the shelf and moved his hand away so you could grab it.

"Which planet is it?" you wondered, brushing the crystal surface.

He tsked – something he learnt from you mere hour ago – and mumbled. "The earth, of course."

A scoff escaped your lips, and warmth spilt over the heart. "We're not that small."

"I believe you are."

"And we have more greenery."

He wondered, this time building a small spaceship. Your spaceship. "I would like to see it."

Some things have become clearer after spending the past few days in Satoru's presence. His planet was one of the closest to the sun, wrapped in a dense atmosphere that protected its inhabitants from being burned alive. As Satoru said, the days merged with the nights, and it was always rather dark – hence the pale, almost spectral eyes he and other inhabitants had. There was little to no greenery, and the water system had long been sustained by technologies developed by engineers like him.

"A lot of sand", he once said, and you wondered whether it would look like anything close to the climate of Arab countries.

His head tilted then, and eyes flickered with curiosity. "How do Arab countries look, question?"

You tried to describe the endless desert plains, the crimson sun, the curling droplets of sweat on your neck, and the nights filled with beaming joy as best you could. The feel of warm sand under your feet, sea brushing the skin sweetly and fresh dates melting on your tongue in sugary pleasure.

He listened, with eyes following the curve of your lips and fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"I would love to see it," he muttered, poking the glass wall with his finger. "It sounds beautiful."

You giggled, following the pale blue of his skin. Soft and shiny, it reminded you more of a region bitten by cold than of the merciless atmospheric temperature of over two hundred degrees Celsius.

"You're rather pale for someone living right next to the sun."

He scoffed, with fingers still creating the small spaceship. In the meantime, you leaned against the crooked tunnel's wall, with a laptop on your thighs, trying to plan the route towards the only "safe" planet.

"I'm not pale. I'm blue."

"That was a joke," you shoot him a glance, seeing the irritated squint of his eyes. "It means that the thing I say is supposed to be funny. You should laugh."

A low, awkward chuckle rolled off his lips, and you couldn't help but burst out laughing. Satoru knew how to express his joy, but it seemed he didn't quite possess the humour you did.

The moment has passed, and a comfortable silence stretched between the two of you. He was mapping the galaxy, while you tried to work out whether your ship still had enough fuel to travel that far. It would take you months to reach that planet, but there seemed to be no other choice. After that mission, the fuel will run out, and you, just as planned, will die here – somewhere in the embrace of endless space.

A low sigh slipped past your lips, catching Satoru's attention. "Are you tired, question?"

Your head shook, and a few strands of hair fell loosely from a pinup. "I would love to invite you to my ship. There's a room where we can watch movies and stuff. I'm sure I can find something about Egypt."

And so…

You've also learned over the past few days that Satoru took everything seriously.

In the most genuine and firm understanding of this word.

Two weeks have passed since your meeting. One morning, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in nothing but panties and a loose shirt while brushing your teeth, a deep, gravelly rumble shook the entire spaceship.

Your heart leapt into your throat, eyes bulged, and you dashed out of the room with wet hair and bare feet. With all the prayers you've learnt as a child repeating in your mind over and over again, as you run towards the entrance of the ship.

Did you somehow get unsealed from the tunnel?

Did something hit the ship and cause the irreparable damage that would cost you your life?

Fuck, did–

But when you finally got into the room connected with an entrance, with toothpaste smeared all over your cheek and glasses falling crookedly off your nose, a low gasp slipped past your lips.

"Satoru?!"

Because the pale-bluish creature himself stood in the middle of your spaceship, locked in a…

"And you're in a ball?" Like a hamster, wanted to join, but he probably wouldn't know what a hamster is.

Standing right in front of you, fully upright, with long legs wrapped in a white suit and a muscular back bulging under the stretched material – he appeared even more monstrous than usual. A creature over two metres tall, looking all over your place with amusement shining in his eyes, his gaze following all your dirty panties spread across the floor.

"Yep, so I won't die in your atmosphere," long fingers knocked the crystal ball, before lips curved in a cheeky smile. "Can I smell it, question? I want to know how your body smells. Put it to the shel–"

A sudden warmth had hit your cheeks, and throat tightened around the remnants of the toothpaste. "Absolutely not! It's very not polite of you to ask such things."

He started walking around in a large ball that barely fit the corridors of your spaceship, its hard walls brushing against each and every machine, piece of furniture, and console on its way. He strolled freely, dropping different comments here and there, while you followed him and picked up all your clothes.

"So dirty," he snapped, pushing a loud scoff from your throat.

"I didn't expect the guests!"

But he ignored you, as your bedroom appeared somewhere within the line of his sight. Blue cheeks shone with crystal droplets, and white, fluffy hair almost stood on end with excitement. Before you could stop him, long legs swiftly moved towards your bedroom, taking in every little, dirty, detail – more panties, a small mattress, a few books lying scattered all over the floor.

"Is that our nest, question?" He looked around before parking his ball next to your mattress. He sat down, leaning against the floor, and finally shot you a look. "I like it."

With a deep, weariness-filled sigh, you returned to the bathroom, cleaned yourself, and re-entered the bedroom. Soft light reflected off the glistening droplets on his cheeks as he probed the fabric of your panties with his finger. Only then did you realise that the ball, despite being firm, was quite flexible, enabling him to slide his fingers through its surface, which was covered in a sticky, shimmering coating that shielded his skin from the oxygen.

You took the material away from his curious gaze and pushed it back into your bag.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" slipped rather harshly as you sat down on your bed.

He seemed to be confused by your tone, tilting the fluffy head with a furrow. "Are you mad, question?"

You knew that getting angry with him, while he was still learning to recognise human emotions, was silly. Stupid, even, and you felt as if you were shouting at the poor puppy. Except that this puppy was much taller than you and probably weighed twice your weight.

With a sigh, you fell back on the mattress and covered your face with an arm. "Sorry, I'm not mad. Just… surprised. I didn't expect you would come up my ship."

He tried to roll closer, but the space was too small to allow him any other movements than going back and forth from the entrance to your mattress. So he stayed in place, trying to observe the expression on your face.

"I can't see you like that," he noted.

Another thing you've learnt about his species was how important contact and intimacy are. Not even sexual ones, but rather a simple need to always be with someone. To communicate while looking right into their eyes, to feel their skin on theirs, and to follow the movements of their lips. To feel the presence of another creature next to them, even if the only thing you did was sleep next to each other.

So another sorry slipped past your lips, and you sat again, showing Satoru your face. He slightly lightened up before pressing a hand to the crystal ball.

"You said, and I quote, I would love to invite you to my ship," he noted with utmost seriousness, and you rolled your eyes. "So I came."

Well, he was right. You did say that, and you did wish there were a way to bring him into your ship. Travelling together would be much easier if both of you were on one ship, so amidst the pure chaos and shock he caused, you quite enjoyed the fact that he could live here.

With you.

"Okay," your hand pressed to the ball, filling half of his palm. "But we need to set up some rules first. First, we don't sleep in the same bedroom–"

"But I must watch–"

"Satoru," you interrupted him, seeing the pale eyes slip into the sorrowfulness. "You have excellent hearing and even more excellent sight. I'm sure you can watch me sleep while staying next door." A grim twisted his face, and a low mumble filled his little bubble. Too quiet for the translator to catch, so you chuckled sweetly, seeing his brattiness surface. "Okay. The second rule – you can't sniff my panties. It's something… reserved only for mates."

And, well, if that didn't fire him up – with eyes suddenly beaming in excitement and droplets twinkling one by one, like a tiny mingling stars. You felt as if you had challenged him, and thus quickly added. "And because we are not mates, you cannot do it. It's too intimate."

"I want to be intimate."

A sudden flush hit your cheeks, and warmth spread beneath your chest. "No, Satoru, you don't understand. It's about sexual intimacy. Something you share while…" saying it out loud felt like giving a biology lesson to elementary school kids. "Mating… with your special someone. When you, well, have sex and stuff. Do you know–"

He chuckled low, a sly smile lifting his lips. "I know what mating is."

Something in your lower belly bubbled, seeing him like that. Tall and strong, spreading a slightly possessive and dominating aura. With eyes full of bratty cheekiness and something, something, slightly sensual dripping from his voice.

"Well, so you know that we can't do it," You moved back, taking your palm away from the crystal ball. "Let's work on our plan and try to find a way to save the world."

And with a slight dissatisfaction, Satoru finally agreed.

But the next months spent in his presence were… interesting. To say at least.

Every day brought new surprises, which sometimes ended with your body blushing from head to toes, sometimes him getting shy and flustered, while still trying to keep up the cocky demeanour.

He was nothing less than excellent when it came to engineering and helping with the travel itself, also being an amazing companion for the long, daring journey.

Soon he resigned from constant stay in a ball and filled the interior of your spaceship with long corridors of crystal, making himself at home. Whenever you were – he was right next. Be it a bedroom, control room, kitchen or…

"Satoru!" You quickly covered your breasts with your hands, seeing him walking into the bathroom with the most casual demeanour.

A plate of some weird substance, he was always eating for supper, and a white suit half unzipped, showing off his muscular, blue chest. He leaned against the door, spectral eyes slowly following your naked body. From legs up to hips, staying longer on the gentle swell of your ass and the mould of your pussy, before going up, and up, to the breasts covered by your trembling fingers. "Sweetheart is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"Sweetheart" because he really wished to call you something human pairs use for each other. Even though at least three times a week, you needed to remind him that you, in fact, were not a pair.

A muffled, surprised scoff escaped your lips. You pointed to the exit with one hand, forgetting it was clutching one of your breasts. When the silky swell smoothly slipped from your grasp, bouncing gently before his eyes, he moved closer, already pushing a finger through the stretching wall.

"Can I–"

You smacked it, once again showing the exit. "Satoru! You can't walk on me while I'm naked."

"Why, question?" he asked, relentlessly trying to get closer to your body. With a finger poking the wall, that unfortunately couldn't stretch enough to even brush your skin. "Come a bit closer."

Something in your belly bubbled, warmth spread across your chest, and a single, dirty thought of letting him touch you bloomed in your mind. After all, sexual needs and anatomy were among the things all researchers wished to know about foreign species. And because Satoru was of the same, curious kind as you…

"It's too early, out!"

His head tilted, and lips curved into a foxy smile. "It's eight in the evening."

"No, I mean, we're not close enough to do such stuff."

He knocked on the crystal wall. "Sweetheart, but I can't get closer."

Oh god.

You sighed, finally letting the other tit bounce softly too. Leaning against the small shelf, you glanced at him with a frown. He, however, looked anywhere but into your eyes. Rude.

"Our relationship is not on that level…" yet. "What you want to do is too intimate. Sexual." And then, a sudden curiosity spiked your mind. "Satoru, how does the… mate thing look like among your species?"

His eyes finally slipped up to yours. "We choose one mate for a whole life."

Well, that was rather clear.

"What about the, you know…" You gestured awkwardly, partially at your still naked body.

"The mating," he finished. But as if feeling the spike in your curiosity, with round eyes ogling his naked chest and slipping shyly towards his hips, he bubbled a low chuckle. "Come closer, and I will show you."

What a brat!

With the last tsk and a dirty look shot his way, you turned back towards the mirror and finished your quick, morning "shower". Even while using rinseless soap and water pouches to clean your body, you still felt Satoru's presence behind you.

Deep blue eyes following the curve of your body, back muscles working beneath the soft skin, and when you bent over to rinse your face, a sudden, sharp breath escaped his throat.

You didn't have to look back to know that he was looking straight at your pussy.

"It's wet," he mumbled, coming closer. And closer, until his finger once again tried to evade the stretching wall, too short to even brush the swell of your ass.

You hummed, trying to hide an embarrassed warmth kissing your neck. "It's a natural lubrication. It usually happens when a woman is…" oh fuck it. "Excited."

He seemed charmed, completely bewitched, and some part of you wished the temperature between your bodies wasn't over two hundred degrees Celsius. As the moment Satoru's hands touched your skin, you weren't sure whether calling it the third burn would be enough.

"Why is sweetheart excited, question?"

With your body leaning forward and hands resting on the shelf, you looked back, eyes slightly hazy, wetness dripping down your thigh. A silken droplet swirled down your leg, and Satoru's always oh-so-attentive eyes, of course didn't miss it.

"I want the taste," he mumbled, and only then did you notice a bulge, trying to rip free from beneath the white spacesuit covering his hips.

You took a deep breath, bending yourself lower and lower, till he could clearly see your cunt shining with silky wetness.

"I'm excited," you started, voice dripping with sensuality. "Because of you."

As if awaiting this exact answer, his eyes, for just a second, ripped themselves away from your soft pussy and looked up. To cross with yours – slightly teary, a bit too warm.

"I want to–"

You turned around, once again leaning against the shelf. A low groan escaped his throat, as he no longer could see your pussy in its fullness. The little pout twisting his lips made you giggle, but a tricky, dirty thought has slipped into your mind.

"How about this?" You took a step, then another, until you stood right in front of him. Much closer than before, but not close enough to let him brush your skin. "I will let you touch me. Watch me…" You coughed, feeling this wind of bravery leave your body as quickly as it had come. "Masturbate. And you'll let me do it too."

Satoru's lips fell open, eyes sparkled in excitement. "I thought the intimacy was only for mates. Are we mates then, question?"

"Let's call it friend with benefits."

His eyes narrowed. "We don't do such things with friends."

You scoffed, pushing your hip to the side and biting the inside of your cheek. "Well, we do, so you can either accept it or not."

And seeing that this time his bratty stubbornness wouldn't work, Satoru nodded.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in the most embarrassed, going-straight-to-the-grave position you could imagine. With elbows supporting your body on the bedroom's mattress, legs spread open, and pussy pressed against the crystal wall. The slippery juices coated the surface, making Satoru breathe much, much harder than before. With fingers wrapped around the biggest, most monstrous cock you've ever seen.

You needed a moment to take in the sight that sprang up in front of your eyes after he took off the rest of the suit. Massive, veiny shaft, with a swelled protrusion at his base, probably used while mating. The blue skin was peppered with similar droplets sprinkled on his cheeks, and shimmered faintly whenever he looked down at your cunt.

Small and fluttering, with your hole squeezing around nothing and clit swelled from excitement.

The penetrative gaze of his made you warm up even more. "Satoru, touch me," slipped like an order.

His long finger brushed the crystal wall and pushed – gently, carefully, till he felt a soft button under his pad and heard a low moan escape your lips.

He dreamed of feeling the gummy structure of your pussy. To roll the clit between his fingers, without any surface protecting his body. To lower himself down and smell, lick, taste the dripping cum that in his mind was sweeter than anything he had ever tried.

And it should be noted that he had quite refined taste buds.

His other hand pumped his massive cock in slow strokes, enjoying the sight spreading in front of him much more than the feeling of his fingers wrapped around the dripping shaft.

"Does it feel good, question?" He asked, hearing another moan fill the small bedroom.

"Y-yeah, ahh, try to make gentle circles," slipped faintly, as you started to roll nipples between your fingers.

His thumb pressed against your clit harder, making your feet curl and legs spread even wider. As if trying to invite his massive cock, that would surely rip you in half.

Maybe the fact that you couldn't touch each other wasn't that bad. Because if he somehow found a way to fuck you with this size, you sure would feel it up in your throat.

And thus you enjoyed the sight spreading in front of your eyes – his beefy thighs bulging whenever you jolted under his thumb, pearly cum dripping down the blue skin, long fingers squeezing the veiny meat as he still oh-so-carefully rubbed your clit.

"It's getting wetter," he noticed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I want to taste you."

His low voice made your body melt under his fingers, forcing your thighs to spread wider and wider, while chasing the pleasure bubbling in your belly. Your hole fluttered around nothing, and a sheer sight of his cock spun your mind in crazy wish to get yourself stretched around it. To feel every vein scratch your tight walls, till the drenched head would kiss your swelling womb.

"Fuck, wait, I have an idea," you backed out, crawling towards your bag.

Crazy, stupid, nasty plan slipped into your head, as you took out a mid-size, creamy dildo. With a sucking pad at the end, and a slightly curved head. It wasn't yours, as you somehow found it among the things… oh well, does it really matter? It was clean and had been bathed in antiseptic spray multiple times; thus, using it was not disgusting at all.

But when Satoru saw it, his breath hitched. Eyes slipped down to his cock, and forehead furrowed. "Why is it so small, question?"

You chuckled, sticking it to the crystal wall. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's the average size of a human's dick."

He followed your body as you once again spread your legs open and brushed the silicone cock through your folds a few times. Drenching it all in your juices, and Satoru, since learning the meaning of jealousy, felt something unpleasant bubble in his heart. Because he wished to be the one making your pussy flutter around his head and push it inside, till your sugary walls would clamp around his fat cock.

Your forehead furrowed, eyes glistened from prickling tears as his thumb once again landed on your clit. But this time, the pleasure was twice as intense. With a silicone dick stretching your tight pussy and his finger rubbing you in slow, maddening circles.

"I could make you feel better," he groaned, hearing another pitched moan slip past your lips. "This pathetic thing is now worthy to be inside my sweetheart."

With rising irritation, he pressed your clit harsher. Till a tremble washed over your body and back hit the mattress, as you rolled your cunt to feel the dildo go deeper. But Satoru was right – his cock would indeed make you feel better.

Your hands slipped up to your breasts, pinching the hard buds and chasing the maddening pleasure bubbling in your lower belly.

A deep frown creased Satoru's forehead, and he gently squeezed your clit. "I can't see your face."

"R-right, sorry–ahhh," A cry rolled off your tongue as you once again leaned on your elbows. "Satoru, it feels so good, mhmm."

His cock was more flushed than before, with a cherry tip spilling the heavy, thick droplets all over his hand. He pumped it madly, never once taking his eyes off your lovely face. With pleasure twisting your brows and teary eyes fixed upon his.

"S-Satoru, I, fuck, I'm going to cum," the silicone cock kissed your cervix, smooching it wetly with hefty, gluey cum sipping from your hole.

You tried to imagine getting split open on his cock. Being filled by his cum, with creamy saps stuffing your swelling womb and pumping your belly full. Getting manhandled by his muscular arms and wide back, as he would fold you into a mating press and push into the mattress. Till each and every spring would painfully dig into your spine.

So with a final cry, you came.

With a loud cry, spine arching into the sweetest curve, and a sprinkling of sweetness gushing all over his thumb, although it was a true pity that he couldn't feel it. Your body trembled and lips fell open, seeing a furrow cloud his forehead and fingers tightening around his cock.

And then, an idea slipped quietly into your mind.

"Wait a minute, don't cum yet," you muttered, taking a pair of panties lying on your bed. With a single, dirty move, you rubbed them against your drenched folds, gathering all the creamy cum and honeyed sweetness.

Satoru… dear heavens.

When a flimsy material landed inside the shelf, quite similar to the one he installed in a tunnel, Satoru's fingers snapped forward and snatched it. He brought it closer to his nose, lips, feeling your precious wetness and the rich flavour burst right onto his tongue, as a low, primal groan escaped his throat.

"Mhmm, s-so, ahh, tastes so sweet," a muffled cry was almost incomprehensible with your panties filling his mouth.

The head of his cock pulsed, massive balls constricted whenever his tongue took another lick of your fresh cum and eyes… oh, eyes stayed on you.

On your breasts coated in sheer sweat, thighs still spread open and a little, minx smile twisting your lips. Satoru was sure he could cum only at the sheer sight of your angelic face, and thus, after a few more harsh pumps and muffled cries, he came. Loud and heavy, with creamy ropes shooting all over his glimmering skin and fully emptying everything he has been keeping far too long.

What a waste, you both thought, wishing it landed somewhere far, far sweeter and warmer. Deep inside your womb, preferably.

A moment has passed, with a small bedroom filled with your heavy breaths and shy glances, looking everywhere but at your cum-coated bodies. With a faint cough, you finally closed your thighs and covered yourself with a blanket.

Blooming loveliness crept up your cheeks, and suddenly looking at Satoru required far more courage and calm than it had merely thirty minutes ago.

Before you could ask whether he needed a towel, his low voice spoke first. "Are we mates now, question?"

He said sheepishly, lifting your panties with a finger.

You groaned and fell on a mattress with his chuckle tickling your burning ears.

You didn't want to destroy this moment, even though you knew your mission would end with you dying in space. That he would go back to his planet safely, while you would float and float and float, while eventually dying of hunger.

And so, sharing this sweet moment of intimacy, with warmth spreading beneath your chest, you nodded. "Yes, Satoru. Let's become mates."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next few months were filled with nothing but joy.

With movies playing on repeat in the small, cinematic room, Satoru watches each of them with his lips agape. Enjoying the landscapes of Earth, you could project them into a closed space, with a blue sky spreading across the ceiling and tall Scottish plains stretching beneath your feet.

With the golden sand of Thai beaches shimmering in the sun and coconuts falling from the palms, the chirping of birds perched high in the lush trees of the Amazon Forest, and the endless plains of the Sahara Desert.

When you joked that the three pyramids in Giza you were just looking at were believed to have been built by aliens, he only hummed and nodded as if in agreement. A scoff rolled off your tongue, and his head snapped towards you.

"Why are you nodding? Of course they weren't!"

Plush, bluish lips curved in a sly smile. "Is sweetheart sure, question? It looks like something we have on our planet."

An unbelievable shock crossed your face as you stared at him, speechless. "No, you don't!"

"Yes, we do."

"You're fucking with me."

His head tilted. "I thought we can't fuck."

You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder. Or at least against the crystal surface he was pressed against. "Forget it."

"I can't, my memory is excellent."

And that was indeed true, as Satoru seemed to remember every single thing you said or did over the past few months. The plan you devised to obtain a sample of the planet's atmospheric gas to discover why it was immune to deadly microbes was etched into his mind with meticulous precision.

Truly mesmerising creature he was, especially as he also remembered which buttons to push, to make you cum faster.

What you had also discovered was that Satoru loved to talk about your future.

Particularly during the late nights, when you were curled up under the warm blanket, lying on a mattress in a dimly lit room, with him cuddled up against your side.

He couldn't brush your soft cheek pressed against the wall, but it was fine.

For the look of your lovely face, he watched with warmth blooming in his chest, was enough.

On such nights, when both of you longed for each other's warmth, he enjoyed dreaming. Of you returning with him to his planet, building you a small, private island with oxygen, and fulfilling all your wishes. You teaching the children of his species physics – as you did on Earth – and him continuing to serve as the most valued engineer on his planet.

Of you and him living together in a small seaside cottage, spending days loving each other and lying on the soft beach till darkness would spill over the ocean's horizon – the only his planet had, the one he was ready to fully give into your hands. Having sex all day and night, to which you responded with a sweet, faint giggle, as sleep slowly slipped into your eyes.

"And how would we do it, hm?" you mumbled, pressing against the crystal wall.

A soft furrow haunted your forehead, and he imagined calming it with a gentle roll of his thumb. "The atmosphere of my planet allows us to use a special technique," through the glass wall, he traced the curve of your lips. "It wraps my body in a thin barrier, but I would be able to touch you," soft lips touched to the point where your nose pressed. "And kiss you. And hug you, make love with you, although we wouldn't have children."

