Hare hybrid ghost that thumps his foot when you hit his prostate. Hare hybrid ghost that cums when you pull on his tail while you’re inside him- begs for a litter too. Outside of the bedroom he’d never admit how bad he wants you to fuck a litter into him, gooey cunt always dripping and begging for your strap.
God. Trans hare ghost.. testosterone paired with an agonizing rut would drive him mad, humping and fucking you while hissing and whimpering about how bad he wanted it.
He’s strong, terrifying and fast on the field- nobody would ever argue about that. fortunately for you though, he’s but nothing but a sweet little bunny when you’re fucking him hard and fast just the way he likes it. The sweetest most pitiful giant fucking rabbit that arches his back soooo perfectly.
Synopsis. Welcome to the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT! Where we take the information given on your profile, a few tests run by our team of experienced matchmakers, and our cutting-edge matchmaking system to scientifically pair you up with the perfect JJK man to ahem- make you Juno, you know?
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, bed chem, matchmaking, Dr. Shoko cameo, she’s had enough, NEEDY JJK men, chokíng, spítting, Iíngerie, DlLF!Toji, ex!Geto, arguing while doing it, ROUGH s, p talking, p sIapping, cIit pinching, doggy, fuII neIsons, toys (Sukuna), DP, BIIIIG stretches, pushing down, cervíx smooches, manhandIing, DÚMBlFICATION, Choso with píercings, Choso’s inspired by HoriMiya a little, matíng presses, fírst times (him), pùssydrunk JJK men, bíting, prem. ejac, nerd!Gojo, creampíes, cúmplay, Iove hotels, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. DADDY TONY’S BAAAAAACK!! And I might not have brought chiId support but I DID bring the Iittle announcement that I might…mayhaps…be working on my own Iittle story hehehe. It’s what I’ve been so busy with- and it’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a looooong time now. I’ve currently been worldbuilding smmmm ah, but yeah! Hoping to share this one with you too one day babygirls <33
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 99.96% MATCH!
“So is this thing measuring, like…bed chemistry?”
Oh. Your words ring far too loudly inside your ears - let alone inside this clinic. And you’re not quite sure who to blame—Dr. Ieiri Shoko for keeping her office so barren, or yourself for asking that question.
Like the bleached inside of a tusk, the surface of a porcelain plate just a touch too smooth. Too polished. Intimacy has never been so undefiled as these cold white walls advancing upon either side of you, clung onto by a fugitive nervousness that was white-hot. Not just yours - but the tens of thousands of clients that the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT boasts to have helped on their site.
It’s not quite what one imagines when they say ‘famous matchmaking agency’.
Your smile tightens. “M-my apologies, I hope I didn’t offend-”
“Yes.” Her sudden answer makes you stop. “Yes, it is like bed chem.”
You gulp.
“And it seems you’re a 99.96% match with ah- Mr. Fushiguro Toji.”
99.96%.
‘Oh’ was right.
Just his name sends a thrill down your spine.
Your fists clench in your lap, and before you know it, you’re nodding at the woman. “I would…like to meet him, please.”
.
.
.
Name: Fushiguro Toji
Age: ?*
Occupation: ??
Category: DILF
Primary likings: Rough. Manhandling. Doggy. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 8 onwards…)
*Got offended when asked (assumed mid-thirties).
One date that lasts about an hour.
One date that lasts about an hour - that’s all it takes for the boiling tension between you and ‘Mr. Fushiguro Toji’ to bubble over. Perhaps it was due to the shared knowledge that you two were scientifically identified to be perfect sexual matches, perhaps it was the way those vine-green eyes swept over you leisurely, appreciatively, as you walked into the romantic dinner date arranged by the agency.
It seems Toji had entered himself into the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT on accident after believing it was a normal matchmaking agency.
“—so imagine my surprise when I get there n’ all the questions are about what positions I like to stick my dick in?” He’d gruffed over the candlelit dinner - French cuisine, was it? A few of the other patrons glared at him, but Toji paid no attention. “I mean- I went along with it, of course. Already paid about twenty yen, hmpf…but I hadn’t actually planned to go through with this bullshit until-”
Those intense eyes of his flickered to you once more.
“-I saw that application of yours- of course.” And you felt the inchoate desire in your stomach give a strange twist—“A 99.6-”
“99.96%. Actually.” You interrupted, gnawing on your bottom lip.