You understood why and giggled softly, slowly opening your sleepy eyes to meet the endless, pale blue. "You really want to get even closer, huh?"

It was a joke, and yet a warmth bloomed behind his spectral eyes, forcing your heart to skip a beat. His hand pressed to the part where your chest met the wall, before he leaned his forehead against "yours". "If I could, I would make you live inside me. So nothing in this universe would ever rip us apart."

A faint oh rolled past your lips as you bit on the soft inside of your cheek. "Satoru, I don't know how long your species live, but… I don't have as much time as you think."

A sudden panic swelled behind his eyes, and thumb slipped out of the crystal wall to brush your lower lip. "My best friends have been mates for the past hundred and sixty years. How many can you give me, question?"

Something ripped through your heart. Cut it with painful slashes, till a crease on your forehead deepened. "Not a lot, Satoru. Maybe seventy years?"

His thumb paused, an ache spreading across the vast, pale blue plains. "I've lived three hundred years without you," he said, warm lips pressing into the wrinkle between your "brows". "I won't survive another seventy."

But the endless honeymoon couldn't last long.

For there was a reason why both of you found yourselves in space. Why the mission was tagged as suicidal, and why there wasn't enough fuel to get you back to Earth. And while Satoru's dreams indeed sounded tempting, you knew that it simply wouldn't work out.

For you breathed oxygen, and he needed ammonia gas.

Your body stayed cool at thirty-six degrees Celsius, while his was burning up to over two hundred.

He was three hundred years old – you twenty-seven.

But he didn't have to know all of that. Over the past twenty-seven years, no one had made you laugh, enjoy, and love life as much as he did. Even if those brief moments of happiness were only meant to last a few months, they were enough.

After the mission, he could go back safely to his home, and you… well.

And you would need to watch him die.

It was truly unpredictable, and none of you could foresee how the situation would turn out. You finally arrived on the planet, prepared to collect the necessary samples of the antidote. You didn't know, however, how dense its atmosphere would be.

How the wind would violently hit your ship, tossing it sharply left and right as you stepped outside in your spacesuit and carried Satoru's sampling device back onto the ship.

He told you to leave it. When you almost fell off the ship, he begged you to come inside. Hit the wall with hands, screamed right into the speaker inside your helmet, pleaded to leave the sample and just come back.

But you simply couldn't do it. Because leaving it here, after Satoru spent decades in space trying to seek the solution, would be simply foolish. Egoistic, and thus, after a few harsh currents, you grabbed the box filled with antidote cells and went back to the ship.

But then, it started spinning. And spinning and spinning, wish wind smacking it in violent currents, and you found it almost impossible to get back onto the normal route. Every single light inside the control room shimmered red. Satoru tried to calm you down, but there was nothing he could truly do from behind the glass wall.

You pushed and flickered every button, every controller, but after one sudden, brutal tug of the ship, your face hit the console.

Eyes filled with red, a nasty crack came from the nose, and the gaze became a bit hazy. You tried to push one last button that would help the ship get away from the planet's strong current, but you were simply too weak. With blood slowly covering your whole face and belts still pinning you to the chair.

Satoru shouted something, but you couldn't hear him clearly. Was it because of the red lamps and an alarm filling the control room? Or maybe because of the sudden sleepiness that blanketed your eyelids?

His fists hit the glass wall, spreading the dull echo around the control room. A soft sweetheart sweetheart sweetheart rolled past his lips, but you simply had no energy to look up. As if you did, the sigh of his trembling, panicked face would rip your heart apart.

His large fists wanted to break through the wall, eyes looked at the blood dripping down your face, body filled with helplessness and desperation, trying everything in his power to get close to you.

With a single finger, you still strained to push that last red button. To get the ship back on track, at least allow Satoru to be safe, and finish the mission that would help save his planet. But your body couldn't handle the gravitational force caused by the spin, which pressed you into the console. The slow crushing of your lungs, mind filling with fogginess, throat crushed beneath the flickering buttons.

So with a soft, almost inaudible I'm sorry, your eyes closed.

A second has passed, a minute, with mind registering the crying alarm and… and a shatter of glass.

A sudden pain washed over your body – burning and stinging every nerve. Someone lifted you up, carefully, slowly, trying to wrap you in blankets and clothes, anything to keep you from the lethal touch.

Quiet, you'll live, sweetheart will live, sweetheart, sweetheart, keep your eyes open, amid violent waves of coughing and painful moans, filled the corridors of your spaceship. When your eyes opened a little, you saw nothing but thick steam evaporating from something. 

Someone.

"Satoru?" slipped out in a whisper as, from beneath the curling steam, a blue, familiar face looked down at you, wet-cheeked. "Satoru, no, y-you'll die–"

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, it's okay, sweetheart will live," he repeated like a mantra, hugging your wrapped body closer to his.

Fiery skin burned through the thick layers of blankets, leaving burns all over your bloodstained skin. Your body hit something, and before you noticed, an automated medical care robot soon filled your vision. The mechanical arms pressed the oxygen mask to your face before an IV needle slipped beneath the skin of your arm.

"Satoru," you mumbled weakly, trying to find those familiar, pale eyes.

And he was right there, offering you the most painful, heart-tearing sight. Tears ran down his cheeks, white steam curled tortuously from his body, and gaze slowly grew weaker. He could barely breathe, yet still stood right there.

Over your barely warm body, making sure that you would live.

"I watch you–"

"No, S-Satoru," barely pushed through your squeezed throat. With crystal tears swirling in your eyes and fingers trying to push him away from the table. "Go back, p-please, or–"

"No, I watch you sleep." his fingers grabbed the hem of your shirt. "You won't die".

You were too weak to fight him. In too much pain, with your head pounding, skin burning from his touch and anaesthesia slowly kicking in.

And so, with a last look into the eyes your heart laughed for, you fell asleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed. How long you stayed under the mechanical clutches of the medical robot.

How long Satoru needed to suffer, to make sure you would be alive.

But when you finally woke up and ripped yourself away from the needles, he wasn't there.

He wasn't in your sight, but something else, something burned, marked the floor. Dark traces of blue dust led further inside the spaceship. Still weak, with the last traces of blood dried on your cheek, you followed them, your heart pounding. And a little grain of foolish hope bloomed inside your heart, fresh tears already swirling in the corners of eyes.

The ship was back on a normal route, carrying you through the galaxy at a slow, peaceful pace. Thanks to Satoru.

The blue dust led you through the control room, down into the basement, kitchen, bathroom, and finally to the bedroom, as if he tried to, for the last time, see every part of the ship. Just to make sure everything was working. That after waking up, you wouldn't have to bother yourself with anything.

And so another wave of crushing sob bubbled in your throat. A pain ripping you open as you entered your shared bedroom and saw him there – curled on the mattress, the upper part of his body already slipped inside his crystal corridor. As if he didn't have the strength to crawl in fully. Too busy watching you sleep.

"Oh, Satoru," a cry finally escaped your throat, as your knees bent beside his body. "You fool, so stupid, you're–oh!" A hysterical lament filled the small bedroom as you touched his cold body. "Satoru, how c-could you leave me alone?"

Face, always beaming with so much warmth and joy, lay in dead silence. With your loving, blue eyes closed behind the curtain of white lashes and lips more pale than usual.

Gathering every last ounce of strength still boiling in your body, you brought his ball back. In such a tight, ammonia-filled space, the chance of his recovery was much higher.

Opening it was almost impossible, so you cut a hole big enough to, with pain ripping through your muscles and sweat dripping down your spine, somehow push him inside. And then you glued the walls tight, with a prayer dripping off your lips, and your body cuddled into his crystal ball.

"I'll watch you sleep," you whispered, brushing the surface with his pressed cheek. "You won't die."

𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

The sun spilling through the curtain tickled your cheeks. The chirping of birds made you sigh deeply, and the gentle sea breeze coated your skin with soft kisses. The shoulder, the soft line of the spine, the slightly sweating neck, with a salty fragrance slipping sweetly into your nostrils.

You tried to stretch, waking up your stiff body from a deep slumber, but something locked you in place.

Something heavy and long, curling around your waist and pulling you closer to another stony wall.

Or, maybe you should say, stony chest.

Looking over your shoulder, you've met with a cheeky smile curling your husband's lips and still-sleepy, pale eyes. He pulled you closer, until your head found itself under his chin and your legs entangled with his.

"Good morning," you giggled, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"

Satoru hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The thin barrier wrapping his body glimmered under the spilling sunlight. After years on his planet, you no longer needed a translator to understand his language. And so you kissed his blue neck, tracing the kisses up, and up, along his jaw and chin, until finally locking your lips with his.

"Apologies, I didn't watch you sleep."

You chuckled, biting gently on his lower lip. "Were you that tired after last night?"

"Mmm," a soft, satisfied hum escaped his throat when you felt something hard poking your belly. "Forgive your husband, he didn't realise he had a tigress and no wife at home."

You chuckled sweetly, forcing his lips to curl in a sly smile.

"Does my wife need anything? Do you want Suguru to lower the temperature?"

Tracing the sharpness of his jaw, up to the curve of his lips, your head shook. "No, it's warm enough. Maybe you can ask him to lower the birds' chirping a bit. I think they're a bit louder than yesterday."

He nodded, pulling you even closer. Till your bodies tangled in one, and a slow, peaceful pounding of his heart beat against your breasts. "Mhm, sure. But let's sleep a bit longer, and then you can jump on me as much as you want, hm?"

So with the last, soft kiss between your brows and heart swelling from feeling the heaviness of your body on his, Satoru allowed you to cuddle into his muscular chest and watch him slowly slip into a deep slumber.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

I cried on this movie five times, 10/10, will never watch again.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Selfish Things

Pairings: Sick Soft!Ryomen Sukuna x Foreigner Wife!Reader

Summary: Before Sukuna was the feverish husband sulking in your lap, he was the college kid who joined a baseball team over one sarcastic comment, forgot a whiskey-vodka kiss by a fountain, and then tried to win you back with coffee at five in the morning. Two years, one startup, one furious Kaori, and one war with Wasuke later, he still let you feed him okayu while pretending being loved was a punishment.

Context: This is a prequel to “Chopsticks/No Tattoos” in the same modern human AU. Sukuna has no tattoos here; the reader is a foreign wife who met him during college abroad, and this covers their messy, almost-love-arranged marriage, the two-year stability test from her parents, and the early tension with Wasuke before the softer domestic present. Also, Wasuke’s attitude toward Reader is written as family prejudice and old guilt, not as something the story agrees with. Kaori is there making his life difficult on purpose because she has sense and no patience. WC: 4.3K.

Warnings: SoftKuna · Baseball Player Sukuna · Flirting · Past Parental Death · Childhood Parentification · Cultural Tension · In-Law Prejudice Toward A Foreign Spouse · Implied Xenophobia · Family Drama · Alcohol · Drunken Kissing · Miscommunication · Feverish Husband · Sickfic · Comfort Food · Adult Language · Mild Hurt/Comfort · Domestic Fluff.

A/N: Based off this request. Glitter magenta dividers are mine, and engagement banners are from @saradika-graphics. Images all from Pinterest/Manga.

Sukuna’s fever patch slid off his forehead for the third time and landed against your knee, making him grunt into your thighs.

“Stop moving,” you murmured, pinching the patch by one corner before setting it back over his brows.

“Your legs are uneven.”

“Excuse me!”

“Stop fidgeting, woman,” he muttered, eyes shut, cheek pressed against your thigh, one heavy arm hooked around your calf as if you might escape with the good soup pot and his soul.

On the low table, the okayu cooled in a bowl. It was simple in the way sick food should be: rice cooked soft enough to forgive the body.

You’d cooked it the way Wasuke showed you three weeks after the wedding, stiff beside the stove as though sharing his dead wife’s recipe with the foreign girl his eldest son dragged across an ocean counted as state treason. Rice soft, egg ribbons thin, ginger grated fine, scallions at the end, and sesame oil after the heat died. After that, Wasuke had looked at the pot, grunted, and left.

Sukuna had eaten two bowls that night and acted angry about the scallions.

Now he opened one eye when the steam reached him.

“That smells like hers.”

You kept your fingers in his hair, working through the damp midnight bordeaux spikes with the diligence of a woman who had learned that Ryomen Sukuna accepted care best when he could pretend it was against his will. “The version you made for me was saltier.”

“I was six when I learned it.”

That was how his mother always appeared in him now, practical and plain.

Sukuna had been six when he first started cooking for his brothers: rice for Jin, who was four and already chaotic, while three-year-old Choso sat in a high chair in a house still full of loss. Wasuke used to work until the last train and came home to three boys asleep near a lukewarm pot. Eso and Kechizu came later, two more boys folded into the family because Wasuke had never learned how to refuse a child at the door, even when he had already failed the ones inside it. Sukuna grew tall out of obligation, learned prices before jokes, learned where the clean towels were, learned which brother cried from hunger, which cried from jealousy, which one got carsick, and which one lied about homework with crumbs on his face.

You had heard pieces from Jin, more from Kaori, and almost all of it from Choso after plum wine at New Year’s. From Sukuna, you got a broken button sewn onto Jin’s kindergarten shirt, a burn mark from miso soup, Choso asleep under the table during entrance exams, and Wasuke pushing university forms across the table until Sukuna left for college abroad with Choso, two suitcases, and a face that made strangers change paths.

You saw that face during orientation, across a lecture hall filled with people pretending they understood finance. He looked bored, beautiful, and furious at the slow procession of intro slides.

The first time you’d spoken near Sukuna, you were at the court, half annoyed, half overheated, watching a guy brag after missing every shot.

“Very inspiring,” you said to your friend. “A man can fail in public and still develop varsity lore.”

Toji had coughed to hide a laugh.

Sukuna’s head slowly turned in your direction, his attention locking onto you while you walked away without noticing.

The next day, he joined the baseball team, because sports were one of the few things Wasuke had taught him properly, and dragged Choso and Toji with him under the excuse of networking, which sounded fake even before Toji looked at the sign-up sheet and said, “I came here to get a degree, asshole.”

Sukuna signed him up without asking.

Choso lasted one practice before the coach quietly moved him into scorekeeping because he treated every missed catch like a personal family disgrace. Toji, irritatingly, had good form. Sukuna, meanwhile, had worse form at first, but he made up for it through pure spite. He practiced for more than six months with his knuckles taped, his shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and his jaw clenched whenever anyone suggested he take a break.

Years later, Choso once got wine-drunk at dinner and confessed the truth over his third glass. “He thought you had a thing for athletes.”

Sukuna had promptly shoved garlic bread in his mouth.

That season, Sukuna won the final game and walked off with the MVP trophy.

He stood under the field lights afterward, broad-shouldered and mean-looking, still breathing hard while his teammates yelled around him. You remembered pretending to look at your phone because staring at a man like that in public felt humiliating, especially when his eyes would catch you.

That night, at a frat party with cheap beer in red cups and glitter stuck to every available surface, he found you by the kitchen counter.

You were reaching for a drink when his hand appeared beside yours, palm braced on the counter, taped knuckles close enough for you to see the dried blood.

“You said that thing about folklore potential.”

You blinked up at him. “Pardon?”

Toji snorted from behind him.

Sukuna looked over with the slow, dangerous focus of a man deciding whether killing his only friend was worth it.

Toji grinned and left with his beer.

Sukuna turned back to you.

“You said it during last semester’s festival,” he said, trying to help you recall. "Courtside. Some guy missed every shot, and you called him living proof that men could fail in public and still develop folklore.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup.

He remembered the whole sentence.

The party kept moving around you, but Sukuna stood close enough for you to catch the heat coming off him, clean sweat under his cologne, whiskey on his breath, dried blood dark near the edge of his tape. His eyes dropped to your mouth once, slow, then came back up like he expected you to accuse him of it.

“You were listening?” you asked, voice softer.

His mouth moved, almost a smirk. “You said it like a challenge.”

“And you answer every challenge by joining a whole team?”

“I answer the interesting ones.”

That was annoying. So, so annoying.

He looked down at his cup, thumb rubbing over the rim, ears turning a deep red that made the whole thing worse.

“You practiced six months because I made one comment near a court?”

“I won.”

“You bled.”

“Still won.”

“You bled for my approval?”

His eyes came back to yours. “Did it work?”

Your drink touched your mouth, but you forgot to sip.

He saw that. The corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it, and for one second he looked younger than his reputation, boyish in the most dangerous way, pleased and embarrassed and hungry all at once.

“Depends how often you plan on embarrassing yourself.”

“For you?” His gaze dropped again, softer this time, and his voice lost enough edge to make your stomach pull tight. “I could make time.”

That was the first time you saw him smile with his eyes.

It changed his face in a way you hated instantly. He looked younger under the bruising neon lights and the cheap kitchen bulbs, less carved out of spite, and almost pleased with himself in a boyish, reckless way that made your stomach dip. The same man who had cursed at teammates all season now stood in front of you with bloody tape around his knuckles and his ears turning deeper merlot red because you had noticed him.

Toji argued with someone in the hallway, while Choso called his name from another room.

Sukuna silenced it without looking.

You watched him choose badly in real time.

“It’s dangerous, you know.”

“What?”

“Wanting attention this badly.”

His thumb slowed against the cup. He leaned closer, just enough that his breath reached your lips before his hand reached the counter beside your hip.

“Only yours.”

The room seemed to thin around that. The shouting, the music, the cheap beer, the sticky counter under your fingers, all of it slid back while he looked at you like he had spent his whole life being useful and had finally found something he wanted for no reason except wanting it.

Then his voice dropped.

“Come outside.”

“You ordering me around now?”

His mouth twitched, but the look in his eyes stayed hopeful in a way he had no practice hiding yet.

“Come outside,” he said again, quieter. "Before I remembered I have a dorm to get back to.”

So you did.

The fountain sat in the middle of the courtyard, loud under the campus lights, turning the water silver where it broke over the stone. People kept passing behind you in loose groups, jackets half on, everyone too wrapped up in their own world to care about the tall man following you with a gaze that stayed fixed on your back.

Even in heels, you had to tip your chin up when he stepped close.

That pleased him for some reason.

You saw it in the slow drop of his lashes, in the way his mouth curved before he caught himself, and in the faint flush sitting high on his cheekbones from whiskey, game, and the reckless thing that had finally broken loose in him tonight.

His hand found your waist first, careful through the thin fabric of your top and large enough to make the touch feel possessive even while his thumb moved with almost shy restraint.

The first brush of his mouth was warm and rough with whiskey, softer than his face had promised.

You tasted the bite of it on his tongue when he kissed you again, and he tasted the vodka on yours with a low breath that slipped into your mouth and made your fingers tighten in his shirt.

The fountain sprayed mist against your bare ankles. Sukuna angled his body closer, broad shoulders blocking the light as if the entire campus could go around him.

He kissed like a man trying to learn greed in real time.

Slow at first, almost measured, his lips and tongue moving over yours with the same stubborn concentration he brought to every impossible thing he decided to conquer.

Then your hand slid up his chest, over the cotton, and your nails caught lightly at the base of his neck.

His control slipped there, fingers flexed at your waist, and his breath left him harder. The next kiss turned deeper, warmer, and less polished, carrying the sharp sweetness of vodka and the smoke of whiskey until the party, the courtyard, the passing students, and the fountain all blurred into background noise.

You smiled against his mouth because he was so tall and broad and still bending to you, because his hand had started firm and ended careful, and because the dangerous boy with blood on his taped knuckles kissed you as if he had spent months working up the nerve and had finally found a way to be selfish.

Sukuna felt the smile and chased it.

His mouth followed yours when you leaned back for air, drunk and beautiful and almost boyish with wanting, the fountain light shifting over his face while his fingers pressed into your waist, as if he had to check that you were real before he let himself kiss you again.

“You do this often?” you asked.

“Win games?”

“Corner women beside fountains.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip. “You came outside first.”

“You followed.”

“You looked back.”

The answer caught in your throat because you had.

He leaned in slowly enough for you to move, and you hated him for that too, for giving you room while looking like a man who hated asking the universe for anything. His mouth brushed yours again, testing, warm with booze and victory, then again with less patience when your fingers curled into the back of his hair.

You remembered his arm tightening at your waist.

You remembered laughing against his mouth because his knee hit the stone rim when you tugged him closer.

But by morning, he’d forgotten.

You avoided him for weeks so aggressively that people started avoiding you too.

By finals week, the vending machine ate your coins at two in the morning, and you wrapped your hand in a scarf so the punch would leave less evidence.

A large hand caught your wrist.

“University cameras.”

You whipped around, ready to commit another felony.

Sukuna looked at the scarf around your fist, then at your face. “Pathetic technique.”

“Fuck you!”

“I’ll take the fine.” He dragged you behind him and hit the machine’s side with the heel of his palm.

The canned coffee dropped with a clunk.

You tried to pay him through Venmo.

He ignored the phone. “Coffee. Five.”

“I have exams.”

“So do I.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

His eyes narrowed. “You hate me.”

The cold coffee sweated against your palm. “You kissed me and ignored me the next day.”

His face changed. “I kissed you.”

“Congratulations, memory champion.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“Do-over,” he said, finally letting go of your wrist.

“What—”

“Coffee. Five. I’ll be sober. Then your parents.”

Your brain went smooth. “My parents?”

“I’m serious about you. Let me prove it.”

You agreed because you thought he wouldn’t show up.

But he showed up.

On Friday, he showed up in a nice shirt, hair still slightly wild, carrying sweets your father liked and tea your mother pretended she understood. Your parents were wary until he spoke about graduate plans, housing, money, distance, flights, paperwork, and what kind of life he intended to build. He made his love sound like post-college logistics.

When your mother asked whether this was a love marriage and whether the two of you had been seeing each other for a long time, Sukuna glanced at you once.

“It can be. I’ll arrange it.”

Your father had laughed first, loud and surprised.

Your mother had stared at him over her teacup. “You are very arrogant.”

Sukuna sat across from both of your parents with his spine straight. “Useful trait for marriage.”

That earned him another cup of tea.

Your parents liked him more than they wanted to. Your father liked that he spoke plainly about rent, savings, visas, health insurance, and work. Your mother liked that he watched your plate, noticed when your tea cooled, and moved the sugar nearer without turning it into a performance for his own ego. Still, liking him and handing you over to him were two separate matters.

Your father gave him two years.

“Build something stable. Let her finish her postgraduate work. Then, depending on your situation, we will discuss marriage properly”

Your mother had been gentler, speaking of long work hours, lonely wives, and marriages that became houses shared by two tired strangers and asking if that was the silence women were expected to survive just because everyone called it adjustment.

Sukuna listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he looked at you for half a second, then back at them. “Two years.”

During those two years, you pursued your postgraduate degree, and Sukuna built his life as though he had taken your father’s condition personally. He worked, studied, pitched, saved, fought suppliers, buried Choso in spreadsheets, and sent your father practical updates other men would have found humiliating—lease terms, funding status, tax paperwork, projected income, emergency savings, and health coverage. He broke the future down into numbers because that was the only language cautious parents trusted.

Your parents softened by inches.

And during those two years, Wasuke did the opposite.

He ignored calls, rejected video chats, called the idea foolish, and referred to you as “that girl from far away” with the tone of a man describing a storm coming toward his roof.

In his head, Sukuna had already sacrificed enough of his childhood raising Jin and Choso in the gaps Wasuke left behind and learned how to become useful before he became tall.

So to Wasuke, his eldest son deserved a Japanese wife who understood the house, the language, the duties, the old rules, the rituals, and the invisible work.

A woman who would take care of Sukuna properly, because Wasuke had failed to do it when it mattered.

That was the only part he’d admit to himself.

The uglier part came out through mutters about culture, distance, manners, food, family obligations, and whether a foreign daughter-in-law could truly fit into their house.

Kaori tried to reason with him for months.

Then she gave up and became the exact daughter-in-law from Wasuke’s most traditional daydreams, except with police training, a baby on her hip, and the patience of a very focused woman.

If Japanese wives were so naturally suited to saving households, then Kaori would show him what that looked like at full volume.

She corrected him at dinner.

She corrected him in the entryway.

She corrected him during video calls with Eso and Kechizu, who had just moved abroad for university and kept joining family calls at ungodly hours with instant noodles and the kind of confidence only boys living alone for the first time possessed.

Wasuke would start one of his speeches about family values, and Eso would say from a dorm room several time zones away, “Dad, I ate cereal from a rice cooker yesterday. No foreign woman wants me.”

Kechizu, wrapped in a blanket with his hair sticking up, would add, “Aniki’s foreign wife sounds advanced. Can she teach me laundry?”

Kaori would smile with all her teeth. “Look at your useful Japanese sons.”

She corrected him while holding a sleeping Yuji against her shoulder with one hand and pointing a rice paddle at him with the other.

She told him Japanese women were human beings, rather than household appliances gifted by the municipal office after marriage registration.

She told him she had married Jin, which meant the family already had one Japanese wife with opinions, a badge, and access to handcuffs. Then she added that they should all stay humble until Choso brought someone home, since, with their luck, he might choose a Japanese husband and make Wasuke learn new vocabulary at his age.

Jin wisely stayed silent because Kaori looked just about ready to arrest the entire family tree.

Choso worked himself raw beside Sukuna until the startup received its first funding, partly because he believed in the business and partly because he understood that Wasuke respected proof more than pleading. Eso and Kechizu sent useless encouragement from abroad, mostly memes, pictures of terrible dorm food, and one voice note of Kechizu saying, “Brother, become rich fast. Dad will get calmer when money appears.”

Sukuna played it once accidentally during a conference call and regretted letting them have phones.

Only after the funding came through did Wasuke answer properly, voice rough through the speaker.

“Bring her home.”

That did less than Sukuna thought.

After the wedding, the house accepted you on paper before it accepted you in practice.

Sukuna left before sunrise, came back with tired eyes, and still put himself between you and every sharp thing his father almost said.

Wasuke lasted ten minutes in a room with you before inventing errands. He watched your hands in the kitchen, your shoes near the genkan, your Japanese at dinner, the way you folded towels, and the way you soothed Yuji when he cried.

Every small difference became evidence until Kaori started making his life hell on purpose.

Yuji had already been little during the long marriage negotiations, and after you moved to Japan, taking care of him became the first thing that made the house feel less hostile.

You learned street signs, trash days, family recipes, Kaori’s coffee, Choso’s favorite saucepan, and the exact way to hold Yuji against your hip when he got sick. You learned which conversations stopped when you entered and learned how long you could sit downstairs before Wasuke’s silence made the room feel smaller.

Sukuna noticed everything.

The fight finally came after dinner one night when Wasuke said something mild enough for guests and cruel enough for family.

Sukuna set his bowl down.

The whole table went still.

“You had me raise your children,” he said, voice flat. “Jin, Choso, Eso, Kechizu. I cooked for them. Bathed them. Packed their bags. Took Choso abroad because you could barely look at the house after she died. I did everything useful. I wanted one selfish thing, and you still found a way to make her pay for it.”

Wasuke’s face went stone cold.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ll take her and leave.”

Your hand reached for his arm, but he caught your fingers before you could soften the blow for him.

The house had heard Sukuna angry before. Everyone had heard Sukuna angry.

This was different. He was quiet, planned, and already half done in his head.

Kaori folded her arms. “You see this? I’ve been warning you.”

Jin whispered, “Kaori.”

She kicked him under the table.

Wasuke stared at Sukuna, then at you, then at the demon named Kaori, then at Yuji asleep with his cheek mashed against Choso’s shoulder, and something in him finally seemed to understand the shape of what he was about to lose if he kept mistaking stubbornness for authority, or at least who he’d get stuck with.

He calmed down after that.

Very slowly and very poorly, with all the grace of an old man swallowing a nail and the pride of a man who would rather die than call it an apology.

Sukuna’s work hours eased, and the house adjusted by inches.

Wasuke began buying vegetables you liked. Choso started buying you more of the good tea. Kaori stopped hovering near you during every family meal, though she still watched Wasuke like a prison guard. Yuji called you ‘Auntie,’ then forgot your name entirely for one week and called you ‘my one’ because Sukuna had said it once while half-asleep on the couch. Sukuna mildly scolded him for the bad grammar.

And Wasuke, who still struggled to stay in a room with shame, began staying fifteen minutes.

Then twenty.

Then long enough to let you know that Sukuna’s mother grated the ginger finer.

The marriage had been arranged in the stupidest way, by the only man in it who had already fallen before you knew his name.

A cough dragged you back.

Sukuna turned his face deeper into your lap, heat rolling off his skin. “Stop sniffling.”

You blinked hard and wiped under your eyes. “You’re awake?”

His eyes were still closed beneath the fever patch. “Barely.”

You reached for the bowl and stirred the porridge. “Sit up.”

He cracked one eye open. “You enjoy ordering me around too much.”

“I learned from a tyrant.” You slid a hand under the back of his head and helped him up.

He complained through the whole movement and then opened his mouth when you lifted the spoon.

After the first bite, his gaze dropped.

You knew better than to look victorious.

“Too much ginger.”

“You finished two full bowls at breakfast.”

“I was being charitable.”

“You stole Jin’s lunch too.”

“Jin breathes too much. He can eat air.”

You fed him again, and this time his hand closed around your wrist, holding the spoon steady after he swallowed.

For a second, he looked past you into some small kitchen years ago, where a child stood on a stool and stirred dinner for boys who had already lost more than they understood.

Then his thumb moved once over your pulse.

“She would have liked you,” he said, rough, trying to sound irritated by the admission.

Your throat tightened.

From downstairs, Yuji shrieked, “Auntie! Uncle Ryo’s face looks like spicy mentaiko!”

Kaori yelled, “Yuji, indoor voice.”

“It is indoor!” Yuji shouted back, deeply offended. “Yuji is inside!”

Wasuke’s voice followed, dry and pleased, from the dining room. “Good. Fever might season him into a decent person.”

Sukuna shut his eyes. “Pack my bags.”

“You say that every day.”

“I mean it every day.”

You carefully changed the fever patch on his forehead. “Did you eat Wasuke’s pickled daikon? He was looking for it earlier.”

“No..”

“He made extra for you this morning.”

Sukuna rubbed his forehead. “It was poisonous.”

“Then why did I catch you licking the container clean on the kitchen camera?”

“I was checking for poison.”

Downstairs, Yuji yelled again, “Auntie! Grandpa said Uncle looks like a boiled crab!”

Kaori’s voice arrived like judgment. “Father.”

Wasuke muttered something about weak modern men and ginger compresses.

Sukuna opened his eyes, fever-bright and deeply offended by affection. You lifted another spoonful before he could argue himself into a worse temperature.

He ate it.

Then he settled back into your lap, dragging your hand onto his hair as if every soft thing in this house belonged to him by conquest.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered.

“You have been here an hour.”

“Your lap is improving.”

Downstairs, Yuji started chanting for ice cream. Jin attempted a police voice and lost control of the room in seconds. Choso said something that made Kaori laugh. Wasuke complained over everyone, louder than the kettle.

Sukuna exhaled against your knee, heavy and warm.

You kept combing your fingers through his hair until his grip around your calf loosened again.

On the table, the okayu waited, still warm enough for a second bowl.

A/N: Let me know your thoughts?

Chopsticks/No Tattoos | Masterlist

Tiny Okayu/Sick-Day Rice Porridge Recipe

It is lovely when you feel sick, tired, sad, agitated, or married to a man who pretends soup is an attack.

Take 1 cup cooked rice and simmer it with 2–3 cups water or broth until the rice breaks down and turns soft, creamy, and porridge-like.

Add salt to taste.

If you want it richer, stir in a beaten egg near the end.

If you want it warmer, add grated ginger.

If you want comfort, add sesame oil, scallions, pepper, chicken, tofu, mushrooms, vegetables, chili oil, butter, ghee, soy sauce, or whatever your household would put in sick-day food.

Basically: rice + liquid + patience.

Make it plain, make it spicy, make it like your own culture’s comfort food.

The point is that someone cared enough to stand over a pot for you.

For my Indian baddies, eat khichdi.

[graac1e]

opening up a x black reader fic and all of a sudden evb talkin and acting like they grew up in the bronx, japan

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth masterlist | ryomen sukuna

wish I could see that it feels much better when I'm with you

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better

episode 1: going through it

episode 2: under your spell

episode 3: anyone out there?

episode 4: expectations are too high

episode 5: crush

episode 6: I just don't know right now

episode 7: late nights

episode 8: so come a little closer

episode 9: beating like a hammer

episode 10: stop the world I wanna get off (with you)

episode 11: I'll stand here all night long

episode 12: sugar mice

episode 13: wonderful life

episode 14: how I’ve longed for you

episode 15: tell me that you love me

episode 16: let me always be with you

episode 17: wound up with a purpose

[ibuprofein]

MEANIE

𐙚!!── jabber and his mean girlfriend!

⤷ ❝ { cw: nsfw mentioned, riding, switch!reader, switch!jabber, wall sex, interrupted during sex, dirty talk, couch sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds, slight! degrading } ¡! ❞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

jabber doesn’t even try to pretend he wants a “nice” girlfriend because he figured out real quick that nice isn’t what keeps his attention.

nice would’ve apologized to that cashier, smiled a little, or maybe even laughed it off. you didn’t do any of that and somehow that was exactly what had him standing there fighting a grin.

the line was dragging at the register, the cashier stumbling over his words, dropping coins, and starting sentences he couldn’t finish. jabber was already halfway tuned out, just waiting for the bag so he could leave, but you shifted next to him and that’s what pulled his focus back.

your nails tapped once against the counter, your weight settling into your hip, and your brows lifted just slightly as you watched the whole thing unfold like you were already bored of it before it even finished happening.

“can you just give me the receipt,” you said, tone flat and just done waiting.

the cashier nodded fast while apologizing under his breath and trying to move quicker. you exhaled through your nose as you looked off to the side like the situation wasn’t even worth your energy.

jabber should’ve stepped in and smoothed it over but instead he found himself watching you more than anything else, noticing the way you didn’t fidget or perform patience for anyone’s comfort.

the second the bag hit the counter, you let jabber grab it and turned like the moment was already over in your head.

“why he acting like that,” you muttered as soon as you were walking away, not bothering to lower your voice.

jabber let out a quiet laugh and fell into step beside you while shaking his head, already used to the way you moved through the world without censoring yourself for it.

“you don’t be giving people no patience,” he said, still amused.

“they need to act normal then,” you replied, already pulling your phone out to check yourself in the reflection, fixing your gloss like nothing had just happened.

that was the part that got him because you didn’t soften it afterward or think twice about it. you just said what you meant and kept moving like it was simple fact.

jabber glanced at you with a grin he couldn’t really hide. “you mean as hell.”

you looked at him like that was obvious information. “then leave me alone.”

“can’t do that,” he said easily while catching your wrist before you could walk ahead of him and pulling you back just enough to keep you close without making a scene. “i like it.”

you sucked your teeth but didn’t pull away, letting him guide you forward like it wasn’t even a discussion.

most people only see the attitude, the eye rolls, the quick “move” when he’s in your space, or the “shut up” when he’s talking too much but jabber pays attention to everything that slips in between those moments.

like how your hand finds his in a crowd without you thinking about it or how you’ll stop mid step, look him over, and fix something on him like it’s your responsibility without ever announcing it.

“why you got this on like that,” you muttered one time, already straightening his collar while he stood there letting you do it. “stand still.”

“it was fine,” he said, even though he didn’t move at all.

“it wasn’t,” you replied while smoothing it down properly before stepping back to look at him again. “there.”

no compliment came with it but he understood it anyway because you didn’t miss things when it came to him.

and he learned quickly that you expected the same attention back, even if you never said it gently.

the first time he noticed something off in your appearance and didn’t fix it, you caught him looking before he could decide what to do.

“what,” you said, already suspicious and raising your arched brow.

“nothing,” he answered, thinking he could leave it alone.

“fix it,” you told him immediately, like it was obvious that was the only correct option.

now he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to you, because his hands are already in your hair whenever he notices something out of place, careful while you stand there acting like you’re annoyed about it even when you’re not moving away.

“hold still,” he murmurs.

“i am still,” you snap back automatically even though you lean into his touch just slightly like your body disagrees with your mouth.

and he notices every time.

same way he notices how you’ll be on the phone, voice sharp and irritated, arguing with somebody like you’ve got all the time in the world to be upset, pacing a little as you talk through it.

“because that’s not what i said,” you’re saying, clearly annoyed now.

jabber is sitting nearby watching you and when you pass him mid sentence, you don’t even pause, you just lean down and press a quick kiss to his lips.

“…no, listen to me,” you continue, already walking away like nothing happened.

jabber just laughs quietly under his breath, shaking his head because that’s your version of affection. it’s quick and unannounced like it barely exists, even though it lands every time.

even when you’re in a mood, when your tone is sharp and your patience is gone, you still don’t actually push him away in the way your words suggest.

“get out my face,” you mutter, barely looking at him.

jabber steps closer anyway as his hands settle at your waist like he already knows better than to take that seriously.

you don’t move his hands, not even a little, and instead you shift just enough to stay comfortable while still pretending you don’t want him there.

“why you always under me?” you complain.

“because you like me right here,” he answers like it’s already decided.

you roll your eyes but your fingers hook into his shirt for a second before you let go, like your actions answered faster than your pride did.

jabber notices all of it, the attitude and everything underneath it, the way you’ll talk to him crazy but still fix him, still reach for him, still let him touch you like that space belongs to him no matter what.

like today, the air is still thick with sex and humidity while your bodies pressed together on the couch.

jabber’s weight is a comfortable anchor as his softening cock still nestled inside you as you trace idle patterns on the damp skin of his back, your own heartbeat slowing to a steady thump.

then three sharp knocks bang on the door.

“the hell?” he mutters, voice gravelly with tiredness.

bzzzzzzz.

someone is leaning on the damn doorbell now as a relentless buzz slices through the post sex haze like a razor.

“fuck,” you breathe, the word all annoyance.

jabber is already moving, pulling out of you with a wet sound that makes you clench involuntarily. the sudden emptiness is a shock as a cool draft hits your clenching hole.

he’s off the couch in one fluid motion, grabbing his boxers from the floor and stepping into them. “don’t move,” he says but it’s not a command, it’s a plea from knowing how upset you got last time you were interrupted.

so you don’t. you lie there, naked and exposed, listening as the knocking continues. the buzzer stops, replaced by a voice. “jabber? you in there, man? your car’s outside.”

you know that voice. his cousin. the one who never calls first.

a hot anger blooms in your chest, right beside the aching need that hasn’t fully subsided. you were right there….and now this?

jabber is pulling his jeans up while zipping them. he doesn’t bother with a shirt. he shoots you a look of apology and annoyance in his dark eyes. “two minutes,” he mouths.

you just stare back, your expression flat. he better make this two minutes.

he runs a hand over his locs, takes a deep breath to compose his face, and heads for the door. you slide off the couch, your legs wobbly as you find your leggings and shirt in a heap by the wall. the cotton of your shirt feels abrasive against your tender nipples and the leggings like a constraint.

you’re dressed in seconds but it feels uncomfortable. your skin is still flushed, your core still throbbing with a low pulse, and you can feel the evidence of him trickling down your inner thigh.

you hear the door open and muffled voices. his cousin’s loud laughing and jabber’s lower replies. something about a car part, about leaving a tool here yesterday.

you lean against the wall just inside the living room, arms crossed, and listening. every second is sandpaper on your nerves as your earlier satisfaction has curdled into hunger.

you hear jabber trying to wrap it up. “yeah, i got it, i’ll look. i’ll hit you later.”

“you good, man? you sound out of breath.” his cousin’s voice is tinged with stupid curiosity.

you close your eyes while exhaling slowly through your nose.

JUST LEAVE.

“i’m good. just… busy. i’ll call you.” jabber’s tone has a finality to it.

finally, the sound of the door closing then his footsteps coming back down the hall. he appears in the doorway, shirtless, and his jeans slung low on his hips. his expression is a mix of irritation and relief. “cousin,” he says, as if that explains everything.

you don’t say anything, you just push off the wall and walk toward him. he watches you approach in silence as his eyes follow you. “he’s gone. sorry about that, ma.”

you stop right in front of him, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the sex and sweat on him. you look up at him with a steady gaze.

“i don’t care,” you say, your voice now low and sultry. “that shit woke me up.”

a flicker of confusion crosses his face. “woke you up?”

you don’t explain as your hands come up, and you shove at his chest, not hard enough to move him, but enough to make your point. “you didn’t finish.”

his confusion melts into understanding, then into a slow smile. “i thought i did.”

“you didn’t.” your palms flatten against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your touch. “you got me all… started. then you stopped.” you lean in, your lips almost brushing his. “i’m still started, boo.”

he groans, a rough sound in his throat as his hands come up to cradle your face but you catch his wrists, stopping him.

“no,” you say, the word a soft crack. you release his wrists and take a step back, your eyes raking over him. “that shit at the door pissed me off. now i’m pissed off and i’m wet. and it’s your fault.”

his smile vanishes as it’s replaced by a look of hunger. this is literally what he craves, your dominance being directed towards him.

“so fix it,” you tell him, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“how?” he asks, though he already knows.

you reach for the button of his jeans, popping it open as you drag the zipper down and you don’t break eye contact. “you take all my… annoyance…” you push his jeans and boxers down over his hips in one rough motion, freeing his cock, which is already hard again, “…and you fuck it out of me.”

“right here?” his voice is gravel.

“duh,” you turn while bracing your hands against the wall next to the doorway. you don’t look back, you just push your leggings and panties down to your knees, presenting yourself to him. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, a contrast to the heat pooling between your legs. you’re still slick from before, swollen and aching. “and don’t take your time.”

you hear his sharp intake of breath then his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading you wider. he aligns himself, the broad head of his cock nudging against your hole as he thrusts into you in one long stroke.

a moan is ripped from your throat that is part pain and part relief. he fills you completely and stretches you to an edge. the force of it slams your chest against the wall as it knocks the air from your lungs.

“that what you want?” he growls into your ear, his body against your back, and his hands now digging into your hips. he doesn’t wait for an answer as he pulls back and thrusts in again, just as deep.

“mmm…y-yes,” you hiss, the words mangled.

he sets a punishing rhythm from the first moment, each thrust a jolt that travels from your core to your teeth as the wall is cool against your cheek and forearms.

his grip on your hips is iron, holding you in place so you can’t move, can’t do anything but take it, and that’s the point. you wanted the annoyance fucked out of you and he is just following your orders.

“you feel that?” he grunts, his pace relentless. “that’s for being so damn mean.”

you sob out a laugh that turns into a moan as he angles deeper, hitting a spot that makes your vision flash white. “i’m not–ah!–mean,” you gasp. “i’m just….right.”

he slams into you harder, a wordless rebuttal. the sounds are obscene— the wet slap of skin, his ragged breaths, and your choked off cries. you feel your own wetness coating him, dripping down your thighs, and making every thrust smoother.

one of his hands leaves your hip and slides around your front, down over your trembling belly. he goes lower, his fingers plunging into the wet friction where your bodies join, finding your clit in seconds.

you jolt, a full body seizure. “fuckkkk!”

he presses the pad of his thumb right on that swollen bud while applying a circular pressure that’s synchronized with his thrusts.

it’s too much. it’s everything.

your orgasm crashes into you without warning, back arching as much as his hold allows, and your hole clamping down on his cock in a milking pulse. you cry out a continuous sound that echoes off the hallway walls, your square frenchies scraping against the paint.

he grunts as his rhythm stutters as you convulse around him. “that’s it,” he rasps, his own control fraying. “take it. take all of it.”

he fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own release with a guttural groan as he buries himself to the hilt and holds there. he stays buried inside you, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, and his body trembling with the aftershocks.

slowly, he pulls out as the sticky evidence of both of you starts to slide down your inner thigh. you’re boneless, held up only by your arms braced against the wall and the solid presence of him behind you.

his hands come up, smoothing over your back, a gesture that’s almost tender compared to the fucking. he helps you straighten, pulling your leggings back up with a surprising gentleness before attending to himself.

you turn around while leaning back against the wall. your legs feel like water as you reach out to hook a finger in the waistband of his jeans and pull him closer until he’s standing between your legs.

his forehead rests against yours, giving you a gentle kiss. his hands are on your waist, thumbs brushing slow circles against the thin cotton of your shirt.

“mean as hell,” he whispers with a smile in his voice.

you hum as you push him back gently, just a step as his hands fall from your waist. you look at him, your gaze traveling from his eyes down his chest, to where his jeans are still undone, hanging low on his hips.

“move,” you say, your voice soft but clear.

he doesn’t question it as he steps back, giving you space. you walk past him, your legs still feeling a little unsteady, as you go back into the living room. to the couch where this all started, where his cousin’s interruption stole the lazy aftermath.

you turn and look at him, standing in the doorway, watching you. you don’t say anything as you pull down your leggings and sit down on the couch and lean back. you spread your legs slightly as you look at him and you wait.

he understands as he walks toward you in slow movements. he stops in front of you while looking down at your open legs, eyeing the mixture of cum flowing out of your clenching hole.

“you want something?” he asks, though he knows.

“take your pants off,” you tell him.

his smile widens as pushes his jeans and boxers down over his hips, letting them fall to the floor. he’s naked, his cock already half hard again as he sits on the couch.

“you like it when i’m mean?” you ask, your voice low.

“i love it when you’re mean,” he corrects with wanting eyes.

you move to straddle his lap as you settle onto him slowly, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. he watches you as his hands come up to rest on your hips, letting you lead.