“Interesting.” Toji smiled and leaned back into his chair. “Really interesting.”
And perhaps it was—
“Don’t tell me I’ve fucked ya speechless already when I haven’t even put it in?”
You’re snapping back to your senses- enough reminiscing about those first few minutes of meeting the man that was currently hugging you close to him - crushing you against his sultry sweat-sticky abs - not in a gentle display of affection, but such a lecherous embrace. Tacking his toned pelvis against your ass. Letting his engorged tip push-push-push between your pussylips and sliiiiiiiide down all those tender innards.
Toji keeps you from moving even a single inch as he shuffles you into doggy position. The bed whines just as you do. “S’this your favorite?” He watches from the corner of his eye as you nod. “Yeahhhh, mine fuckin’ too, girlie.”
And, in emphasis, he’s circling one roughened palm over your right ass cheek—giving just a brazen little smack.
“Mine fuckin’ too, girlie.”
“I mean, there’s a reason they matched us.” You huff at him.
“Yeah- and I’m about to find out.” Toji mutters. And you’re hearing him before anything else - the soft creaking! of that shitty love hotel bed, dipping, as he shuffles even closer—the sultry lil’ smooch of his wet tip kissing your hole. Thump-thump-thump—you can count every pulse. His or yours? “Bite the pillow.”
“Why would I need to- ohhhh, mpf-”
The answer to your question comes swift and merciless - because in one fluid motion Toji has his cocktip burgeoning inside, and his hips plastering to yours.
He keeps both hands - warm and slightly gnarled with callouses from whatever shady line of business he was in - firmly upon either side of your waist. Using his massive strength to jerk you back—just a little…But it feels like Toji was pumping thoroughly into your deepest core.
He was usin’ the little flare underneath his tip to stretch that snug channel- stretching and stretching that first ring of muscle. And then bashing his cockhead in so roughly that you start to wonder whether he was having issues controlling himself—you’re feeling Toji let out a little cracked groan as he feels your walls quiver around him. And then he’s pushing his hot cock in aaaaaaall the way as deep as it could go- “Aaaaaaatta girl. That’s a good girl. Now for the fun part…”
You furrow your brows half-heartedly. “This isn’t already the fun part?” Earning yourself the oh-so-lascivious punishment of yet another spank on your right cheek; and then a few more probin’ pushes of his cock. “I was just—oh-” Your toes curl as he hits a particularly good spot without even trying.
“It is.” Toji responds. “But it’s just about to get a whole lot more fun.”
You’re shivering as one of his fingertips paint the line down your spine, immediately followed by a string of kisses as far as he could go. But, of course, you never did expect Fushiguro Toji to be so gentle—did you? You never wanted him to be, did you?
Because his lips hover ‘round the soft skin of your right shoulder—and without warning, he’s biting. Your mouth opens in a soundless scream.
With a grunt that sounds as though it’s been dragged from the primal depths of his throat, Toji jerks your hips back into his with a plap! of skin-on-skin. And almost before that, he’s suddenly starting to pummel and pummel those rugged hips of his into yours, utterly molding his thick cock into your goopy insides- coating every inch with a layer of his slick—
“Because.” Toji gruffs out in an animalistic way - he angles his head and licks a long stripe up your neck. “Because- it took me a loooooooong time to get matched on that damn program. A long fuckin’ time.”
“Oh-” You’re yelping as he tugs your arms from underneath you- and you’re collapsing face-first into the soft strawberry-scented pillows. Collapsed doggy.
And before you know it, Toji straightens up and lets the heel of one of his feet rest on the corner of your shoulder. “Tch- way too fucking long.” This angle lets his cock penetrate even deeper, and his bouldering tip pushes into every single slick-filled orifice inside. “How long should it take to find a pretty babe f’me who likes it rough—” And he fucks you rough. “-who likes it hard—” And he fucks you hard. “-who likes me disrespectin’ this pussy like she deserves. Now how hard should that be, hm?”
And you’re unsure whether he was genuinely expecting a response or not - but you’re letting out a blabber of something you hope is comprehensible either way. “I—mmm, notthathard-”
“Exactly.” Toji huffs out a short breath of laughter. Then his hands are on you—pushing on the base of your spine and arching you in ways you didn’t even know were possible.