“i’m gonna ride you,” you murmur, the words a promise against his mouth.

he exhales as his hands tighten on your hips but he doesn’t pull you down. he waits as you shift your weight, one hand moving down his chest until you find his cock. it’s fully hard as you guide it, positioning him to your entrance. then, with a deliberate roll of your hips you sink onto him.

you take him inside you inch by inch, feeling every vein, and every throb of his cock as he stretches you. you go slow at first, settling onto him completely, letting your body adjust. you feel him shudder beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips now.

you look down at him, your face just above his. his eyes are closed and his jaw tight. he’s savoring the feeling of you taking him, of being enveloped by your slick.

“open your eyes,” you command.

he does. his gaze is hazy as it fixes on yours.

“watch me,” you say.

and then you start to move as you rise up, slowly, dragging your slick along the length of his cock. then you sink back down with a firm pressure. your hands brace on his shoulders, your thighs working to lift and lower you.

“that’s it, pa” you breathe out while watching his face. you see the pleasure take over as his mouth slightly opens, letting out small moans. you pick up the pace as the rhythm becomes faster. your hips roll as you sink down, grinding against him at the bottom of each stroke, ensuring he’s buried as deep as possible.

you lean forward, your chest brushing against his, and your lips finding his ear. “you feel how deep you are?” you whisper, your voice rough with lust.

“mmmhh...” he groans, a wordless affirmation, as his hands slide up your back and under your shirt.

you sit back up to change the angle. you rise all the way to his tip then plunge back down with a force that makes the couch creak and his body jerk. using his body for your own pleasure, to make him feel every bit of your dominance.

his hands move from your back to your ass, gripping you, helping you now, driving you down onto him with more force each time you sink. he’s meeting your pace, thrusting up into you as you come down.

“fuck,” you gasp, the word ripped from you. your fingers start to work on your clit, the pressure perfect, just enough to tip you over the edge.

he’s watching your face, seeing the orgasm approach. “come on,” he grunts, his voice strained. “take it. take it from me.”

your body locks as your inner muscles clamp around his cock in a tight grip. you cry out a sharp sound as your head falls back in pleasure. you keep moving through it, your hips still working, grinding against him as the aftershocks ripple through you. he’s groaning beneath you, his own orgasm coming. you feel him swell inside you as his thrusts become wild.

with a final, deep thrust, he holds you there as his body trembles. you feel the hot rush of his cum, filling you from the inside. for a long minute, you just stay there, collapsed against him, his cock still inside you, both of you breathing in ragged gasps. your forehead rests against his shoulder and his hands are stroking your back, slow and soothing.

eventually, you lift yourself off him, feeling the cool air replace the heat as you separate. you sink back onto the couch beside him, your body spent, and your mind quiet.

you reach over, your hand finding his as you intertwine your fingers. “you got what you wanted?” he asks softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“of course i did.” you reply, your voice hoarse but satisfied.

he leans in, kissing your shoulder, as a he lets out a soft chuckle. “yea, you always do.”

𐙚!!── requests are also now open!

[texasbama]

MEGAN THEE STALLION at Miami Swim Week 2026

[kajismp3]

no one understands how much i love her omg

[chericos]

DRAWN TO YOU. || s. ishigami

masterlist. || ao3 link. || playlist. || taglist form.

Rebuilding the world takes time. So does love. But gravity doesn't ask for permission. The tides don't apologize You've always been drawn to him. And him, to you.

i. curiosity

ii. beginnings

iii. judgement

iv. fractured

v. watched

vi. the magician || extra chapter. forget me not

vii. convergence

viii. sweet dreams

tba…

DTY asks/extras

i. if MC stayed in America

ii. the 6– i mean 5! wise generals

iii. the five stages of grief

this follows both the anime and the manga, so there may be potential spoilers. for warnings please check the tags on ao3! for additional warnings, they will be added to the top of each chapter.

[gojogasms]

operation: get ryomen sukuna a heart

wc 8.1k

notes first fic *blushes cutely*. fem reader. they swear per usual. the jo twins. sukuna’s emotionally constipated. mostly crack & fluff fic, angst only if you squint very hard they’re all dumb as hell!!

phase zero: the discovery

it starts, as most catastrophes do, with sato gojo.

more specifically, it starts with sato gojo hanging upside down off the edge of the frat house couch, his white hair brushing the floor, scrolling through his phone while nursing a truly concerning hangover.

"hey," he says, squinting at ryomen sukuna who's sitting in the armchair doing absolutely nothing except existing. "why do you look like that?"

sukuna doesn't look up from his phone. "like what?"

"like someone kicked your puppy. except you don't have a puppy. you have a resting bitch face and a personality disorder."

"fuck off."

sato flips himself right-side up with the flexibility of someone who does yoga exclusively to pick up girls. "seriously man, you've been weird for weeks. weirder than usual. and your usual is already pretty fucking concerning."

sukuna grunts. it's his go-to response for conversations he doesn't want to have, which is all conversations.

geto walks in from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand and a protein bar in the other. "are we talking about sukuna's emotional constipation again?"

"we're always talking about sukuna's emotional constipation," sato says. "it's the gift that keeps on giving. which speaking of, didn't you growl at a freshman literally yesterday?"

"he was breathing obnoxiously." sukuna defends himself.

"he had asthma." geto points out.

"then he should've been better at hiding it."

toji is the next to wander in, shirtless for reasons no one asked for, with one hand scratching his stomach and the other holding a bag of beef jerky. "what're we talking about? are we finally staging an intervention for sukuna's personality?"

"we've been trying to stage that intervention for three years," geto says.

"fourth time's the charm."

"fuck all of you." sukuna says, but there's no heat in it. that's the second red flag.

sato squints at him. "no, no, something's definitely up. you haven't told me to kill myself in like two days. have you officially hit rock bottom?"

sukuna's eye twitches. it's microscopic. it's barely there. but they all see it. he stands up, fully intending to leave this conversation and never return to it however he only makes it three steps before toji blocks his path. toji is one of the few people on earth who can physically block sukuna's path without immediately regretting it.

"move." sukuna growls.

"not until you tell us what's wrong." toji tears off a piece of beef jerky with his teeth. "consider it payment for all the shit you've put us through."

"i haven't put you through anything."

"you threw my favorite dumbbell out the window last month."

"you were using it to do curls in my room at 3 a.m. while i was trying to sleep."

"it was arm day."

"every day is arm day with you.”

geto takes a sip of coffee. "you've been spacing out during meetings. you almost missed the sports event last week. and yesterday, i watched you stare at a wall for forty-five minutes. what's going on?"

"nothing."

"you're lying."

"i'm not lying, i'm just not participating in this conversation."

toji snorts. "that's a fancy way of saying you're lying."

"even if something was going on," sukuna says slowly, "which it's not, why would i tell any of you? you'd just make it worse."

"because we're your brothers," sato says, sitting up properly now. "and because whatever it is, we can help."

"you've never helped with anything in your life."

"i helped toji pass statistics."

"you let him copy your homework."

"same thing."

sukuna looks at geto, who is the closest thing to a reasonable person in this house. geto shrugs. "he's not wrong. we're not going to drop this. you know how sato gets when he's curious about something."

"like a dog with a bone," toji agrees.

"like a very annoying, very persistent, very white-haired dog," geto amends, "just tell us. we'll find out anyway. sato has no boundaries and i have no morals."

"i have both," toji adds. "that's why i'm the muscle."

"you're the muscle because you're functionally illiterate."

"fuck you, i can read."

"your gym schedule doesn't count."

sukuna weighs his options. on one hand, he could continue to deny everything and suffer through their increasingly invasive questions. on the other hand, he could give them something—just enough to get them off his back.

he makes the wrong choice, obviously.

"there's... someone."

the room goes dead silent.

sato's eyes refocus. geto's coffee cup freezes halfway to his lips. toji stops scratching himself, which is probably the most shocking reaction of all.

"someone." sato repeats.

"yes." sukuna confirms.

"like... a person?"

"no, a fucking lamp. yes, a person. you moron."

"a person you have feelings for?" geto inquires.

sukuna's eye twitches. "i wouldn't call them feelings."

"what would you call them?"

"...a persistent interest."

"your ears are red, dude." sato is grinning now, the kind of shit eating grin that has taken him out of trouble more times than he can count. "okay, okay, wait. who is it? do we know them? what's their name? are they hot? of course they're hot, you wouldn't have a 'persistent interest' in someone who wasn't hot."

"it's no one."

"liar."

"it's irrelevant."

"bigger liar."

"you need to mind your own fucking business." sukuna growls.

sato clicks his tongue in response, "we're your best friends. your business is our business. that's how friendship works."

"i don't have friends. i have tolerated acquaintances."

geto sets down his coffee. "sukuna. realistically, how long do you think you can keep this from us?"

"indefinitely."

"wrong answer. sato will find out. you know he will. he once tracked down the guy who stole his parking spot using only a partial license plate and sheer spite."

"that was impressive." sato says proudly.

"it was terrifying," geto corrects. "my point is, wouldn't you rather have us on your side? helping? instead of investigating behind your back?"

sukuna considers this. he hates that geto has a point. he hates that geto usually has a point. it's one of his most annoying qualities.

but stubbornness was one of ryomen sukuna's annoying qualities.

it takes them another forty-five minutes of relentless badgering, three separate escape attempts, and one genuinely impressive bout of wrestling that ends with sukuna in a headlock and toji nursing what might be a fractured rib, but eventually—eventually—sukuna cracks.

"...fine." the pink haired man huffs.

"yes!" sato punches the air. "operation: get sukuna laid is a go!"

"we're not calling it that."

"operation: sukuna's persistent interest?"

"absolutely not."

"operation: help the emotionally constipated loser get a date?"

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. "you gotta die."

sato salutes. "sir, yes, sir. now—who's the lucky victim?"

sukuna glares at him.

"lucky person. lucky individual. lucky soul who has captured your persistent interest."

"her name," sukuna says, and the word comes out rougher than he intended, "is y/n."

phase one: reconnaissance (aka stalking, but sato insists it's not stalking if you're doing it with good intentions)

"okay," sato says, pulling out a whiteboard from god knows where. they're in the frat house basement, which has been converted into what sato is calling "mission control." there's a folding table. there are snacks. there are energy drinks stacked in a pyramid. someone has drawn a very crude heart on the whiteboard with sukuna's name in one half and a question mark in the other.

"this is already too much." sukuna murmurs.

"shut up, it's perfect." sato uncaps a marker with his teeth. "phase one is reconnaissance. we need information. what does y/n like? where does she hang out? who are her friends? what's her schedule?"

"how are we supposed to figure that out?" toji asks, already three beers in.

"we use our resources." sato points at sukuna. "you're in a class with her, right?"

"psychology. tuesdays and thursdays."

"great. what else do you know?"

sukuna thinks about it. he knows you sit three rows from the front, slightly to the left. you chew on your pen caps when you're concentrating. you have this habit of tucking your hair behind your ear when you're about to answer a question. you laughed at the professor's terrible freudian joke once and sukuna almost passed out.

"not much." he says instead.

"useless," sato declares. "we need boots on the ground. we need intel. we need—"

"toru," geto says.

everyone looks at him.

"toru?" sukuna repeats.

"my brother?!" sato looks offended. "why would we need my nerd brother? he's not even in the frat. he's probably reorganizing his periodic table right now."

"exactly," geto nods. "he's not in the frat, which means he has access to normal people. he's in a million study groups. he probably knows someone who knows y/n. plus, he's observant. remember when he figured out toji was dating that girl just by the way he was texting?"

"that was creepy." toji comments, shivering at the memory.

"that was useful."

sato is already pulling out his phone. "fine. i'll summon the nerd."

toru arrives twenty three minutes later, laptop bag slung over one shoulder and the expression of a man who has been summoned against his will too many times to count. his glasses are slightly crooked and there's a pen tucked behind his ear.

"i was in the middle of a quantum mechanics problem set," he says by way of greeting. "this better be important."

“this is important. sukuna has a crush.” sato announces. 

toru turns around and starts walking toward the door.

"wait!" sato lunges for him, catching the back of his shirt. "you promised you'd help!"

"i promised i'd come. i didn't promise i'd help. there's a difference. i'm very precise with my language."

"nerd.” toji coughs.

"i prefer 'academically rigorous.'"

geto, ever the diplomat, steps between them. "toru, we need you. you're the most emotionally functional person in this room."

"that's a terrifyingly low bar."

"exactly. which is why we need you."

toru sighs, the sound of a man who has been through this particular war before and knows exactly how it ends. "fine. but i want it on record that i'm doing this under duress."

"noted." sato drags him to a chair and shoves him down. "okay. situation report. sukuna has the hots for a girl named y/n. he's been pining for weeks. he's incapable of expressing feelings without sounding like he's threatening someone. we need a plan."

"we need more than a plan," toru says. "we need a miracle."

"that's the spirit!"

"… that wasn't optimism." toru mumbles, fixing his crooked glasses, "anyway, what exactly do you need from me?"

"information," geto says, stepping in before sato can derail the conversation further. "we need to know everything about y/n. schedule, habits, interests. you have study groups with half the campus—do you know her?"

he nods. "yeah. she's in my physics study group. well, she's not in physics. she audits it. says it helps her think about things differently."

"what else?"

"um..." toru pulls out his laptop, clearly more comfortable with data than conversation. "she goes to the campus coffee shop every tuesday and thursday at 2:15. vanilla latte with cinnamon on top. she studies at the library on mondays and wednesdays, usually the second floor, near the philosophy section. she's friends with shoko and utahime. they have a standing brunch thing on saturdays at that place off campus, the one with the waffles."

everyone stares at him.

"what?" toru looks up. "i'm observant."

"you're terrifying." toji says.

"you literally asked me to do this."

"we didn't think you'd have a full dossier!" sato shouts.

"it's not a dossier, it's just basic pattern recognition. she's a creature of habit. it's not that hard to notice if you're paying attention."

sukuna, who has been silently listening this whole time, feels something twist in his chest. vanilla latte with cinnamon. library on mondays. friends with shoko and utahime. these are things he should have known. things he could have known, if he'd ever worked up the courage to actually talk to you instead of just staring at the back of your head in psychology.

"okay," sato says, writing furiously on the whiteboard. "this is good. this is really good. we've got locations, we've got times, we've got her order. phase two: first contact."

phase two: the coffee shop

phase two begins with t-shirts.

"absolutely not." sukuna says when sato presents them.

"absolutely yes." sato is already pulling his on. it's a bright, eye searingly pink with text that says "OPERATION: GET RYO BABY LAID" in comic sans. "we all have one. it's for morale."

"why is it in comic sans?"

"because toru said it's the most psychologically disarming font."

"i said no such thing," toru protests. "i said comic sans triggers a specific neurological response that—okay, i basically said that."

toji is already wearing his. the shirt is stretched dangerously across his chest. "it's tight."

"it's supposed to be tight. it emphasizes our commitment."

"our commitment to what?" geto asks, pulling his own shirt on with considerably more dignity. "looking like idiots?"

"exactly."

the plan is simple.

sukuna will "accidentally" show up at the coffee shop at 2:15 on tuesday. he'll happen to be in line at the same time as you. he'll comment on your order, you'll bond over your shared love of caffeine, and then he'll casually ask if you want to sit together. romance will ensue.

"it's foolproof.” sato says.

"you said that about the time you tried to build a beer pong table out of popsicle sticks.” toji points out.

"that was a structural engineering issue. this is romance. completely different."

they've gathered in sukuna's room, which is unnervingly clean compared to the rest of the house. sato is sprawled on the bed. geto is leaning against the wall. toji is on the floor. toru is sitting in the desk chair.

"you need to wear something approachable," geto says, eyeing sukuna's usual all-black ensemble. "less 'i might murder you' and more 'i might buy you dinner.'"

"i don't own anything like that."

"yes you do. that grey henley. the one that's slightly too tight in the arms."

"that's not intentional."

"we know. that's what makes it work."

sukuna grumbles but changes into the henley. when he comes out of the bathroom, toji wolf-whistles.

"looking good, princess."

"you don’t even call your baby momma princess.”

“see, this is a problem," sato says, sitting up. "your face is a problem, kuna. you always look like you're about to commit a crime. you need to relax. smile more."

"i don't smile."

"then practice, you absolutely imbecile. give us a smile."

sukuna bares his teeth in what is technically a smile but looks more like a threat display.

“stop that.” the twins beg quietly.

"you look like you're going to eat her.” geto agrees.

"not in a sexy way.” toji adds.

sukuna drops the expression. "this is pointless."

"no, no, we can work with this." sato hops off the bed and grabs sukuna's face with both hands. "just… think of something nice! something that makes you happy. something that doesn't make you want to commit violence."

sukuna thinks about you. the way you laughed at that stupid joke in psychology. the way you held the door for someone even though they were far away. the way you looked at him once—really looked at him—and didn't seem scared.

his expression shifts. just slightly. the hard lines around his mouth soften.

"that," geto says quietly. "whatever you just thought of, do that."

"i'm not telling you what i thought of."

"obviously. just... think it when you see her."

the coffee shop is busy when sukuna walks in at 2:10.

sato, geto, and toji are stationed at various points around the café. sato is behind a potted plant (again, for reasons no one understands). geto is pretending to read a newspaper like he's in a spy movie, but the newspaper is upside down. toji is just sitting at a table, not even hiding, because toji has never hidden from anything in his life. toru is outside in the car, serving as "tech support," which mostly means he's on his laptop monitoring the campus wi-fi for no reason.

"target acquired," sato whispers into his earpiece. "she's at the counter."

"don't call her a target.” geto hisses back.

"objective acquired?"

"better."

sukuna takes a breath. you're standing at the counter, looking up at the menu even though you probably already know what you're getting. you're wearing a sweater that looks incredibly soft, and you're humming something under your breath.

this is it. this is the moment.

he walks up to the counter just as you're about to order. he opens his mouth. he's going to say something smooth. something charming. something like—

"vanilla latte with cinnamon."

you turn, startled. "what?"

"that's what you're going to order." sukuna's brain is screaming at him to stop talking. he doesn't stop. "vanilla latte. with cinnamon. because you always get that. on tuesdays. and thursdays."

there's a beat of silence. you're looking at him with an expression he can't quite read.

"...do i know you?"

"psychology. we're in psychology together. i sit in the back."

"oh!" recognition flickers in your eyes. "you're the guy who glares at everyone."

"i don't glare at everyone. just—" just people who look at you too long, he doesn't say. "just people who are annoying."

"right." you're smiling now, a little uncertainly. "so... how do you know my coffee order?"

sukuna's mind goes blank. he can hear sato's frantic whispering in his earpiece: "say you noticed! say you're observant! say something normal!"

"i've noticed.” he says.

"noticed what?"

"you. your order. your schedule." stop talking stop talking stop talking. "you're a creature of habit."

your eyebrows go up. "that's... slightly creepy."

"it's not creepy. it's pattern recognition."

"are you a robot? or just mad in the head?”

"no. unfortunately. to the first one.”

you're still looking at him, but your smile has shifted from uncertain to something closer to amused. "okay, mystery guy from psychology who knows my schedule. what's your name?"

"ryomen sukuna."

"ryomen," you repeat, and he feels his name in your mouth like a physical thing. "that's a lot of name."

"you can just call me ryo."

"okay, ryo." you turn back to the counter and order your vanilla latte with cinnamon. then you turn back to him. "are you going to order something? or are you just here to narrate my life?"

sukuna internally panics, “i go. bye.”

sukuna stands at the counter like a statue, not moving.

you raise a brow, grabbing your drink when it's ready and taking a sip. "well, ryo who knows my schedule and narrates my life, maybe i'll see you in psychology. try not to glare at anyone."

and then you're gone, walking out of the coffee shop with a little wave over your shoulder.

"dude," sato says, emerging from behind the plant with leaves in his hair. "what the fuck was that?”

"i don't know."

"you told her she's a creature of habit! you sounded like a serial killer!"

"i panicked."

geto appears, newspaper tucked under his arm. "on the bright side, she didn’t ignore you. that's something."

"she ran away because he's ridiculous," toji says, joining them. "like, genuinely concerning levels of ridiculous."

sukuna is still staring at the door you walked out of. "she said she might see me in psychology."

"that's not a date invitation.” sato sighs.

"i know."

"that's barely a positive interaction."

"i know."

"but she did say your nickname." geto nudges him gently.

sukuna looks at him. "what?"

"your nickname. she said it. 'okay, ryo.' and smiled at you and everything. that's not nothing."

it's not nothing. sukuna holds onto that as they leave the coffee shop, toru asking approximately four hundred questions about what happened and sato reenacting the whole thing with dramatic embellishments.

it's not nothing.

phase three: the library

“we need a new approach," sato announces at the next mission control meeting. "the coffee shop was a disaster."

"it wasn't a disaster," geto says. "it was... a learning experience."

"he told her she's a creature of habit!" sato whines, dragging his hands down his face.

"she smiled!”

"she laughed because she thought he was joking! she doesn't know he's actually like that!"

sukuna, who has been silent for most of this meeting, finally speaks up. "i'm right here."

"we know," sato says. "we're discussing your failings."

the whiteboard has been updated. there are now several bullet points under phase two, including "DON'T mention her schedule," "DON'T call her a creature of anything," and "DON'T say unfortunately when asked if you're a robot."

"phase three," geto says, drawing a new section on the board. "the library. mondays, second floor, philosophy section. she studies there from 3 to 6."

"how do we know that?" sukuna asks.

"toru."

"of course."

toru, who has once again been summoned, looks up from his laptop. "i just pay attention to things. it's not that hard."

"most people don't memorize strangers' study schedules."

"most people aren't asked to help their brother's emotionally stunted friend get a date."

"fair point."

sato claps, “the plan for phase two is simple. sukuna will "coincidentally" be in the same section at the same time. he'll strike up a conversation. he'll be charming and normal and not at all threatening.”

"you have a script," geto says, handing him an index card. "we wrote you a script."

sukuna stares at the index card. "i'm not using a script."

"you're using a script. read it."

he looks down. the card reads:

hi, is this seat taken? (wait for response) i’m sorry about the coffee shop incident. (wait for response) cool. what are you studying? (listen to answer. this is important. actually listen.) that sounds interesting. (optional: ask follow-up question.) i'll let you get back to it. nice meeting you.

"this is the most clinical thing i've ever read." sukuna says.

"it's foolproof."

"it says 'optional' in parentheses."

"we accounted for variables."

an hour later, they're parked outside the library in sato's car, which is a monstrosity that he calls "the gojo-mobile" and everyone else calls "that piece of shit that's going to get us killed." toru is in the back seat, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. toji is in the passenger seat, eating beef jerky. geto is giving sukuna a pep talk that sukuna is actively ignoring.

"remember," geto says, "eye contact. but not too much eye contact. you want to seem interested, not predatory."

"i know how to make eye contact."

"you once stared down a professor until he left the room."

"he was being condescending."

"he was asking you to turn in your homework."

"same thing."

sato twists around in the driver's seat. "okay, comms check." he holds up a tiny earpiece. "you'll be wearing this again. we'll be in the parking lot, feeding you lines if you freeze."

"no."

"yes."

"i'm not wearing an earpiece like some kind of—"

"like some kind of guy who freezes up when a pretty girl looks at him?" toji offers.

sukuna snatches the earpiece, “where did you even get this from?”

“temu.” toji and sato reply in unison.

it takes another ten minutes to get him out of the car. toru has to threaten to tell y/n about the time sukuna got stuck in a bathroom window (long story, very embarrassing, sukuna would rather die than have it get out), and even then, it's a near thing.

the library is quiet, as libraries tend to be. sukuna finds you at your usual table near the philosophy section, surrounded by textbooks and highlighters and those little sticky note tabs in approximately twelve different colors.

toru is with him, because apparently sukuna needs a "handler" now. toru is pretending to look for a book on astrophysics, which is convenient because that section happens to be one aisle over from your table.

"just walk past her," toru whispers. "drop a book. she'll look up. you say 'sorry, didn't mean to disturb you.' she says it's fine. you follow the script. conversation flows naturally."

“that's stupid."

"do you have a better idea?"

sukuna does not have a better idea. he grabs a random book off a shelf—it's something about existential philosophy—and starts walking toward your table.

he's three steps away when the earpiece crackles again.

"wait," geto says, his voice tense. "i'm looking at the library security cameras—"

"why do you have access to the library security cameras?"

"that's not important right now. what's important is that there's someone else heading toward her section. tall guy. looks like he knows her."

sukuna freezes. sure enough, a guy is approaching your table. he's tall, decent-looking in a boring way, and he's holding two coffees. he sets one down in front of you, and your face lights up.

"who the fuck is that?" sukuna growls.

"unknown," toru reports. "he's not in any of her usual patterns."

"what's he doing?"

"talking to her. smiling. she's smiling back."

"i can see that."

"he's pulling up a chair. he's sitting down. he's—oh."

"oh what?"

"he just touched her arm."

something in sukuna's brain short-circuits. before he knows what he's doing, he's walking toward your table, book gripped tight as hell.

step one: walk past her. he does this successfully. you don't look up.

step two: drop the book. he does this. the book hits the floor with a loud thwack! that echoes through the silent library like a gunshot.

you look up. so does everyone else in a fifteen-foot radius. the librarian glares.

step three: say something smooth.

"book.” sukuna says.

what is wrong with him?

you stare at him. he stares at you. the textbook lies forgotten on the floor between them.

"are you... okay?" you ask.

"yes. no. book fell. gravity." he gestures vaguely downward. "physics. are you studying?”

"...yes? that's typically what people do in libraries."

"right."

the mystery guy is looking at him with a mixture of confusion and wariness. "uh, hey man. can we help you with something?"

sukuna turns his gaze to the guy. full force. the expression he usually reserves for people who try to cheat off his exams or take his parking spot. "who are you?"

"i'm—" the guy swallows. "i'm kenji. i'm in her study group."

"i've never seen you before." sukuna’s eyes squint.

"i transferred in last week?"

sukuna continues staring. kenji continues shrinking. you're watching this exchange with an expression that's somewhere between confused and amused.

"ryomen," you say, and he looks back at you. "did you need something?"

you, he thinks. i need you to stop smiling at random guys. i need to know why your laugh makes my chest feel too tight. i need to understand why i can't stop thinking about you even though we've had exactly one and a half conversations.

"no," he says. "i was just... passing through."

"in the philosophy section."

"...i like philosophy."

"you're a psychology major."

"they're related."

you're definitely amused now. the corners of your mouth are twitching. "okay, ryomen. well, kenji and i were just about to go over some notes, so unless you want to join us...?"

it's a challenge. he can see it in your eyes. you're daring him to say yes.

sukuna should say no. he should walk away, regroup, try again another day. that's what a normal person would do.

sukuna has never been a normal person.

"sure.” he says, and pulls up a chair.

kenji looks like he wants to die. you look delighted.

"great," you say, pushing a textbook toward him. "you can help us with chapter seven. it's about cognitive biases. very relevant."

sukuna doesn't know if you're implying something. he's too busy trying to figure out how to sit in a chair without looking like he's about to flip the table.

the next hour is torture. not because of you—you're great, you're amazing, you explain concepts in a way that actually makes sense—but because kenji keeps finding excuses to lean closer to you, and every time he does, sukuna's grip on his pencil tightens.

"ryo," you say at one point, "you're going to snap that pencil in half."

"it's a cheap pencil."

"it's a mechanical pencil. those are metal."

"...i work out."

you laugh, and sukuna forgets about kenji entirely. he forgets about the earpiece, about sato's terrible advice, about the fact that he's supposed to be playing it cool. he forgets everything except the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.

"you're funny.” you compliment.

"i'm not trying to be."

"that's what makes it funny."

from the earpiece, barely audible, sato whispers: "holy shit, is he actually being charming?"

sukuna reaches up and turns the earpiece off.

approximately around 6, as toru had said, you begin to pack your bag after kenji leaves. but this means you’ll leave. and sukuna doesn’t want you to leave. he wants you to stay. so his brain scrambles for something to say.

"i don't eat people.” he announces.

what the fuck.

you blink. "what?"

"you—“ sukuna's brain is a white static of panic. "you looked nervous. at the coffee shop. you don't need to be. nervous. i'm not going to—i'm not a—" he gestures vaguely. "people-eating guy."

in his ear, he hears toji snort.

"shut up," sato hisses. "let him cook."

you stares at him for a long moment. then, slowly, your mouth quirks up at the corner. "that's... good to know? i wasn't really worried about being eaten, but thanks for the clarification."

"you're welcome."

another pause.

"i should let you go." he says finally.

"probably..."

"i'll... see you around."

"yeah. see you around, ryo."

phase four: the party

"okay," sato says, pacing in front of the whiteboard. "we've done the coffee shop, which made sukuna seem like a stalker. we've done the library, which almost led to a murder. now we're doing the frat party."

"the frat party?" sukuna repeats.

"our turf. home field advantage. she's coming because utahime is friends with shoko and shoko is friends with myself and geto, so geto invited shoko who invited utahime who invited y/n."

sukuna looks at geto. "you did that?"

geto shrugs. "i have my uses."

the party is already in full swing when you arrive. the bass is loud enough to rattle the windows. someone has already started a beer pong tournament in the backyard. toji is inexplicably shirtless, on top of a table swinging his shirt around like a cowboy with a lasso.

sukuna is in the corner, nursing a drink and trying to look approachable. sato said "less murder, more mystery" which apparently meant wearing a black shirt with the top button undone. sukuna feels ridiculous.

and then you walk in.

you're with shoko and utahime, laughing at something shoko said. you're wearing a dress—nothing fancy, just a simple black dress that hugs your body—and sukuna forgets how to breathe.

"she's here," sato hisses in his ear. "go talk to her. be smooth. be cool. don't threaten anyone."

"i don't—"

"you threatened kenji in the library. with your eyes."

"that's not a real thing."

"it is when you do it."

sukuna downs the rest of his drink and pushes off the wall. he makes his way through the crowd, people parting for him automatically. he finds you near the drinks table, examining the jungle juice with understandable suspicion.

"i wouldn't drink that.” he says.

you look up, and your face breaks into a smile. "ryo! you're here."

"i live here."

"oh, yeah! shoko did tell me," you look around like you're seeing the place for the first time. "it explains... a lot, actually."

"what does that mean?"

"nothing bad. just—" you gesture vaguely at him. "the whole intimidating presence thing. it makes more sense now."

"i'm not intimidating."

"you literally scared kenji so badly he dropped the class."

"he dropped the class?" sukuna tries not to sound too pleased about this. "that seems like an overreaction."

"he said, and i quote, 'that guy with the pink hair looked at me like he was calculating the best way to dispose of my body.'"

"...i was just looking at him."

"you have a very intense look."

sukuna doesn't know what to say to that. fortunately, you don't seem bothered by it. you're still smiling, still standing close enough that he can smell your perfume—something light, sweet.

"so," you say, "are you going to get me a real drink? or just stand there warning me about jungle juice?"

"i'll get you a drink."

he makes you a vodka cranberry—simple, hard to mess up. you take a sip and make an appreciative sound.

there's a moment of silence. sukuna's brain is screaming at him to say something, anything, but all he can think about is how the light catches your eyes and how you're standing close enough to touch.

"do you want to—" he starts.

"hey, sukuna!"

you both turn. a girl is approaching—someone sukuna vaguely recognizes from a party last semester. she's smiling in a way that makes his stomach drop.

"it's been a while," she says, stepping into his space. "i've been looking for you."

"i'm kind of in the middle of—"

"remember that night after finals? you were so drunk. you kept trying to fight the fridge." she cuts him off.

you raise an eyebrow. "the fridge?"

"it was looking at me funny.” sukuna mutters.

"it was hilarious," the girl continues, putting her hand on his arm. "we should do that again sometime. just us. like before."

sukuna sees the exact moment your expression changes. the smile doesn't disappear, but it becomes something more guarded. more distant.

"i should probably find shoko," you say, setting down your drink. "thanks for the... drink. and the warning about the jungle juice."

"y/n, wait—"

but you're already gone, disappearing into the crowd.

sukuna turns to the girl, who's still touching his arm. "what the fuck was that?"

"what? i was just saying hi.”

"we hooked up one time. a year ago. i don't even remember your name."

"it's—"

"i don't care." he pulls his arm away. "don't do that again."

he walks away before she can respond. he finds the others in the kitchen, huddled around the beer pong table like they're strategizing for war.

"we saw," sato says before sukuna can speak. "we saw. it was painful."

"she thinks i'm just some guy who hooks up with random girls at parties."

"i mean... you are.” toji says.

"not anymore. not—" sukuna runs a hand through his hair. "that's not who i am. it's not who i've ever been. people just assume because i'm in a frat and i'm..." he gestures at himself.

"terrifying?" geto offers.

"hot?" sato adds.

"emotionally unavailable?" toru supplies.

"all of the above," sukuna says through gritted teeth. "but i don't—i've never just slept around. i'm picky. i've always been picky. the only reason anyone thinks otherwise is because no one actually knows me."

there's a long pause

"dude," sato says quietly. "that's the most you've ever said about yourself. ever."

"don't make it weird."

"i'm not making it weird, i'm just—" sato looks at the others. "did you guys know that?"

"i suspected.” geto says.

"i didn't care enough to suspect.” toji says.

"i didn't know him until three weeks ago.” toru adds.

sukuna leans against the counter, suddenly exhausted. "it doesn't matter. she's not going to believe me. why would she? all she's seen is the coffee shop disaster and the library disaster and now this."

"so show her something different.” geto says.

"how?"

"i don't know. that's your job to figure out."

phase five: the plan that actually works (sort of)

it's toru who comes up with the idea, which surprises everyone.

"you need to be honest with her," he says. they're back in mission control, but the mood is different now. less frantic energy, more quiet determination. "not smooth. not charming. just honest."

"that's your big plan?" sato says. "honesty?"

"it worked for me. sort of."

"you've never had a girlfriend."

"not the point. the point is that y/n has seen sukuna fail at being smooth multiple times. she knows he's bad at it. so maybe instead of trying to be someone he's not, he should just... be himself."

"myself is the problem.” sukuna grumbles.

"no, yourself is what she's interested in. why do you think she keeps talking to you? you've been weird and intense and borderline creepy and she's still smiling at you. she likes you. she just doesn't know if you're serious."

sukuna considers this. it's terrifying, but it also makes sense. you've had every opportunity to shut him down. you could have ignored him after the coffee shop. you could have asked him to leave in the library. you could have walked away at the party and never looked back.

but you didn't.

"okay," he says. "honesty. i can do that."

"can you?" toji asks skeptically.

"probably not. but i'm going to try."

he finds you two days later, sitting on a bench near the psychology building. you're alone, scrolling through your phone, and you look up when his shadow falls over you.

"sukuna," you say. your voice is neutral, careful. "what's up?"

"can i sit?"

a pause. then, “sure."

he sits. for a long moment, neither of you speaks. sukuna is acutely aware of his own heartbeat, of the way his palms are sweating, of the fact that this is the most terrifying thing he's ever done and he's done a lot of terrifying things.

"i'm bad at this.” he says finally.

"bad at what?"

"talking. feelings. people." he stares straight ahead, not looking at you. "i've never done this before. the whole... liking someone thing. not for real."

you're quiet. he can feel you watching him.

"at the party," he continues, "that girl. we hooked up once. a year ago. i didn't even remember her name. she's not… that's not who i am. i don't sleep around. i never have. people assume i do because of how i look, or because i'm in a frat, or because i'm... me. but i'm picky. i've always been picky. and i've been picky about you for weeks."

"...weeks?"

"since the second week of psychology. you answered a question about cognitive dissonance and you got it wrong, but you argued with the professor about it and you made him admit that your interpretation was valid. i thought you were insane. i also thought you were the most interesting person i'd ever seen."

you make a sound that might be a laugh. "i remember that. i was so mad."

"you were right."

"i know."

he finally looks at you. you're smiling—not the guarded smile from the party, but something real. something warm.

"the coffee shop," you say. "the library. all of that was...?"

"my friends trying to help me get your attention. they've been running an operation. they have a whiteboard. they made shirts."

"shirts?"

"they say 'operation: get ryo baby laid.' in comic sans."

you burst out laughing. it's the same laugh from before, surprised and genuine, and sukuna feels it like sunlight.

"and you let them do all this?"

"i didn't let them. they just... did it. they're like a natural disaster.”

you're still laughing, and sukuna realizes he's smiling too. not the terrifying smile from his room, but something real. something that feels almost unfamiliar on his face.

"so," you say, when you've caught your breath. "you like me."

"yes."

"and you've been trying to tell me for weeks."

"yes."

"and you failed repeatedly because you're emotionally constipated."

"...yes."

you lean back on the bench, looking at him with an expression he can't quite read. "you know, most guys would just ask a girl out. like a normal person."

"i'm ryomen sukuna."

"yes," you agree. "and that explains a lot."

there's a pause. then you say: "so ask me."

"what?"

"ask me out. right now. no schemes, no hidden earpieces, no potted plants."

sukuna stares at you. "you knew about the earpiece?"

"i saw sato behind the plant at the coffee shop. he's not very good at hiding. also, your hair doesn’t exactly cover your ears. the earpiece had a blue outline every time someone spoke.”

"he’s dumb. he got it from temu," sukuna shakes his head. "never mind. that's not important." he takes a breath. "y/n. do you want to go out with me? for real. just us. no disaster."

you pretend to think about it. "what would we do?"

"dinner. somewhere nice. not the cafeteria.”

"and?"

"and... i don't know. whatever you want. i'm not good at planning things. i'm not good at any of this." he meets your eyes. "but i want to try. for you."

your expression softens. "okay."

"okay?"

"okay. i'll go out with you." you stand up, grabbing your bag. "but you have to promise me something."

"anything."

"no more stalking my schedule. if you want to know something about me, just ask."

"deal."

you smile, and sukuna feels something crack open in his chest—warm and terrifying and wonderful.

"pick me up at seven on friday," you say. "okay?"

“okay. yeah. friday.”

you walk away before he can respond, leaving him sitting on the bench and nervously twiddling his thumbs.

from somewhere behind him, he hears a muffled cheer. he turns to see sato, geto, toji, and toru emerging from behind a bush.

"were you hiding there the whole time?"

"obviously," sato says, grinning. "we weren't going to miss the grand finale."

sukuna stares at the spot where you disappeared around the corner. "she said yes."

"we know." his brothers (including toru, at this stage) reply.

"she actually said yes."

"are you broken?" toji waves a hand in front of his face. "do we need to reboot you?"

sukuna stands up. he feels strange—light, almost. like something heavy has been lifted off his shoulders.

"friday," he says. "i need to plan something for friday."

"we'll help!” sato offers.

"absolutely not. you've helped enough."

"but—"

"no. i'm doing this on my own." he pauses.

sato throws an arm around his shoulders. sukuna lets him. just this once.

"our little boy's all grown up," sato says, wiping away a fake tear. "getting ready for his first real date."

"i'm older than you."

"emotionally, you're a fetus."

sukuna shoves him off. but he's smiling.

epilogue: mission complete

friday arrives faster than sukuna expected.

he's ready an hour early, standing in front of his mirror in the black button up and a pair of dark jeans. his hair is doing the thing it always does, which is spiky and uncooperative, but he's made peace with it.

he heads downstairs, where the rest of the group is waiting. sato has somehow acquired a camera—a real one, with a flash and everything.

"prom pictures!" he announces.

"absolutely not."

"it's tradition!"

sukuna lets them take a picture anyway—him standing stiffly by the door, looking vaguely murderous while sato, geto, toji, and toru crowd around him with various expressions of pride and amusement.

"don't fuck this up.” toji says, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble.

"thanks for the vote of confidence."

"you don't need confidence. you need to not be yourself."

geto, who is the only one acting like a normal person, hands him a small bouquet of flowers. "for her."

sukuna takes the flowers. they're nice. lilies tied with a ribbon. "thanks."

"don't mention it. literally. don't mention that we helped. this is your night."

"my night.” sukuna repeats.

"your night. now go. you're going to be late."

you're waiting outside your building when he arrives in his car and sukuna's brain temporarily stops working.

you're wearing a dress and you've done something different with your hair. you look like you put in effort. you look like you're excited about this.

"hey.” you say, smiling.

"hey." he holds out the flowers. "these are for you."

"they're beautiful." you take them, burying your nose in the petals. "did you pick these out yourself?"

"geto helped."

"honest. i like it." you tuck the flowers carefully into your bag. "so, where are we going?"

"an italian place. it's quiet. good food." he pauses. "i made a reservation. i don't know if that's impressive or just... normal."

"it's normal, but impressive in your case."

"okay. good."

the restaurant is nice—candles on the tables, soft music playing, the kind of place sukuna would normally never set foot in. but the hostess smiles when she sees you both, and your hand is still on his arm, and he thinks maybe this is what he's been missing.

dinner is... good. surprisingly good. sukuna manages to have an entire conversation without mentioning your schedule or calling you a creature of anything. you talk about psychology and music and the terrible coffee at the campus café. you laugh at his jokes, even the ones that aren't funny.

he took you for dessert at an ice cream parlor where you learnt his favorite flavor is “bubblegum bunny” and after paying for them, you both walked down the street with your arm interlocked with his.

"you said you're picky. you said you don't do this." you suddenly say, gesturing between them. "so why me? what made you pick me?"

sukuna is quiet for a moment. this is the part he's bad at—the feelings, the vulnerability, the saying things out loud instead of locking them away.

but he promised he'd try.

"you argued with the professor," he says. "you were wrong, but you didn't back down. you made him listen to you. most people would have just accepted the grade and moved on. you didn't."

"that's it? i argued with a professor?" you lick your ice cream.

"it's not just that. it's..." he struggles for words. "you're not scared of things. you're not scared of me, even when i'm being weird and intense and borderline creepy. you just... take it. and you smile. and you make me want to be less weird and intense."

you're looking at him with an expression he can't read. "sukuna..."

"i know it's not romantic. i know i'm supposed to say something about your eyes or your laugh or whatever. and those things are... you're..." he exhales, frustrated. "you're beautiful. obviously. but that's not why. it's because you're the first person who's made me want to be better. and that's terrifying. and i don't know how to say that without sounding like an idiot."

there's a long pause. he doesn’t even register the fact that his own ice cream has begun melting down his hand.

"you don't sound like an idiot," you say quietly. "you sound like someone who's trying. that's more than most people do."

"i am trying."

"i know." you squeeze his arm. "i can tell."

you suddenly lean into him and sukuna smiles, allowing his lips to gently brush the top of your head.

"so," you say, your voice lighter now. "does this mean i get to see the whiteboard?"

"absolutely not."

"the shirts? can i at least see the shirts?"

"i burned them. no i didn’t. i tried. sato stopped me. he said they were 'historical artifacts.'"

you laugh, and he kisses you slowly, like he’s cherishing a gem that can’t be found anywhere else.

he's got you and his dumb brothers and that's more than enough for ryomen “i don’t do feelings” sukuna.

[kajismp3]

this was so cute omg, i love fics like these

[starmapz]

what you know - post-series oneshot the six-year old comedian

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [completed series]

❝ a collection of what you would consider the funniest moments interacting with your boyfriend's youngest brother. from ducks to mosquitos and mall fountains to strange sculptures, you treasure the moments that make you laugh. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni. takes place after the events of what you know. crack. family fluff. established relationship. mentions of vomit.

❦ words ; 6.4k.

main masterlist || series masterlist

The world is easier these days with you by Sukuna’s side. His patience has been drawn out and his frustrations quell more soundly. Choso is more open, and Yuji– well, truthfully not much has changed, but Sukuna has grown to appreciate the kid’s ability to be accidentally hilarious. He still doesn’t like being the subject of the joke, which he so often is, but now that he operates on much higher averages of sleep, he’s come to appreciate his little brother’s rambunctiousness far more.

There are days where he probably shouldn’t laugh, but someday he’s sure Yuji will look back on it and laugh too.

“Gimme some, gimme some, gimme some, gimme–” Yuji holds his hands out to the eldest brother at the edge of the pond, the warm breeze ruffling his hair as he pushes up onto the tips of his toes.

“Hold on, hold on, brat.” Sukuna holds a bag of peas well out of reach of the grubby hands reaching for it. When the boy jumps expectantly, unrelenting, Sukuna clicks his tongue. Your poor boyfriend may have more patience these days, but Yuji still knows just how to push his luck. “Stop, Yu.”

“I wanna give some to the ducks!” He insists at the eldest’s feet.

The scowl on Sukuna’s face is unmatched, still completely typical of him as his brother pushes his buttons. You could step in, but Yuji is truthfully good with manners when it counts and you’re fairly sure he’s prodding at Sukuna because he knows he can get away with it.

While Sukuna may only admit from time to time that Yuji’s funny, you’ll admit it any day.

And Choso at your side is smiling at the sight too, so who are you not to let them be brothers?

Huffing out a sigh, Sukuna finally manages to open the bag, which draws a few avian onlookers at their feet. A mallard with gorgeous green head feathers quacks as it shakes its tail of water and makes its way to the two brothers.

Momentarily distracted, Yuji’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as he stares at the bird. He reaches his hand out, but for as brave as the bird is, it’s still a bird. It turns on its heel to slip away, but Yuji is undeterred as his insistence with Sukuna intensifies. “Kuna they want the peas, pleaaaase can I have some!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He hisses, his brows drawn together as he twists the bag so as not to drop the remaining peas. Holding both the bag and the fistful of peas intended for Yuji over the little boy’s head, he fixes him with a hardened frown. “Yuji. I’m not givin’ you shit until you calm down.”

The little boy pouts, his arms falling to his sides as he stares up at his older brother pleadingly. “Pleaseeee, Kuna?”

“You done bein’ a brat?”

The little boy nods adamantly. A lie, and everyone knows it, but Sukuna relents regardless. 

“Hold out your hands.”

Obeying his older brother’s instructions, Yuji cups his hands to hold the pile of peas. Satisfied that he finally gets to feed the ducks, he turns to the small gathering of feathered creatures. Three ducks have already figured out food is incoming and keep a reasonable distance as they approach. Yuji fiddles with the peas before ultimately deciding to hold out the end of his shirt and dump them in there so he can pass them out one at a time.