“O-ohhhhhh, harder-”
“Thought you said it wasn’t that hard? And throw in a little manhandling-” Arching. “Just a little dumbification.” Making you drool. He reaches his foot - just a little, just softly - up to put pressure on near your neck n’ restrict your air flow—he leaves you gasping and choking with every thrust. “A little choking- heh.” He looks you over. “Maybe a few daddy issues-”
“Hey!”
“And then you’ve got it. Perfectly matching. Now that shouldn’t be so hard, hm?”
But you can’t quite answer.
Because Toji’s fucking you so good- he’s thrusting his cock into yours like he wants his pelvis melded to yours ass. He’s crushing and draaaagging your limp body down the bed and into his strong arms.
It’s almost as if your bodies are communicating with a secret language, because whenever you’re bouncing back he’s angling juuuust right to swab into your g-spot, when you’re jerking forwards he’s chasin’ after that syrupy-sweet pussy of yours. Candied with glittering globs of his pre.
Creating a swatting sound so loud, creating a pressure between your legs so hard, that your ears start ringing—“Oh, p-please…”
“And y’know the only difference between you and me?” Toji’s still steamrolling his dirty sentences- and you can barely blink your eyes open past all the pleasure he’s giving you. But you must manage to make some noise of question, because he continues. “That agency categorized me as a DILF. And you’re no MILF…yet.”
A shockwave runs down your spine.
“Th-that means…”
Toji leans in and huffs. Clammy breath. “So that profile said something about a breeding kink?”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - 100.1% (?) MATCH!
“You’ve done it. I’m ah…not quite sure how- but you’ve done it.” Dr. Shoko breathes. And although the words are in her usual impervious tone of voice, there’s a quiver there at the end that, after weeks of appointments with the doctor, you’ve learned to pick out as foreign.
Dr. Ieiri Shoko never wavers.
You’re leaning in and attempting to peek at your file. “Is there something wrong, doctor?”
“Not unless you count breaking the program’s metric wrong.” She slides over the file - face down as though the documents inside would snap at her if she wasn’t careful - and you’re immediately flipping it open. Your eyes widen as they’re immediately drawn to the bold, underlined number of a 100.1% match shown at the top of the first page—you’re then meeting Shoko’s own widened gaze.
“Huh?”
“That’s putting it lightly.” Shoko opens her drawer and takes out two caplets of Extra Strength Tylenol and chugs them down—no water. She closes her eyes for a second to let them pass down her slender throat, and once she opens them again she’s immediately looking down at the file - as if hoping it had disappeared in the time.
But no such luck for Dr. Ieiri Shoko today.
She lets out a prolonged sigh and leans back in her chair. Enough time has passed that the two of you could forgo such formalities in the presence of the other, “I just…I just don’t know how that could happen. Mathematically and scientifically, it just doesn’t make sense. And yet, the program never makes a mistake- never.”
You understood her plight - you’d looked over (and passed on) your fair share of matches, and the highest you’d gotten was a 78% match with some guy called Atsumu Miya—you just had this nagging feeling that you’d find a greater match.
A stronger…chemistry with someone else.
And so you’d passed. And passed. And passed, until you were starting to feel that perhaps you’d never find a match greater than the 90% or even 80% statistics that the site often boasted. That is until…
Name: Nanami Kento
Age: 27
Occupation: Office worker
Category: Gentleman with a big D.
Primary likings: Service dom. Fitting. Milk him. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 9 onwards…)
Your eyes linger on those last two words of his Primary Likings section: milk him…
And immediately you’re feeling a thrill shoot up between your legs—causing them to squeeze together, causing Shoko’s eyes to quickly flicker down at the miniscule action. “Hm.” She types something on her keyboard - and you assume she’s shooting an email to one of the matchmakers in the program. “Maybe that’s what they mean by a match of 100.1%…”
White-hot embarrassment curls around your heart. “What? Oh, you’re incorrigible-”
“And you’re glad.” She smirks. “This is what you’re been waiting all this time for, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes…” You’re looking down at the passport-sized photo of Nanami on the front page. It was seemingly some sort of office photo he must’ve used in his resumes as well; and there he stood all sharp and aloof - almost bored - in a form-fitting suit and his blond hair pushed back smoothly, deep-set eyes almost piercing through the photocopied paper. Like an utter gentleman. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”
.
.
.