The first few ducks are relatively patient and their happy quacks have you grinning as Sukuna leaves Yuji be so that he can distribute peas to you and Choso next. The sheer amount of ducks piling up on the late spring pond shore has you all gleeful as the older of the two kids makes his way to his little brother, kneeling down to begin feeding the ducks.

“Dunno where he gets that shit from, but it drives me crazy sometimes,” Sukuna mutters as he reaches your side, his arm brushing your shoulder.

Withholding your smirk to the best of your ability, you shrug as you take a handful of peas for yourself, tossing some to a duck with a tuft of feathers sticking out atop its head. “Yeah, who knows.”

The teasing lilt to your tone has your boyfriend pinning you in place with a side eye, but it only serves to make your laughter finally boil over. You let out a joyful yelp as Sukua uses his free hand to try to catch you by the waist, but you barely manage to slip out of his grasp. Stumbling a short distance away, you turn to face him with a grin that disarms him as all tension drains from his expression. It slips away like rain over the river’s bank.

His scowl softens into something reverent as he watches you keel over. He tries to keep a knit in his brow, something to disprove anyone if they were to say he’s down bad, but anyone can see the truth. He rolls his eyes, turning back towards his little brothers in an effort to keep his casual disposition.

They’ve amassed quite the crowd of feathered friends, all joyously quacking as peas are tossed at them. Yuji laughs heartily and holds his palm out as they greedily eat what’s left in his hand. With none left, the youngest brother tries to push through the crowd, but at his short height, he can’t step over or through them.

Completely stuck and out of peas– unbeknownst to the ducks– the crowd begins to narrow in on Yuji. So much so, that they even separate him just enough from Choso that the little boy begins to panic. Beaks are at his hands and knees, pecking at him for more food, and the little boy’s face twists from excitement to the beginnings of a full-blown meltdown.

He tries backing away, but there are more ducks behind him, his lip wobbling as he holds his hands out and tries to shuffle through the crowd. Tears brim his eyes, and sobs break out when one of the ducks flaps its wings in the midst of the crowd.

Sukuna, watching Choso dust his hands off and step through the ducks as best as he can, quickly whips his head towards Yuji at the sound of sobs.

Unfortunately for the youngest, Sukuna chose to be a brother first today, and a parent second.

… and the sight of thirty harmless ducks all chasing after Yuji is hilarious.

Sukuna snickers at the sight, moving after the boy with the casualty of someone who knows there’s no real trouble as he pulls out his phone. Your head whips around just as fast, but when your boyfriend doesn’t do anything, you shoot him a disapproving frown and chase after Yuji.

“What?” He calls from behind his phone’s camera as you move past him. “He’s fine. He’ll think it’s funny someday.”

As you still move past him to save his little brother, he sighs and moves into action. His long legs carry him ahead of you, where he scoops Yuji up and pulls him from under his shoulders, over the ducks, and carries him to a bench. The little boy stands sobbing with arms hanging at his sides and feathers sticking to his pants.

Finding your boyfriend’s side, you lightly smack his arm to convey your feelings. He huffs, but pulls the youngest into his chest. “You’re good, Yu. The ducks won’t hurt you, they just thought you had more food.”

“They chaseeeed meeee,” he sobs, ruining Sukuna’s black muscle tee as his words are muffled into it.

You nudge your boyfriend again when he runs his tongue along his lower lip, a telltale sign that he’s doing what he can not to laugh. His narrowed gaze briefly shoots to you, but he relents. “But they didn’t hurt you, right?”

Yuji pulls back slightly, sniffling as he stares up at his brother. “No.”

“‘Cause you’re big and strong, right?”

“Just like your brother,” you chime in at Sukuna’s side.

Yuji’s sobs subside as he glances at you, then back to the oldest brother. Choso has quietly found his way to your side as well, watching everything go down. With a sniffle, Yuji finally finds his footing, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Just like Kuna,” he echoes the sentiment, nodding. It’s the one thing that never fails to bring Yuji back to the present, continuing to think the world of his older brothers.

He holds his hands out expectantly for you to pull him into your arms. As much as he’s getting too big for you to carry for long periods, you can’t say no to the sweet kid. You hoist him up onto your hip, giving him a tight hug as you carry him back to the pond where the ducks have dissipated.

“You’re mean sometimes still,” you hear Choso behind you, earning a click of Sukuna’s tongue.

“None of you have a sense of humor.”

Still, Choso manages to get an apology out of Sukuna– as measly as it is– who then makes his way over to you and Yuji at the pond’s shore, ruffling the youngest’s hair as he kisses the crown of your head.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear.

Someday, though, you all will look back on this moment and laugh.

Though, there are times when Sukuna definitely shouldn’t laugh. No matter how funny things are.

But really, who are you to judge him when you can’t keep a straight face either?

Ever since starting the first grade, Yuji has been complaining non-stop about his teacher. Now to some degree, you can understand why the little boy might struggle. After all, it’s the first time he’s been in a classroom setting that’s a bit more true-to-form than Kindergarten, his attention span isn’t phenomenal, and he’s a chatterbox.

The problem here being that his teacher actually is somewhat unreasonable.

She has rules that you can’t begin to make sense of. The kids aren’t allowed any toys in the classroom, which has been an issue for Yuji who still struggles with sharing here and there. They aren’t allowed to wear shorts, even on hot days. They aren’t allowed to stay inside for lunch, even on particularly cold days. They need their journals signed daily to assure the teacher their parents know what they studied in class.

But most peculiarly of all, they’re only allowed to use the washroom once during the morning and once during the afternoon.

Which is how you and Sukuna end up seated across from the principal in the middle of work for you both. Why both of you? Incompetence, Sukuna had grumbled out. When he didn’t pick up, they left a message, then called you. Now, here you both are.

The room smells of old paper and some sort of solvent– ink, you figure, based on the sheer amount of fountain pens the middle-aged woman has at the edge of her desk. A portrait of the school’s founder hangs slightly off-kilter behind her head as she sits across from you with clasped hands. She seems relatively comfortable seated across from you, but your boyfriend keeps catching glances.

You’ve noticed that a lot more since you began dating. Being a startlingly tall guy with tattoos and pink hair and a glare that could kill tends to do that.

Yuji is ushered in shortly, taking a seat in a third chair they’ve dragged up, one of the orange plastic ones typical of an elementary school. There’s no remorse in his expression– in fact, he bears a very similar scowl to the one your boyfriend has. You have to fight a smile at the sight of the two pink-haired scoundrels with the same expression.

“Can we get on with this?” Sukuna gruffs from beside you, manspreading unashamedly as he leans back in the chair. He glances at his little brother with obvious frustration, but reserves judgement until he’s heard what warranted both of you leaving work.

The principal, undoubtedly not thrilled to be seated against your grumpy and intimidating boyfriend yet again, offers a sympathetic smile, her lips pressed tightly together. “I apologize for the intrusion to your day Mr. Sukuna,” she turns to you, addressing you by last name as well. “Yuji here has gotten himself into a bit of trouble with his teacher,” she begins, leaning forward over the grand wooden desk. It’s the kind of furniture that has you questioning whether the school budget is being used appropriately, but now’s not exactly the time.

Sukuna tosses a narrowed gaze at Yuji, who crosses his arms over his chest obstinately.

“Yuji’s teacher has a number of rules the students must follow in order to keep the large classroom size under control,” she explains. “To ensure she can keep an eye on all thirty kids, she only allows them to use the washroom once during the morning, and once in the afternoon.”

“What?” Sukuna’s lip curls in sheer disbelief.

“Ryo,” you keep your voice low with reassurance. He grimaces, but allows the principal to continue.

“Regardless of your thoughts on the rules,” the principal continues with a grateful smile in your direction. “Yuji caused a bit of a stir among the students.”

Still nothing unusual about that. Although, when you cast a glance in Yuji’s direction, you note that he’s far more pallid than usual. You also had expected him to pipe in by now with his own version of the story. Something is clearly off.

“He had already used his hall pass early this afternoon, and asked to use the washroom again. When his teacher did not allow him, he repeatedly raised his hand to ask, and after five disruptions, he chose to walk out and yell at her.”

You suck in a breath, sighing at the fact that there’s no winning here when you know Yuji shouldn’t have yelled, but his teacher isn’t in the right to begin with.

“That’s not even what happened,” Yuji grumbles under his breath at your side, sounding more and more like his older brother by the moment.

Sukuna, at wit’s end, waves his hand towards Yuji like this situation is all a waste of time and bringing one of you– let alone both of you– has him clinging to his last shred of patience. “What happened, Yu?” He pushes, unimpressed by the whole situation.

“I don’t feel good,” he starts. Sukuna sits up a modicum, wishing they had started with that. “My tummy hurts and I needed to pee again,” he pouts. “She said no every time I asked.”

“So you yelled?” Sukuna frowns, unimpressed by the situation in general, but on the same page as the little boy.

Yuji’s gaze glides to the side, avoiding all three adults in the room. “I asked her again. She kept saying no, so I told her I would pee my pants.”

You exchange a glance with Sukuna, whose entire view on the situation has changed as the obvious humor in a six-year-old yelling about peeing at his desk has you both contorting your faces in an effort not to smile at his expense when his stomach hurts. You bring a hand up to your lips in hopes of covering up your contorted expression.

“She told me I was lying, so I left.”

“What did you say when you left, Yuji?” The principal pushes as though she expects the teacher to somehow still be in the right, given the obvious shift in perspective Yuji’s side of the story brings.

“She asked me where I was going so I turned around and yelled. I said um– I said–” He sits upright somewhat, mimicking the original moment. “I have to PEE!” He holds his stomach now, staring back down at the floor. “Then I left.”

Sukuna brings a hand up over his mouth while you distract yourself with motivational posters on the wall. A snort breaks through Sukuna’s composure, but he recovers quickly. He clears his throat, scratching at the stubble along his chin. Thank god he’s handling it. You can feel the laughter in your damn throat.

Sukuna turns his attention to the little boy. “How’re you feeling now, Yu?”

“Bad,” he whines.

“Alright. I’ll take you home.” He turns towards you, flushed with the effort to not burst into laughter after Yuji’s impression. “You go back to work, princess.”

“Hold on,” the principal stops his process in its tracks with a disgruntled frown. “This behaviour isn’t acceptable and needs to be properly addressed.”

Sukuna, halfway risen with a palm pressed to the armrest, casts you another glance. You shrug, in agreement that this entire situation is ridiculous and more than willing to let Sukuna handle it in whatever way he sees fit.

With your agreement that he’s in the right, he rises to his feet. You’re positive he only does it because he knows he’s imposing when he stands over someone and he’s trying to make a point quickly. “Look, the kid’s not feelin’ well and that rule makes no sense,” he points out. “Just let me take him home and tell his teacher I said he can use the washroom whenever he wants.”

The principal opens her mouth in what you’re certain will be a retort as you rise to your feet, tugging your purse up with you when Sukuna interrupts again.

“If she doesn’t like it, she can suck it up. He’s six,” your boyfriend points out. “He can apologize for yelling, but I’m not making him apologize for something that isn’t a damn issue.” The principal is silent as Sukuna ushers both you and Yuji out with a hand on your lower back and Yuji’s head, respectively. “Don’t waste my time,” he grumbles.

The principal makes one last attempt to save face but it’s futile as the door shuts behind you and her sentence is clipped short.

Sukuna’s hand shifts from your back to the side of your arm opposite him as he pulls you into his embrace. His voice is in your ear as he speaks, low. “Sorry they dragged you here too.”

“I don’t mind,” you lean into his touch, basking in his warmth.

“I was just finishing up that client presentation. They called right before it ended.”

“How’d it go?” You query, peering up at him with intrigue.

“I think the client likes the second batch of logo proofs. I should find out tomorrow.”

Yuji clutches his stomach, moving out of Sukuna’s reach towards your car as he spots it. He rounds it to the side where his car seat is, waiting for help to get buckled in.

You stop just short of the car to face Sukuna. “That’s great, baby!” You push up onto your toes to press a kiss to his chin. His eyes crinkle at the corners as large hands effortlessly find your waist.

“Shit, I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I can just picture him turning around and yelling at the teacher,” he smirks.

You barely restrain a smile by biting your lip with a shake of your head. “I’ve been telling you he’s funny!”

“Every time you tell me that, it’s when he’s comparing me to a fucking mammoth.”

You hold your hand out at him like you’re presenting further evidence to your point, fighting a smile.

With an unimpressed but unquestionably warm scoff, he pulls you into his chest by the back of your head. He might play it off like he doesn’t find it funny, but you hear his chest rumble beneath your ear while you laugh into the warmth of his button-up.

When he finally releases the back of your head, your hands rest on his chest while you peer up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’m working from home today, so I don’t need to go back to the office. Did you want to head back to your office?”

He sighs, contemplating his reply with a glance at the spot where Yuji is waiting, although he can’t see the boy behind the car. “If you can handle him, then–”

The sound of wretching has him stopping dead in his tracks as you collectively turn to face Yuji. It’s barely a moment before the little boy is dragging himself from behind the car, clutching his stomach with teary eyes. “Daaaad,” he whines, sniffling. “I threw up.”

Sukuna sighs in spite of the way his chest tightens with emotion at the seldom-heard title. “I’ll come home,” he mutters, kissing the top of your head before moving to deal with his sick brother. “C’mon Yu, let’s get you home and cleaned up.”

Then, there are the times where Sukuna won’t laugh, which tends to be the times that have you laughing uncontrollably.

“Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna–”

“What, Yuji?” Sukuna sighs as the kid practically has his older brother dragging him by the hand through the mall. You can’t even blame the younger Itadori too much, because in fairness your boyfriend is big enough to be a jungle gym.

“Can we go back and get that Sonic backpack?”

“You already have a backpack.”

“Yeah, but not a Sonic one,” the kid points out, standing upright to prove a point to the eldest.

Choso smiles at your side as they bicker ahead of you, but returns to your conversation as you contemplate what his friend might like for her birthday. “She just started to get into makeup,” Choso muses.

“We could check out a few stores,” you agree. “Do you think she’d be more into that than a toy or game? It’s pretty expensive so we might not be able to get a lot for her.”

“She also really wants a Sleep Token hoodie,” he offers, looking to you for price guidance.

You tilt your head from side to side. Her taste in music from what you’ve heard is similar to Choso’s, and his band merchandise doesn’t tend to run cheap. “We could probably either get her the hoodie, or a couple of pieces of makeup.”

The older of the two kids fiddles with his nails as he thinks it over. “Can we look at the hoodie first? Maybe it’s on sale?”

You nod your approval, smiling warmly at the sweet boy’s genuine compassion towards choosing a gift for his best friend. “The store’s just up–”

Splash!

You blink as you point towards the store just ahead, stopping dead in your tracks at the realization that Yuji has just plopped himself straight into the water feature in the center of the mall walkway, which should probably have guard rails but doesn’t.

As a result, your boyfriend– who must have been caught off-guard– has been splashed with water up to his waist, and his little brother is now soaked.

Choso has already turned around as he starts laughing, walking in the other direction to save himself from Sukuna’s wrath. Smoke may as well be coming from his ears at this point, but before the kettle even boils over, you burst into laughter too.

You can’t be sure whether you or Yuji will face his fury first when he faces you with a fiery glare that flickers back to his little brother.

“Yuji,” he hisses, channeling every ounce of anger management he’s ever learned as he drags the little boy from the water. Yuji doesn’t do much in the way of helping, letting his brother drag him as he stares at the water pooling on the ground below him. “What did I say?”

You cover your mouth, moving away to join Choso as you both laugh against the wall, letting the two brothers figure things out on their own.

“I knew that was gonna happen,” Choso chuckles with a wide grin that has you unable to hold back your own laughter.

“Why didn’t you say something?” You nudge him.

Choso fights a smile unsuccessfully. “I thought Kuna had it under control. Did you not see how hard Yuji was pulling against him?”

“I was thinking about Hana’s gift!” You defend yourself.

Choso quietly chuckles at your side as you two laugh at Sukuna’s expense while he scolds Yuji, who is now soaked to his stomach in fountain water. The whole situation is heartwarming, truthfully. A year ago, Choso very well might have shut down at this interaction, because Sukuna would likely have lost his temper and the entire thing would have resulted in a fight.

Now, your boyfriend– although still short-fused– knows what to spend his energy on and what lessons can be learned through a little cold air.

“Now who’s gonna fuckin’ freeze when we go outside, huh?”

Yuji pouts, rambling off another apology as you and Choso approach. “Can I have your jacket?” The little boy pleads.

“Fuck no,” Sukuna frowns, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re gonna learn your lesson.”

Mirroring his older brother’s expression, Yuji refuses to look at him. “You said a bad word.”

“You jumped in a fountain.”

Two peas in a pod, really.

“Come on, we’re going to the car,” Sukuna points back the way you came. “You don’t get to walk around like this.”

Continuing to pout as he trudges away from the three of you, Sukuna glares at you and Choso. Pinned in place by searing red eyes, you would think you might find yourself scared. But your boyfriend isn’t as intimidating as he seems once you break through all the walls and find out how gooey he is underneath.

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter.

“I’m dumping you two in the fountain next if I hear another fuckin’ laugh from either of you,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes further as Choso buries his face in his hoodie.

“Go find the hoodie, I’ll meet you there,” you murmur to Choso, urging the middle brother ahead. Eyeing the soaked side of Sukuna’s pants where water splashed and now drips to the mall floor from the hemmed bottom, you shake your head. “He got you good, huh?”

“At this rate, he’ll give me a fucking heart attack before I’m thirty.”

You can’t help a giggle, but you reach into your pocket for your keys regardless. “Go take him home before you both get a cold. Can you pick Cho and I up in a bit?”

Pressing the heel of his palm into his temple, he sighs. “Yeah. How’s four?”

“That works! I love you, Kuna.” You squeeze his bicep, making a point to avoid the soaked side of his pants.

He huffs. “Love you too, princess.”

For as good as Sukuna has gotten with the kids, you can’t blame him for being frustrated when that’s not even the worst of the times that he finds himself with his head in his hands because Yuji has no regard for others. Or himself, really. 

No, the worst of the times? That was during a walk through the local park on a warm summer day. Sukuna had pulled out his skateboard, offering to teach the youngest to skate, while helping to refresh Choso’s memory.

“That’s it, now tilt your feet and lean with the motion to turn!” Your boyfriend calls out to the brunette.

Choso’s tongue sticks out as he tilts his feet forward while the board slows as it takes the corner. He nearly runs off the path into the grass, but recovers just quickly enough that he makes the turn and manages to keep his speed with another push as he manages to straighten out. The young teen’s head whips towards Sukuna for approval, who offers a nod.

“How much did you two board when you were kids?” You query at Sukuna’s side, keeping an eye on Yuji playing with chalk by a nearby bench.

His large palm subconsciously finds your hip, kneading the plush of your skin absently from over your shorts. “Toji n’ I were out daily. Cho came on weekdays usually when Dad was busy. He would skate–” he shrugs, “dunno, an hour or two a week?”

“He’s doing pretty good for only a couple of hours a week like five years ago,” you muse.

“Yeah, but he’s a punk rocker now,” he smirks, “it comes with the territory.”

Humming along with your boyfriend, you watch proudly as Choso doubles back, picking up speed as his confidence increases.

“Do you still want that Green Day board?” You ask as he rolls on past you both.

He slows to a halt, his shoe scuffing the pavement as he drags the board by its front trucks back to where you’re standing. He nods excitedly, a little gleam in his eyes that has you unable to hold back your glee. His birthday is coming up soon enough that you’re more than happy to spoil what his gift may be if it makes the quieter of the kids happy.

Sunlight beats down on you all from high in the sky, a sheen of sweat forming along your spine as the afternoon gets warmer by the minute. The heat is clearly getting to your boyfriend as well, but you can’t deny that the way his muscles gleam under the sun is hot.

You suppose those are tonight thoughts, though.

“Kunaaaa!” Yuji excitedly attracts attention now that the board’s been brought back. “Can you teach me now?”

“Go get your helmet,” Sukuna urges.

With a cheerful exclamation, Choso takes his helmet off to fix his hair, setting it on the bench a short distance away where Yuji grabs his helmet. They exchange some words before Yuji is positioned before you both. You help him with elbow and knee pads while Sukuna adjusts the board’s trucks to accommodate the small boy.

“Try that out, Yu.”

Yuji hops on the board, using his kneeling brother’s shoulders to help balance as the board tilts back and forth. “Is this right?”

“Tilt your feet towards me. Good. Now tilt them back.” With one more minor adjustment, Sukuna has Yuji repeat the motion and nods. “That looks good. Hop off and I’ll make sure the wheels are good.”

The little boy rocks on his heels back and forth while you chat with Choso. He watches the birds and bugs breeze by on the warm day when suddenly his motions stop, a concentrated look coming over his face. He lifts his hand and holds it in the air briefly before shamelessly smacking Sukuna’s cheek. The eldest completely freezes, wide-eyed and incredulous. Before he has a chance to process what just happened, Yuji peels a dead mosquito off Sukuna’s cheek, proudly presenting it to him like a cat presenting a dead mouse.

Still reeling over what just happened, your boyfriend blinks, staring down at the mess of guts that’s now half in Yuji’s hand and half on his cheek, surely. His frustration takes a moment to catch up, just as your laughter does, from where your hands are over your lips in shock at the whole situation.

Letting out a prolonged sigh, Sukuna heavily drags his hand over his features and holds it there. Head still in his hand, he holds out his free hand, allowing the child to dump the dead bug on his palm. “Great. Thanks, brat.” Disbelief, shock, and barely-restrained frustration all coil together into a strange low tone tinged in the kind of weariness that comes from raising a kid like Yuji.

“You’re welcome, Kuna!” He grins, hopping away into the shade to wait while his brother finishes adjustments on the board.

Sukuna, on the other hand, has not recovered from– humiliation? Frustration? Who knows what it should be branded.

Through your stifled laughter, you set a hand on his back where he’s still kneeling, keeled over now. “Kuna?” You breathe between giggles.

“Don’t,” he grumbles, muffled behind his own hand.

When that sends Choso over the edge, the middle brother laughing behind you, Sukuna finally raises his head to glare. “Quit laughing before I agree to chaperone your school dance,” he growls from where he’s kneeling.

Choso bites the inside of his cheek, his face contorted as he does everything in his power not to laugh.

You, on the other hand, don’t care. “You okay, baby?” You ask between airy chuckles.

He huffs, his head hanging again. “I’m fine,” he grumbles through gritted teeth, finally pushing to his feet. The sight of his cheek, slightly red, and noticeably covered in squished bug, has you biting your lip in order to not further humiliate the brute.

“You um, have a little–” you motion to his cheek, coughing to cover up your giggles.

He grunts, lifting the hem of his muscle shirt to wipe his cheek. Your gaze dips for a second, before innocently finding his eyes once again as he looks to you for approval.

“Got it,” you grin.

“Can you just–” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I need a moment.” He steps closer to the pond at the center of the park, staring out at the water with a forlorn expression.

Poor guy.

But Sukuna’s most fond Yuji moment? The moment he proudly brings up?

That has to be Yuji’s first really big art project.

All week you’ve been hearing about it. They’re using clay. They’re choosing a subject to sculpt from a magazine and putting together a whole fact board about their subject. Yuji’s putting his entire heart into the project.

As the art show approaches by the day and Yuji continues to hype up how excited he is and tell you all about this creation that he won’t go into detail about, your expectations rise with every conversation.

The school art show has you pridefully holding the young boy’s hand as he drags you to the elementary school doors. Choso is with Hana for the night, and Sukuna trails a short distance behind you with hands thrown into his pockets. It’s no secret that your boyfriend is imposing, all six feet and eleven inches of muscle and scowls lumbering through the halls like a bear among deer, but he’s grown accustomed to the surprised glances he tends to get.

He’s never far behind you however as Yuji drags you through the crowd, passing through the paintings and collages from other classes, until you reach the section where his class put together a number of sculptures.

Now, you do have to remind yourself that they’re six. There’s a range of skill levels for sure, but they’re broadly what you’d expect. Lions with pointy manes made of toothpicks and eyes too big for their heads. Tea pots with spouts that flop. Birds with actual feathers lodged into the clay. Spaghetti that’s terrifyingly orange. An old computer that’s honestly just a beige cube.

It’s all here, and it warms your heart how much effort these kids all put into their projects. Yuji drags you from aisle to aisle, admiring the art as he points out the ones that belong to his friends– a hammer and a popstar.

And finally, towards the end of the second aisle, you come to Yuji’s.

It pulls the air straight from your lungs.

An art board is decorated with various magazine pages and printed photos of his model: a caterpillar with brown coloring. It’s a cute little thing, and you can see why he chose it.

And the sculpture?

For lack of a better word, it’s a brown log. A piece of poop, if you will.

Sukuna coughs behind you, turning around to cough into his elbow. The fit lasts too long as you struggle not to laugh while he leaves you hanging.

You choke on your own spit, a less dramatic coughing fit of sorts. Once you’ve composed yourself, you ruffle Yuji’s hair. “That’s amazing, honey!” You manage, genuinely proud of your own restraint. He grins brightly, peering up at you, before turning his concern to his brother who’s keeled over, catching his breath.

“Is Kuna okay?”

“Don’t worry about him,” you reassure the sweet boy in an effort to divert all attention away. “I think we both just inhaled some dust over here.”

“Oh,” he blinks. “Okay!”

When Sukuna finally stands upright, tears in his eyes, he swallows hard. His voice is a wheeze when he replies. “That’s my favorite project so far, Yu.”

If there’s one thing you can say for sure, it’s that Sukuna’s not lying. There’s genuine joy in his voice as he stares in disbelief at the art project you’ve been hearing about for hours on end this week. Yuji’s masterpiece of a work of art.

And a masterpiece it is.

“You like it?” Yuji beams, bright and excited as he clings to Sukuna’s arm.

“Yeah,” he gruffs through the strain of suppressing laughter, covering the effort up with another cough. You give him a pointed look as he nearly laughs again, nudging his shin with the back of your heel. “I love it, Yu. We’re putting it somewhere special, for sure.”

And of that, Sukuna was also not lying. Long into Yuji’s teens, after Choso has moved out and the signs of age start to show in the tattooed brute’s mellowed mannerisms, it’s still one of Sukuna’s favorite topics. You can’t decide whether he brings it up in the ‘annoying older brother’ kind of way, or the ‘proud father showing off a fish he caught’ kind of way, but at the end of the day Yuji will still groan at the teasing.

At fourteen years old, his friends are coming over for dinner and in preparation, Sukuna does his part.

The caterpillar makes its way to the center of the dining room table, the eldest’s favorite talking piece. It’s long-since cracked and needed minor repairs after many arguments held between the bickering brothers, but at its core it’s still the masterpiece created eight years prior.

Dashing for the sculpture, the youngest is caught in a headlock before he can grab it. “Sukuna, pleaaaaase!” He pulls at his brother’s arm, but it’s to no avail.

“My house, my rules,” Sukuna rebuttals with an amused snort, spinning Yuji away from the table in an effort to defend it. He only releases his little brother once he’s positive he can defend the embarrassing piece of Yuji’s history with his life.

“It’s embarrassing!”

“It’s a work of art,” the eldest declares with a sharp and smug grin that age has never dulled.

Sukuna was right about one more thing, too.

It took many years, but in his teens, Yuji does begin to look back on the duck incident fondly. And the photos? Those had even him laughing.

main masterlist || series masterlist

❦ a/n ; hiiiii everyone!! i missed this fam too much and had so many funny little ideas that i wanted to put together for yuji, the little comedian that he is. i hope you enjoyed this fluffy little tidbit <33

shoutout to the tiktok an anon sent like a year ago that inspired the mall moment, a post that inspired the sculpture, and my elementary school friend who inspired the moment where yuji gets in trouble with his teacher. and the ducks? that's my first memory 😭 (i promise yuji laughed at those photos, I WOULD KNOW)

❦ taglist ; CLOSED. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be removed.

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut @hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @mad-katsuki @timetoletmyimaginationfly @clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @tillaboo @gojodickbig @spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @vadergf @ieathairs @cinnamxnangel @nessca153 @aerareads @after-laughter-come-tears @tillaboo @thepassionatereader @erencvlt @v1sque @a-girl-with-thoughts @lauuriiiz @blueemochii @paradisestarfishh @erenxh @call-me-doll8811 @dabieater @janrcrosssing @angel-loganswife @privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast @axxk17 @toratsue @bluestbleu @yuji-itadori-fave @totallygyomeiswife @night-sky16 @thirdligmonster

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[yorikae]

dumb, dumber & dumbest!

synopsis: how to convince your scary boss to fuck again?: two three idiots guide on how to serenade your hot &frightening boss!

content: 18+, gojo vs sukuna x ceo!reader x geto, crackfic, gojo is a desperate idiot, foursome, oral sex (fem!receiving), semi public sex, m&m, dry humping, eiffel tower, foursome, threesome, mentions of voyuerism, this is basically smut w background lol & suguru centric— part one wc: 7k & divider by @/honeyluvsw

subject: xoxo, can we fuck again?

“ow—what the hell?” satoru yowled, hand flying to the back of his head where sukuna had just smacked him.

“what the fuck are you doing?” sukuna snapped. “you trying to scare her off?”

“she likes when we get straight to the point.”

“no,” sukuna deadpanned, “she likes when you shut the fuck up, actually.”

“yeah she did. especially when it was cause i was dragging my tongue down her—”

“you do realize you’re drafting your pervy email on my computer, right?”

the both of them went still, heads turning in sync.

suguru sat across the room like he’d always been there, legs crossed, casually eating cashews.

“…when the fuck did you get here?”

“does it matter?” he hummed. “it’s my office. and don’t send that email—seriously, that’s a sexual harassment claim waiting to happen.”

satoru pouted, half-listening as suguru went on about workplace behavior, clicking around aimlessly as he tried to remember how to log out of outlook.

“not even to mention”, suguru went on cutting himself off with a laugh, “i didn’t ask her if we could make more money from our first fuck.”

“don’t remind me,” sukuna muttered.

he leaned back, watching satoru give up entirely, minimizing the tab, opening a browser, and typing in girlsgogames like that was somehow a solution to anything.

“it was a joke,” sukuna added, quieter this time.

“she didn’t think so.”

and satoru wasn’t wrong. you didn’t particularly find it funny taking the initiative to kick the two men out flat on their asses not even fully dressed.

though, you did still shower with them, a heavy makeout session under the pelting water with satoru, and a messy handjob with sukuna.

it wasn’t enough.

and right before, you could shut the final curtain on whatever pathetic hopes they had left for how the night was supposed to end — curled up with you in your bed.

you paused. mostly because of satoru.

to his credit if only barely it was the way he stood there, all pitiful, blue eyes wide and glassy behind his lenses, hair a mess, clad in nothing but his boxers. his arms were full of his things, like he’d been rushed out (because he had), and still, he lingered.

staring at you. waiting.

“…one kiss?” he tried, softer this time.

just fucking pathetic...and kinda cute.

and maybe that’s why you gave in—just a little. you leaned in, pressing the lightest peck to his lips before pulling back just as quickly, flicking sukuna the finger and slamming your door shut before they could muster up any hope about staying. about you.

and that was that.

but the two men…they didn’t just want that. they were desperate.

desperate in the fact that, after spending so long getting to be even a little bit amicable, your relationship seemed to deteriorate.

could you hate someone more after an amazingly nasty fuck? if not you definitely made it possible.

maybe, maybe they still had a sliver of a chance.

just enough hope to worm their way back into your good graces… eventually. you were clearly done with them for now, but not permanently, right?

“she’s not going to be interested.” satoru murmured half-focused, his mouth hidden behind his hand like this was a high-level strategy meeting, brow scrunched in concentration as he tried to get elsa the perfect dress.

“no, no… she needs something that says regret.” sukuna intervned pointing at the screen.

“you’re dressing up a cartoon, not writing an apology,”suguru deadpanned. “if you want her to forgive you, you’re going have to make it worth her while, yeah?”

“and how exactly are we supposed to— no, not that one!, the purple one.”

“well?”

“…well what?”

“what do we do?”

“why are you asking me?”

sukuna stood up from his stance, back up observing the man, “you definitely know how to charm her.”

“yeah!", satoru perked up immediately, you could help us—"

“stop right there.” suguru straightened watching unimpressed at the two starkly different-colored eyes stare back at him. “do not involve me in this nonsense.”

“ahhh sugu, but—“

“why the fuck not—“

“if i get involved neither of you stand a chance.” he said in finality, dropping the little bowl of peanuts in his desk, standing up with a groan. “trust me.”

"cocky bastard."

PLAN 1 ; PERSUASION — IN PROGRESS

how would the men charm you, you’re probably asking?

we don’t know! and as you expected neither did they. while wasn’t out of character but you’d think considering the situation they would think it through.

...

…

…

well, they didn’t.

and that was pretty obvious from the way everyone could see the irritation mark forming perfectly on your head as the two men bombarded you all day with their nonsense bullshit.

satoru, ever the sweetheart, at least was trying to be subtle. giving you soft compliments, hovering at your side, acting as your assistant for the day even with the piles of paperwork his desk had waiting to be signed.

it was cute until it wasn’t.

because “subtle” to satoru apparently meant leaning over your shoulder every five minutes to whisper things like “you look really pretty when you’re stressed” or dramatically sighing every time you didn’t acknowledge him.

he also kept handing you things you did not ask for.

mainly pens.

and more pens.

then a third pen because “this one feels right.”

you now had seven pens. (sounds like a riddle, ha!) which was annoying because you knew you were going to lose them, and they were nice pens too.

but you were not using any of them.

“do you need water?” he asked for the fourth time in ten minutes, already holding the glass to your lips like you were incapable of lifting your own hand.

you slowly turned your head.

“…satoru.”

“yes?” he beamed.

“if you ask me that again i will drown you in it.”

“sooooo that’s a no?”

and sukuna when did that man do anything subtle in his life?

unlike satoru he already decided subtlety was for cowards.

so what did he do, you may ask?

he planted himself in your space like he paid rent there, arms crossed, watching you work like you were some sort of performance.

“you’re doing that wrong.”

you paused and blinked once. “i’m signing my name.”

“could be better.”

“get out.”

he didn’t.

instead he kept sliding things toward you.

snacks, drinks, and random objects that had absolutely nothing to do with your work. as if the two of them shared one brain cell on how to woo you.

at one point, he placed a knife on your desk.

you stared at it. then at him.

“…why?”

“in case you need it.”

“for what.”

he shrugged. “you look like you might stab someone.”

you’re the boss. and frankly he was becoming bad for business.

hovering too close, grinding up on you, glaring down anyone anyone who so much as tried to speak to you, even contractors just doing their job. it was getting old. fast.

and the worst part? the fact that you refused to give him the reaction he wanted only seemed to egg him on more.

you were stuck in yet another day, in this obscure cycle with the two of them, you thought you finally escaped this unreal experience as you stalked to your office for one last thing.

you moved quickly, slipping in, already flipping through a binder behind your desk, keys in hand, ready to leave before either of them could catch up.

you just forgot another important thing. you had a six-foot-seven, pink-haired shadow.

“really?”, he growled when he walked into your office seeing you standing, flipping through a bindernot even flinching at his presence.

“sending me on a wild goose chase,” he continued, voice dropping as he stepped inside, slow, agonizingly deliberate like he had all the time in the world, “just so you could leave without me knowing?”

he watched you huff a sigh, as if this, as if he was too much trouble.“it almost worked too,” you muttered, sparing him a quick glance before going right back to what you were doing.

that seemed to do it.

because the next second, he was back where he always insisted on being too close.

his chest pressed against your back, presence overwhelming, like he was trying to box you in without even trying.

“oh, i know,” he chuckled lowly, one hand coming up to brush along your waist, testing, pushing. “you missed me.”

his smile grew as he saw you falter for a split second, but long enough for him to sink his resolve in making you break.

his head dipped down to the side of you neck, “miss how i ruled you and this pussy, yeah?”

“ruled me?” you echoed, dropping your head back to his chest and turning slightly to look at him. “you ruled me?”

sukuna hummed, his large hands comin to rub on your hips as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “of course, how else would it be?”

“wow alpha man in every aspect of your life, huh?” you continued fixing your posture back so there was a bit of space between you.

“standing here acting like i didn’t have you bent every which way underneath me.” sukuna smirked against your neck, his body pressing further behind pushing you to your desk.

“yeah?”

“mhm.”

you turned your head, a hint of a smile of your face as you observed him. “and i had you kiss your best friend.” you started as you turned pushing a hand to his chest. “you followed my every command like a bitch.”

sukuna swallowed as he followed the movement of your lips, “my little bitch. and i’m still in charge right now.”

you scoffed a laugh tilting your head, “so let’s not get it twisted on who really runs shit, okay?

he didn’t even realize he was backing up until he was outside the threshold of your office door as you mouthed, “buh-bye”, with a wave of your hand slamming the door in his face.

“shit.”

it didn’t take long before the knocks came back to your frosted glass door.

you couldn’t see who it was but you didn’t need to.

the broad bulky silhouette gave it away.

you sighed, head dropping into your hands as you dragged them down your face. you would’ve thought his ego would stay bruised a little longer.

“not now, sukuna. please,” you said, already straightening the papers on your desk like you weren’t about to be interrupted anyway.

the door creaked open.

…

“suguru?”

leaned against the doorway, lips curling into a knowing smirk as he stepped inside.

“the one and only,” he said smoothly. “hope i didn’t disappoint.”

“of course not!, never,” you replied, a small smile slipping through as you watched him idly neaten the stack of papers you had just fixed.

he glanced at you, eyes sharp, taking in more than you liked.

“you seem stressed.”

"as much as i usually am." you huffed, turning back to what you were doing so maybe you could go through with your earlier plan and go home.

he hummed, crossing his arms behind him, as he started towards you, his eyes running over your tired appearance. "do you need my help?"

your eyes quickly darted to him before landing back at your screen. "that won't be necessary." you said quickly, too quickly.

“you don’t let me take care of you anymore.” he purred, leaning down so his hands turned you to face him and finally sliding up your thighs with ease and familiarity.

“it’s unprofessional suguru.”

“and they are professional?” he chuckled his breath hitting your face lightly as you smiled slightly against your hand.

“i just—”, you paused eye flicking to suguru, running over his face, his lidded eyes, his knowing smirk and the slight quirk of his head.

“always did say you think too much y’know.”

he leaned up his lips crashing on yours as you settled with a quick hmph, your hands coming up to grip his hair that was falling out the bun.

he pulled back slightly, smirking as licked your lips before moving further to be face to with you.

"suguru you’re—“, you pursed your lips as you looked away from the man again, biting at your fingernails, only peeking back at him when he squeezed your waist.

“i’m?”, he asked teasingly as his face drew closer, his breath hitting your face leaning further to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. “huh?, i’m what?”

“distracting…” you breathed finally, trying your best not to squirm under his gaze when he finally smiled moving down as his nose brushed the column of your neck.

“distracting? me?” his voice came up muffled from your neck, the vibrations doing nothing to soothe the burn growing in your abdomen.

“well that’s not good…i’m distracting?” he spoke up again, pulling back to face you, your nose brushing from his closeness. “how so?”

“suguru..”

“no this is a real issue.” he feigned concern, the side of his mouth quirked up showed how seriously he took the situation. “i distract you baby?”

“yes,” you replied, your eyes flickering, betraying you for just a second as they dropped from his light purple gaze to his lips, close enough to brush yours before snapping back up like nothing happened.

but not quick enough, the glint in his eyes showed he knew how much you needed him, as he tilted his head wishing for you to continue.

“you—“ you started gasping as his hand moved from your hip and dragging down to cup your cunt over your pants. “suguru—“

“continue”, he hummed still watching you as if he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary.

“you look at me like you’ve seen me naked.”

“well... i have. many times.”

“but you shouldn’t do that suguru.” you stammered out shivering under his touch, his hand slipped up to the opening of your slacks, not even bothering to unbutton them just slipping in to where you yearned for him.

"but why?", he tilted his head. "not like any of those old ass execs will get the chance to."

“that’s not that point!” you squeaked when his thumb pressed on your clothed clit and pinched it.

“then what is the point?” he muttered, eyes locked in your face as you tried you best to stay serious. “i don’t see the issue.”

“im in charge.” you said quieter than you meant for it to sound, as you opened your eyes again, attempting to glare at him.

“so cute…” his thumb dragged over the side of your panties taking before he pressed his index finger by your wet entrance. “you’re in charge but you’re this wet for your low level executive?”

“you’re not low level.”

“glad you know baby.” his finally finger pushed inside, thumb coming back to rub at your clit. his other hand grabbing your face pulling your attention back to his as he puffed out your lips, dragging you into a heated kiss.

suguru chuckled at the whine you let out when he pulled away his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away.

you grinded down on his two fingers now intruding inside your wet cunt, the noise starting to pick up in the quiet of your room.

“you’re close, yeah?”

you hummed in response, desperately wanting more from him before he piled away entirely.

“what— suguru!”

he stood to his full height stretching his arms, giving you a great glance under his shirt that rose up showing his fluffy black happy trail.

“well, i can’t distract you now.” he chuckled, popping his two slick fingers into his mouth as he slowly started back towards the door.

“suguru!”

“bye boss.”

“fucking prick!”

“there’s no way.”

“WE BOTH FAILED.” satoru whined as he unwrapped another peppermint from suguru’s bowl.

“well that’s not surprising the man”, the man replied eyes flicking to the now forty mint wrapper on his desk. “you’re going to clean all of these up right?”

“yeah, yeah,” satoru dismissed, waving his off like he was swatting a fly,“we need a new plan.”

“fuck the plan,” sukuna growled, arms crossed for what had to be the tenth time in five minutes as the chair creaked in protest. “this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“noooo, so what are we going to do then?” satoru dragged the words out, put forming as he continued to suck on the mint.

“nothing.”

there was a pause. a long one.

suguru and satoru both stared at sukuna like he’d just suggested they all take up knitting.

“nothing?” satoru blinked.

“nothing,” sukuna repeated, just as stubborn, like if he said it enough times it would magically sound smarter.

satoru popped up immediately, practically teleporting to sukuna’s side. he grabbed his arm, mint clacking against his teeth as he leaned in way too close. “you think it’ll work?”

sukuna inhaled slowly, eyes locking onto satoru’s. the mint peeked out between his lips, and for a split second sukuna forgot what the question even was.

“…i don’t know,” he admitted, clearing his throat like that would fix it. “but it’s different than what we usually do.”

“wow,” suguru nodded without looking away from his computer. “that’s almost smart. think you can handle that?”

“almost?” sukuna scoffed, dragging his gaze away from satoru’s mouth for the second time. “i’m the smartest one in this fucking room. what, you think this isn’t gonna work?”

“no, it could,” suguru sighed, finally glancing up. “i just don’t think you two can go a day without doing something stupid. that’s all.”

“hmph.”

and just like that, the two men committed to doing absolutely nothing.

you walked into work already sighing, because unfortunately your office required passing theirs. a daily trial. a test of patience. a character-building experience no one asked for.

but when the elevator doors opened, it was… quiet. too quiet.

their doors were open, which meant they were definitely there. but there was no yelling, no crashing, no suspiciously expensive property damage. just… normal office sounds.

which was, frankly, terrifying.

you moved slowly toward their offices, peeking in like you were checking for signs of life. they were like toddlers—if they were quiet, something was wrong. something was always wrong.

you reached satoru’s first.

he was sitting at his desk, typing like a functional member of society, casually eating a chocolate croissant. at the sight of you, he lit up, cheeks full, waving like he’d just seen his favorite person instead of someone he annoyed for sport.

then he went right back to typing.

okay. unsettling. but fine.

you stepped over to sukuna’s next.

the man didn’t even move at first. then, slowly, his eyes opened, locking onto you with a glare like you’d personally offended him just by existing in his doorway.

weird. but… not unusual enough to panic.

so you left. and finally went through your day with zero interruptions.

and it was like that for a week. then two. then three. they were just normal and you had peace. actual, quiet uninterruoted, blissful peace.

“see! see!” satoru finally snapped, throwing his hands up like he’d been personally betrayed. “it’s not working!”

three weeks of doing nothing had resulted in shockingly nothing.

you were still you. you didn’t seek them out. the most you did was, during week two, check their foreheads to make sure they didn’t have a fever.

that was it. devastating, really.

what the two of them didn’t realize, though, was that your attention hadn’t disappeared. it had just… shifted.

because while they were busy doing nothing, suguru had decided to do something.

their trusted ally, their voice of reason, their supposed friend— yes, their main confidant was working against them. knowing the two men would leave you alone for the first time in forever, he used it to his best advantage.

pulling you into dark corners for heavy makeouts sessions, playing footsie under the table during meetings. dragging your hand to his bulge underneath the table and even having you choking on his dick one of the days the office was supposedly empty.

not to mention he could finally drive you home, and follow you in to finish the job as he kept saying while you giggled at him.

like now, he was faced down in between you legs, licking between your folds while you sighed above him, your hands trailing down to his long tresses covering your body.

“sugu!— right there”, you gasped your thigh coming to clap around his head and his big hands coming to hold them apart.

“yes sweetheart, i know.” his purple eyes almost fully black from his blown pupils as he dropped a wet kiss to your clit and pulling back with a light suck.

he tucked his head back down as he plunged his tongue back into your pussy, like he wasn’t finished with his meal.

and you were at the end of your rope, could feel your orgasm incoming when the door bell dinged.

okay that’s fine you can ignore it. but then again.

and again.

“fuck”, he groaned pulling himself up as he licked around his mouth which didn’t do much to clean off his your essence off your face.