“It’s okay, darling, you don’t have to take it all—”
“But I want to, Kento.”
There’s something so sensual - so utterly fucking erotic - about the way Nanami looks when he’s on the verge of pussydrunkness. Sprawled out on the love hotel mattress. Jawline dotted with your recently-made hickies. His thick thighs are tensing and untensing—just as you’re straddlin’ his hips just a little wider and taking in Nanami’s rock-hard, drippin’ wet cock.
A meek blush creeps up the man’s cheeks once you cup them.
You’re lifting Nanami’s handsome face up to meet yours, and keep such looong, loving eye contact as you’re sliding your hips down and gulping one more inch after inch. Thick inch after inch.
The poor man’s breath catches and he’s letting out a little whimper as Nanami’s hot girth fills you up tantalizingly. “Oh sh-shit—”
Your body arches into his. “Mmm, with such a big, pretty cock like this - how could I not?”
“P-pretty…” He repeats. Those golden-hazel eyes of his widen behind his glasses, and you swear you see them welling up with tears as you take him. “But darling, what if it’s too big?”
“It could never be too big.” You cock your head with a sultry smile. “We’re a 100.1% match, remember? That means…”
In emphasis, you’re swervin’ your hips down in a semi-circular motion that makes him drive even deeper.
“-every part of us matches.”
And then poor Nanami Kento - overworked, underpaid, going off of nothing but instant coffee and the smell of freshly-baked bread from the bakery near the office - is being ridden to heaven by your devilish hips. Up and down. Up and down. The way you’re digging your nails into his shoulders…the way you’re pushing your nipples up against his pecs, rubbing…the way you’re clenchin’ around his tip - right where he was the reddest and hottest and most sensitive - every time he probes inside.
A too-loud moan erupts from his lips—and Nanami immediately attempts to clamp his mouth shut.
But there’s no use. You’re watching with a knowing smile as you’re fucking such lasvicious moans n’ ribbons of spittle out of him. With every single squeeze.
Spit drips down the side of his mouth- and he shivers as you lean in and lick it away. “S-so that means…” He whispers. Almost to himself. Those pretty eyes of his keep starin’ down lovingly at the area you two were connected. “-this lovely lady is made for me?”
“If by ‘lovely lady’, you’re referring to my pussy…” You reply coyly. You throw your arms around him and tug on those precious golden curls at the nape of his neck. It makes a sexy grunt escape Nanami’s lips. “Then why don’t you find out?”
And Nanami doesn’t know why- he can’t help himself.
It’s just like…the more times he’s thrusting inside your cunt, semi-thrusts, the deeper he’s delving between those sweet pussylips, the more addicted he’s getting to it.
He’s reaching up and pressing down where he was fitting inside.
“Oh.” Nanami’s eyes grow heavy. Drunk on lust. A twinge of pain runs up your core as he squeezes a mere inch more, “Oh. I-is this okay?”
“Keep going.”
And he’s stretching you so much you can’t even begin to describe—
“Shiiiiit-”
“Does it hurt? I hope it doesn’t hurt-”
“No no- oh, more-”
“It’s true—” He spits. Beads of sweat plaster his temple, and his features twitch in pure carnal ecstasy as you squeeze your pretty legs tighter around him. A vein makes itself prominent on his neck. “Fuck, it’s true- she’s taking me so well-”
With a single thumb, he spreads apart your pussylips n’ watches his inches slip inside.
“And she’s so hungry for it, too.” Nanami looks up at you. “Do you think she’s been hungry for it all this time, my love? My cock?”
“Oh, I bet.” Throwing your head back—you’re practically plastered against Nanami’s surprisingly toned front. “Keep going, keep going, keep going, please- Kento—”
“Anything for you.”
And to be honest, Nanami Kento never saw himself as the wild type in bed.
For starters, he was a busy man—spreedsheets were his regular partner, and powerpoints were his mistress. And perhaps that was the exact reason Shoko, his lifelong friend, had signed him up for this stupid program. As much as Nanami had howled and huffed about the ethics of signing one’s friend up for this and ‘but he needs to work that day so he doesn’t need to do overtime…’ lo and behold there he found you.
Well, more like you found him.
Showing up so pretty and perfect for your first meeting in Shoko’s office—and when he’d seen that match measurement of 100.1%…Nanami felt a sudden flare of madness: that perhaps this entire thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Your second meeting had been in this cramped love hotel.