“be back baby,” he murmured against your skin before pressing a chaste kiss to you knee and pulling away reluctantly.

and he came back moments later almost irritated as he threw a box on the floor with a sigh as he crawled up your body to be face to face with you.

he read your questioning expression as he sighed leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, “satoru sends packages here.”

“why?”

“i don’t know.”

but just as suguru occupied your time, the men accidentally did the same in a different way being cock blocks. not that they were always successful or that they knew it.

he would suffice for the amount of times he had you crying on his cock in his office just to abruptly stop to shout at the door he was busy when satoru came around, or that time in the board room he got you underneath him when it cleared out and while your big eyes stared back at him and sukuna barged in to ask if he’s seen you.

and no of course, he didn’t!

but god the man didn’t go away and the way you licked, up the side of his shaft teasingly, tracing that long vein on the side was testing his resolve to not moan out in front of sukuna.

he would never live it down.

but it was so hard especially with how you were staring up at his face with those big beautiful eyes, mouth sucking his balls into your mouth when you were suckling so prettily on his cock. watching him to see the right clenching of his jaw as he spits out words to whatever sukuna was rambling on about.

but luckily, too busy wallowing in their own self pity about your lack of remorse or care to their “dire” circumstances they didn’t notice suguru’s antics.

so he ended up being sloppy.

like at the annual christmas party, everyone was drunk. you were tipsy but that just made you horny. you were able to get to suguru to leave early with you to his apartment.

not even three steps in your heels were just barely off and he had you pushed up against his wall. his lips trailed down your neck in sloppy drunk kisses before coming up to kiss you, as you giggled from how handsy he was.

his mouth moved against yours roughly and he quickly undressed you both, clothes trailing behind you before he finally got to push you down on the bed.

you bounced as you watched him grab your leg kissing gently at your feet, while his glowing purple eyes stayed in tact on yours.

his lips — down you body, leaving a bite at your thighs before you reached out for him.

“sugu..no”, you whined your arm reaching out to just grasp his shoulder. “i need you now.”

“mmm really?”, he mused, “but you have me right now.”

“no need you inside me…now.”

and he obliged draping his large body over your, his hand cascading up your side in lights touching leaving light goosebumps in their wake. he leaned down and kissed you gently, opening up wider to dip his tongue inside your mouth as he lined up to your dripping entrance.

he pulled back enough to look between your bodies watching his cock slowly slip inside you with a deliberate slowness before you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

he pressed all the way with the pressure from your legs, groaning from the sensation of you pulsing around his thick cock as you moaned out grabbing onto him again.

he started thrusting, hard and slow enjoying the view of your breast jiggling from each passing movement.

your hands grasped at his shoulders, digging in deeper when he thrusted and hit at the spongy spot, throwing your head further in the mattress as he thrusted faster to chase it again.

“suguru!”

“yeah baby i know.” he braced his left hand by your head as his right dragged down your thigh and pulling it back so he could get a better angle.

“right there!”

that’s all satoru heard after all his fumbling with the giant set of keys he had and pushed suguru’s door open.

“damn bad timing i guess.” sukuna muttered as he stumbled into suguru’s kitchen dropping a vase in the process.

“shit!”

suguru came out seconds later, hair disheveled pants low on his waist showing his v-line.

“what?” his frantic eyes moved around before they landed back on satoru. “what are you guys doing here?”

his eyes followed the movement of his white haired counterpar as he lifted bags of snacks and drinks, “after party.”

“right. right.”

“too busy with your company?” satoru teased, putting the bags down on suguru’s counter.

“no she’s just leaving.” the man huffed as he picked up your spread out clothing.

sukuna slumped from where he pressed his face against the cold fridge seemed to perk up at that. “why?, the party is just getting started right here.” he slurred pointing at himself before dropping his face back against the cool surface with a groan.

“some party.”

“he’s right though, sugu.” satoru came to the opening of the kitchen just catching an item of clothing he recognized , “you never let us see your flings.”

“cause you two don’t know how to behave.” he hissed back finally standing back up with a groan.

“stay put…she’s um shy.”

“shy?”

and to satoru’s credit as much as he acted dumb, you could not go against the man’s superb observation skills.

who else wouldn’t picked up your exact size coach limited edition kitten heel with the blue flower charm, that ahem he gifted and was able to attach on your shoe without you kicking him might i add, and see the lacy black panties suguru clumped up in his hand seeing it was similiar to another pair he was thankfully able to see that one fateful day.

but suguru wouldn’t go behind his back, right?

right?

wrong.

after that day three weeks ago, oh he noticed.

he saw the slight change in your relationship with suguru that many other people may not have picked up.

when you walked into the board room, greeting everyone your eyes instinctively skidded across the room in unease and only seem to relax when they found his.

standing near him, his hand came up to hold the small of your back to move you out the way.

or even the small brushes of your hands and the light smiles you gave him when you walked past the trio.

or a more blatant time when he peeked out his office to the elevator and saw the man whispering in your ear. his hand coming just lightly to brush the curve of your ass before you pushed him away laughing, pointing sternly at him with that beautiful smile as the doors closed.

all small mundane things that could just be friendly.

but this was suguru and you he was talking about.

both of you were very calculated individuals and suguru wouldn’t just do things to let them happen.

“tell me it’s not true.” satoru stormed into suguru’s office.

“hmm.”

“you know what i’m talking about.”

suguru’s eyes flicked from his paper up to the furious blue eyes staring back at him. “i do know.”

“so tell me it’s not true.”

sukuna came in calmly shutting the door and leaning against it as he watched the exchange.

“you both should come over, tonight.” suguru murmured eyeing the two men with a smile that spelt trouble. “i’ll explain and make it worth your while.”

so they did like obedient little pups searching for answers satoru marched in with sukuna in tow into suguru’s little town house at 11:00pm.

“you better have a good explanation for th—”

they paused in the doorway of the living room, there sat suguru on his long L shaped couch, white wife beater on, his hair in a loose bun, and the most interesting part of this whole appeal you.

perched cutely on his lap, as you balanced your hands over your small nightgown that left little to the imagination.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

“why is she there?”

“ah, my girlfriend, can’t sit on my lap anymore?” he mused. his arm coming up to wrap around your waist as he pulls you tighter to him. “is that a crime?”

“yes!” satoru cried out, “it is! girlfriend? what the fuck?”

he watched as suguru leaned up his mouth to your ear as your eyes finally landed on him in a adoration he forgot you could carry.

“satoru…sukuna..” you started, watching as the men seem to hold their breath for you next words. “why didn’t you tell me you wanted to fuck again?”

they froze for what felt like forever which was probably only ten seconds before sukuna stepped up a bit, “if we did, would you have said yes?”

“maybe.”

“come here.” you held your arms out in their direction watching them shed their long jackets and gravitate towards you like magnets.

satoru landed first, his knees hitting with a soft thud in the carpet as his hands brushed the soft skin of your thighs.

he damn near convulsed feeling your soft hands grab at his cheeks, your thumbs brushing the apple before pulling him closer to finally land your lips on his own in a soft kiss.

you could feel his whine, as his hands came up and grasped your hips tightly, his kiss turning desperate as he felt every part of you like it was the first time.

you writhed on suguru’s lap, pressing your chest on satoru’s diving into his mouth allowing his tongue to finally freely explore you mouth as he kissed you in earnest.

suguru chuckled watching satoru basically humo your calf from how needy his kiss was becoming before his eyes trailed to sukuna who stood frozen watching the scene with clenched hands.

he felt suguru’s stare, his reluctant eye meeting the opposing purple pair that glinted in mischief.

“what pretty boy, you want one too?”

suguru hummed, his hand running now your back as satoru started to kiss down the sod of your exposed neck. “i wouldn’t mind one…from you.”

in heavy, tentative steps sukuna walked three paces before he was next to suguru, leaning down as his breath fanned the man’s face just inches away like he was unsure.

he didn’t get long to think about it before, suguru’s large hand held the back of his neck, pulling him down so their lips crashed together. the kiss was anything but soft.

their lips moved against one another as if they were fighting for dominance off the bat, harsh grunts and hot puffs of air as they devoured each other.

“woah.” satoru gasped from when they finally pulled apart, a long string of saliva connecting them together before it snapped onto back onto suguru’s lip.

“come sit here toru.” suguru beckoned the man patting the seat next to him, as he watched with wide eyes as you slid your hands off his neck to man on suguru’s lap.

he obeyed sitting on the length of the couch, not moving his hand off your thigh as his eyes jumped around everyone in the room.

“ever noticed how kuna looks at you?”

“looks at me?”

you nod agreeing with suguru, “like he wants to eat you.”

“eat me?” his eyes flew to sukuna who still stood his hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythmic motion, his breath steady and his gaze unnerving and focused solely on him.

they stared at each other for a moment before suguru huffed, turning and plopping you on the couch under him as he started to kiss around your breasts. “well if you two aren’t going to do anything, i’ll just fuck my girl then.”

he leaned down connecting his mouth with yours, his free hand coming up under the light lingerie dress you were wearing to teak at you nipples as you sighed around him.

it didn’t take long for his hand to reach where you wanted him most on your uncovered pussy, his fingers playing and pulling at your clit as you moaned out in his mouth.

and the scene was not lost on the two men.

finally seeing suguru line up at your slick entrance, your legs pressed up prettily against your shoulders as you mewled from the stretch of his long cock.

something snapped and sukuna pounced.

landing above satoru, leading him to fall back on the the side of the long couch, his thick frames falling hazardously across his shocked face while sukuna’s shadow covered him.

“they were right.” sukuna murmured as he leaned down closer to satoru’s face, eyes flickering from his mouth to his big curious blue eyes and back. “i’m going to eat you.”

and he pressed down to calm satoru in a bruising kiss, his hands bracing on either side of his head as he shoved his tongue deep in the man’s throat who surrendered without a second thought.

satoru’s hands gripped at the end of his pink tresses, before pushing up and landing on his lap as sukuna’s broad back hit the back of the couch.

he pulled away huffing arms scrunching the material of his dress shirt, watching the fierce red eyes gleam underneath him. his eyes drifted you see suguru pounding into you relentlessly, your legs haphazardly angled over his shoulders as he his voice rumbled when spoke.

“i’m not enough for you?” sukuna’s voice rumbled under his palms before he felt him grind up on him, holding his hips to push him down on his growing bulge.

satoru gasped trembling, head falling into the crook of sukuna’s neck as he grinded his dick against sukuna’s covered bulge.

the man’s hands coming up to squeeze satoru’s neck dragging him back into another kiss.

satoru whined into sukuna’s mouth, his mouth opening dropping impossibly wider squeaking as sukuna bit at his lip hard enough to draw blood, licking the little dribble of blood that peeked through on his lip.

smirking when he finally pulled away fully, he rolls his hips up into satoru’s again feeling the man’s legs tighten around him as he finally came with a shaky groan, head falling back whilst sukuna kept rolling their hips together.

and honestly you weren’t fairing much better.

legs pressed back in a mean mating press as suguru’s cock bullied your hole relentlessly, a ring of cum for your last orgasm forming on the base of his cock.

your pussy fluttered around him already overstimulated, as you felt a familiar tightness come in your belly.

“suguru i’m—”

“i know”, he purred, squishing you down harder as he leaned in to kiss you again. "cum with me, baby."

you clamped down with a cry, feeling the warmth as he bottomed out, his balls hitting you ass and his came deep inside you, huffing over you as he lazily thrusted you down from your high.

his lips found yours again, in a lazy kiss as he slowed down his motions, his hand brushing your cheek softly before the buzz of his laugh rumbled deep in your mouth as he popped off.

"you're insatiable, aren't you?"

you looked at him confused, as he pulled back, slowly slipping his dick out of you, watching his release follow him dripping out your hole lightly. until you noticed he wasn't talking to you.

the small turn of his body gave you a view of satoru's flushed face, his hand dropping from where he was pulling to finally land on you in all your fucked out glory.

"what?" suguru muttered grabbing the back of his hair, pulling his attention away from you. "if you want your turn..."

"clean her up first."

you shivered in anticipation eyeing satoru lick his lips as his head got pushed into your pussy, his nose bumping your clit from the guidance of suguru's hand.

his radiant blue eyes stayed fixed on your face, as he tentatively moved him to his out and licked your up another dribble of cum that poured out you.

he groaned around your pussy, hands coming to grab onto your thighs as he started slurp up more of suguru’s cum that peaked between you lips.

his tongue dipped in curling issue you watching as you moaned, back arching off the couch hands finding way into his hair to pull him impossibly closer as of suguru’s hand wasn’t doing the same.

you felt the right curl of heat in your belly before long, clamping your thighs tightly around his head as you moaned in a quiet scream. he licked into your pussy further even after you went limp and suguru backed away, obsessed with your taste, his hips grinding against the cushion underneath him seeking any form of friction.

“hurry up”, sukuna snarked watching satoru’s feeble attempts at getting off as you twitched around him.

“have fun fucking my cum out of her, sukuna.” suguru taunted, hand brushing over your sweaty head, watching satoru’s feeble attempts finally sit up and move around you, peppering sweet kisses on your open skin, letting sukuna settle between your legs for the first time tonight.”

“as if there’s any left, fucker.”

"i finally get another taste of this tight pussy." sukuna growled, flipping you on your stomach and pulling you flush against him, dragging his tip between your puffy, messy folds.

"sukuna you-, ah!"you dropped you head down in the cushion hands reaching out to grab something anything, which just happened to be satoru as he finally pushed into you with no warning taking you to the hilt.

his fuzzy pink hair on his abdomen tickled the back of your thighs, as he braced himself pulling out until just his tip was inside before thrudting all the way into you.

"i'm what, huh?" his gruff voice muttered, grabbing your hips harshly, they would definentely would bruise later, pounding into you with renewed vigor. his leg propped up next to you, getting the angle just right as he started slamming into you searching for the right angle to hit your cervix.

"what? i just started fucking you." he teased, "i already- mm fucked you stupid?"

"n-no!" you blubbered out, his hands pulling you flush against his body again, pulling your ass further up into the air as you started to babble and grip harder onto satoru's shirt.

the man cooed brushing your face lovingly, leaning down and licking the drool that started to drop down from the side of your mouth.

he took his cock tip, tapping it gently against you slightly ajared mouth. "think you can take me too baby?"

"she can." suguru's lazy voice called from beside him, satoru turned seeing the man grip and pull at his hard cock, as he observed the scene in front of him. "she's a tough cookie."

and as if you wanted to prove him right, you opened your mouth, tongue passing just enough to pick up the precum that formed there.

he sucked in a tight breath as you opened your mouth wider, letting him slip his cock inside your warm mouth.

you choked around the length, mouth bobbing deeper by the second from sukuna’s hard thrusts behind you, driving you further onto satoru as you gurgled around his cock head hitting the back of your throat.

“just a nice fucking cock sleeve.” sukuna groaned as he land a hard hit on your ass, as he angled to get to the perfect position to make you scream around satoru’s cock.

you were a mess, spit, drool and satoru’s fluids running down the sides of your mouth, your noises muffled by the movement of his cock leaving a bruising imprint if felt from hard hard he started rutting into you.

“such a nice warm throat.” satoru growled, “only nice when you’re getting stuffed full.”

the whine you let out vibrated on satoru’s dick, making him groan and still holding your head against the soft fuzz against his stomach as he came with a groan dow your throat.

you hiccuped as he finished up, fucking into your mouth in a steady pace to chase down his high, and you could feel your toes curling pushing back onto sukuna to chase the familiar feeling of him hitting your cervix.

you came with a muffled cry feeling sukuna coat your walls as you clamped down on him.

satoru popped out your mouth, moving enough to see suguru with his head thrown back breathing deeply with his cock limp in his cum covered hand.

you collapsed utterly wrecked, feeling the carcasses of warms hands that you couldn’t even process whose it was.

“can we cuddle now?”

"i want another round."

yorikae

ending kinda rushed this fic was haunting me :/

(perm) tags 🏷️: @yoonsucks @winkii @yailuxe @opalwyn

— @suganoms @jiyuspassion

[lovelywetdreamer]

I did ship them!! Underrated shipped

[miisbehaved]

STARGIIRL!

feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader

summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.

content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji,  jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, porn with a ridiculous amount of plot, vibrators, oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv sex, squirting, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig dick, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, etc.

word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)

author's note: all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!

toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott

These were intense times. 

The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed. 

There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft. 

As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses. 

It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk. 

Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones. 

As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf. 

Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field. 

His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table. 

He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer. 

Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls. 

She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself. 

And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts. 

His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded. 

“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”. 

Part one?!

He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20. 

And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name. 

“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”

He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty. 

But in the lecture hall? Well… 

His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II. 

He was truly a lost cause. 

He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never). 

So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago. 

At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast. 

Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you. 

And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter. 

It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.

In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.

“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”

It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.

You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.

He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.

He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him. 

His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter. 

Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”

You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen. 

For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.

What the fuck? 

He took your phone. 

“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”

He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones. 

“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”

He hated how his dick twitched at your words.

But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.

He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake! 

His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”

You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!

And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.   

After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.

He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.

You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday. 

The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission. 

And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill. 

He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.

Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days. 

And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days. 

“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both. 

You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe. 

He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…

“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare. 

“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power. 

You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!

You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache. 

The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?” 

He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips. 

“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you. 

He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag. 

“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”

And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest. 

A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand. 

“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.” 

His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away. 

“It’s a small place,” you warned. 

He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”

He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them. 

You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”

For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world. 

All he could do was swallow and nod. 

He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door. 

The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road. 

Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row. 

The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen. 

Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.

And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.

He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–

He coughed lightly.

What was he thinking?

As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine. 

Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.

It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.

“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table. 

You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down. 

He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room. 

And, holy shit. 

No. 

There was genuinely no way in hell. 

He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it. 

His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body? 

Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.

His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it. 

Everything looked familiar.

Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–

“Can I help you?” 

You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours. 

You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.

And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words. 

All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.

“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.

The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.

And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself. 

What. The. Fuck. 

It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it? 

No. He couldn’t. He’d never.

Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell? 

He couldn’t tell.

What does this mean? How should he act?  What does he fucking do with this information now?

He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer. 

“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”

He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin. 

“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled. 

He tapped into the link despite himself. 

“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”

He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video. 

For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera. 

But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded. 

The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind. 

He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look. 

He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.

You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”

The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1. 

His jaw ticked, hard.

“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before. 

His dick bobbed in his pants. 

This could not be happening to him right now. 

You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”

He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie. 

And he couldn’t help it, really. 

Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers. 

He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back. 

Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit. 

He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip. 

He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him. 

He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to  uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot. 

He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.

And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.

It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner. 

And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing. 

He just finished to the thought of you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Toji Fushiguro had a problem. 

No, scratch that. 

He had a fucking crisis. 

It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times. 

And that was only how one of his practices went this week. 

It had been five whole days since he last saw you. 

Five days of being dogshit at his sport. 

Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.

It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say. 

How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?

How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay? 

How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!

And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.

He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body. 

A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him. 

He stared down at your last texts to him.

⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark  ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree 

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive

It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare. 

Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet. 

He needed time. 

He needed space. 

He needed to get this shit under control.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals. 

It would be the perfect distraction. 

About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light. 

He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–

“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”

His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised. 

Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him. 

He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature. 

You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame. 

He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.). 

“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily. 

The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire. 

He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt. 

You looked good, really fuckin’ good. 

Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding

Did he say that outloud?!

You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.

Back to the last name basis. 

You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes. 

A dull pang rippled through his chest. 

He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started. 

And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter. 

And, you knew he was huge before. 

But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms. 

He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly. 

You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled. 

He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear. 

You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other. 

You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.

But for him? That just would not do. 

He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate. 

“Because you scare me,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched. 

“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.

“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I can go-”

“Don’t.”

And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt. 

“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.” 

You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”

“Stay.”

It was as simple as that, really. 

And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you. 

Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.

He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits. 

He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face. 

Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start. 

And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh. 

You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous. 

“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened. 

“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell. 

His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.” 

Please.

His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission. 

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–

You breathed. 

The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–

“It’s not just you, Toji.” 

Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest. 

And that was all he needed. 

He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.

He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom. 

He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.

The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own. 

He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own. 

It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.

You put your hands against his chest. 

“Toji-”

“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”

You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed. 

His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place. 

You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.

A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing. 

“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?” 

And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.

He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process. 

“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?” 

You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs. 

You shook your head. 

“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”

He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench. 

Fuckin’ tease. 

“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out. 

A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.

“Good girl.” 

And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties . 

“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”

And - Holy shit.

The videos of you didn’t even do this justice. 

Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.

And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric. 

It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong. 

But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks. 

He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots. 

“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet. 

His heart was thunderous against his chest. 

And his dick? 

Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.

He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.

After all, how could he say no to you? 

He pushed your panties to the side. 

And oh. 

His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy. 

Holy. Shit.

Everything was soaked and glistening. 

He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process. 

He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool. 

It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room. 

The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

“Toji, I might-” 

He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle. 

You saw fuckin’ stars.

The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs. 

He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again. 

He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him. 

Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three. 

You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer. 

Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears. 

Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.

The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs. 

You were orgasming before you even realized it.

And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks. 

Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt. 

You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples. 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. 

It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond. 

“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.” 

And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went. 

You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso. 

You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.

“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”

You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.

Who would move first?

His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist. 

“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.” 

Oh. 

And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue. 

And then he’s pulling you into his lap. 

You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again. 

A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.

“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting. 

“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.  

And oh fuck.

Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud! 

The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.

Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat. 

You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff. 

You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear. 

“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you. 

Pretty girl. 

He squeezed tighter.

His pretty girl. 

A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”

And who was he to deny you? 

Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs

Your mouth gaped open.

And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.  

You didn’t even think anyone could be this large. 

Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head. 

He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.

Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.

He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him. 

You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.

He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.

He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.

You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead. 

And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him. 

None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock. 

You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.

But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together. 

“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”

A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass. 

“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices. 

Your heart fluttered.

His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off. 

You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you. 

You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips. 

He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.

Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt. 

You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly. 

Please, please, please, ple–

And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole. 

“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. 

Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip. 

And this was just the tip.

He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant. 

You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him. 

“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.

“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him. 

Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”

And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests. 

He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.

You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.

You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need. 

It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here. 

“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features. 

“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.

“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.

And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.

His dick bobbed from inside of you. 

“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down. 

“But-?”

He thought you would hate him if you knew. 

He agonized for days for this reaction?!!

“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”

And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy. 

“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?

“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.  

And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again. 

T-O-J-I !

He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air. 

You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise. 

In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.

He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck. 

Oh. His cum.

His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming. 

You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you. 

“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?” 

And oh, how his broken mind snapped. 

The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear. 

And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb. 

It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.

Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white. 

And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed. 

And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.

And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.

“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”

And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.

After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.

There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side. 

Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).

He still kept his same protein shake recipe.

He still kept his same choice of attire.

But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb. 

And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38. 

And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend. 

a/n: lmk if u want a part 2! mwah! <3