And Nanami had meant to wine and dine you- he’d meant to…but here he was. Hand clamoring to clasp either side of your hips - leaving crescent nail marks. Hips pushing off the mattress in animalistic little jerks—not even propery fucking inside, just yearning to feel the carnal squeeze of your cunt—
He hits that one spot. And he knows he does.
Because Nanami’s feeling his rotund cockhead push apart your pussylips n’ then slip somewhere deeeeep inside - one velvety bundle of nerves that makes you moan uncontrollably. Just a few inches more and he’d be hitting your coveted cervix…
And he does, but it feels like whiplash.
Because soon enough Nanami’s flipped the two of you over so that the bed dips with your combined weight, with you being manhandled onto your back, and Nanami’s cock wedging deeper into your cunt than it’s ever gone before. Inch by inch. It’s a hypnotizing mix of pain and pleasure as he marks every nook, cranny, and crevice inside you with silky dollops of pre.
He finally fits.
And Nanami lets out a massive gasp - several - as though he’d just finished a marathon once he does so. “100.1%” He throatily repeats - whilst it feels like you’re squeezing him strong enough to milk him. You’re letting out a botched moan as he nudges against your cervix with the top of his smooth tip, smearing sprays of gooey precum—as if he’d go even deeper if he could.
“I wonder what the 0.1% is, my love?”
You’re not getting out of here alive.
♡ GETO SUGURU - 98% (UN)MATCH!
“This is so stupid- we have no bed chemistry.”
“Absolutely no chemistry.”
“Seriously no chemistry.”
“Not even an ounce of chemistry.”
“Then why’re you inside me?”
“Why’d you ask me to be inside you?”
“I’m the one asking the questions here-” You scoff—but you know he’s got you cornered. And by the smug expression on Geto Suguru’s stupidly handsome face, he knows that too.
Unfortunately for him - you’re never one to back down. And so you’re slightly lifting your hips off the sweat-sodden mattress, not giving the man a second of warning before you’re clamping your silken walls down haaaaard ‘round his cock—and you try to ignore just how good - and familiar - it feels to have him inside you.
There was the thickness of his cockhead - flared the most at the base and perfect to jostle apart your slutty channel like you wanted so badly. There was one- two- three of his most prominent veins, curved down the middle of his shaft and rubbing against your pulsating soft spots. There was the arch of his erection that meant he’d not only be pushed against your cervix- but also up at the roof of your cunt.
His breath hitches, and he’s letting his head throw back. Cute.
And you never did expect to be matched with your stupid ex on that stupid sexual matchmaking program.
Let alone actually have sex with him again.
Let alone this be your fourth round.
Name: Geto Suguru
Age: 28
Occupation: Prefers not to say
Category: Morally grey.
Primary likings: Degradation. Spitting. Choking. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 69 onwards…)
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Dr. Shoko had commented. “Maybe a little check-up-”
“No.” You’d responded. “I’m ah- fine. It’s just—what sort of a category is that?”
“You’d be surprised what our clients are into.” She looked at you with amusement. “And, it seems, you as well.”
You shrunk in the clinic seat in shame.
And the most infuriating part of all…was that the damn program had been correct.
Geto managed to string your body n’ your pleasure along as if it took him no effort—he’d memorized all your sweetest spots inside and it seems he’d never forgotten, he’d never hesitate before spankin’ on your throbbing clit because he already knows it’s going to set your body alight, he’d thrash and thrash his hips into yours because he was fucking angry. And you were, too.
So why did the two of you break up in the first place? Ah, let’s just say…that plans of world domination and date nights don’t go together that well.
But Geto, it seems, was a changed man (or so he said).
He’d dissolved his cult that he always refused to call a cult (or so he said). He was back to self-studying and mending his relationships (or so he said) except, of course, his one with you…
“Stop thinking about what an asshat I am, you always get that look when you think about what an asshat I am.” You’re hearing Geto scoff from above you—and he has the audacity to lean down and prod your furrowed brow relaxed. “S’gonna make me soft.”
“Join the club, I’m already dry.”
With a single - perfectly shaped - brow raised, Geto creeps his right hand down your side—letting those soft fingertips of his just lightly caress the front of your cunt. Your utterly sodden cunt. “That’s not what this pussy’s telling me?”
You’re scrambling onto your elbows. “Communication issues for two years and suddenly you’re the pussy whisperer?”
“Yes. Good that you’re catching up-” That very hand comes up to push you down—“Down, gorgeous- let’s do it my favorite position, hm?”
You scoff. “I don’t remember your favorite position.”
“Oh yeah? Then why’re you halfway down to a full nelson?”
And it was true—ah, for all your supposed pride and dignity, and the pep talk that you’d given yourself before the agency-organized dinner date that you would totally not fuck Geto Suguru no matter how handsome he looked…
But dammit, he’d worn his long hair down.
Of course, the two of you argued over your romantic dinner. Squabbling. Bickering. Making the server hold in his laughter every time you (admittedly immaturely yet albeit justifiably) swiped something off of Geto’s plate when he wasn’t looking; whatever one wanted to call it.
Of course, the two of you ended up at the love hotel a few minutes away from the restaurant; whatever one wanted to call it.
And currently you’re basking in the saturated, sickly-sweet strawberry scent bursting out in plumes from the love hotel pillows. “Eugh- I hate this smell.”
“Oh shush, you’re underneath me.” Geto got himself settled in the full nelson underneath you- and he doesn’t waste a single second before collectin’ a few trickles of slick on his right palm. He then grabs himself and coats his shaft in all the gossamer substance—pushing his perky tip against your hole. And then inside.
“O-ohhhhh—” Your voice cracks.
“Shut up, you’ve taken me more.” Geto spits- and at that very moment, you’re embarrassed to say that a carnal part of you twitches. And soon enough, he’s getting absolutely slathered in all those dewy droplets of sap that he’s missed so much since the break-up—absolutely claiming him, is what Geto likes to think. “And heh- based on what I read on your profile…me telling you to shut up just made you wetter-”
“A coincidence.” You sputter. “S-surely a coincidence.”
“Hmmm? And is it a coincidence that almost all those cute kinks on your profile were ones that I got you into?” He purrs- purrs.
“Not all- hngh, of them-”
“Maybe, but let’s be real, gorgeous—” And then Geto trails off - and it’s never a good sign when Geto trails off. Because that means- smack! As expected, his fingertips come slammin’ down until your clit’s swelling just a bit more, and his hips don’t slow down for a single second. You’re wincing as he keeps steamrolling. “-this pussy learned most of her tactics from me.”
What arrogance. Although you couldn’t lie- seeing Geto so worked up sent pangs of pleasure searing through every fibre of your body. And your favorite method to get him to shut up was to-
“Clench.” He’s gritting his teeth—hissing his words out through them, as he bucks his hips upwards- meeting your flutterin’ walls head-on with a sudden thwack! at your cervix. “Yeah- don’t think I don’t know about your secret technique-” Geto sounds crazed as he whispers in your ear, tone hitching and warbling with every second. But he still keeps going. “-and who taught you that clenchin’ so hard- clenching with the force of your core- feels so good?”
“I-I…” Saliva seeps into your mouth twofold now that Geto’s increasing his pace. He reaches over n’ licks that little splatter-
“I-I-I-I…” Geto mocks. “I don’t think you’re being truthful, girl~”
“It was you—” You’re yowling- attempting to stand upwards to perhaps get ahold of yourself - but the only thing you’re succeeding in doing is urging Geto to wrap his left arm around your neck and draaaaaaag you right back down.
You gasp at the sensation of his thick biceps; the firmness and strength held within them; the curves and dips of his muscles. “And who taught you that getting choked like this feels good?”
You’re so woozy- fuck, your head’s throbbing and you’re feeling the wadded-up remnants of cum Geto’s left behind from previous rounds. Harder and harder. Rougher, his balls keep slapping against the front of your sodden folds. “You…”
“And who taught you that this pussy feels better when m’being mean?”
“You—”
“And who’s getting back together with you?”
“You- wait, what?”
“Heh.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - 92% MATCH!
Name: Kamo (Itadori) Choso
Age: ?*
Occupation: Student
Category: Hey, hey, hey EMO BOY!
Primary likings: Subbing. Getting pussydrunk. Shooting blanks. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 14 onwards…)
*Client became nervous after seeing the diagrams of sexual positions in the following forms and could not answer (EDIT: Later confirmed 23 but spiritually 150 (?)).
“Him?”
Dr. Shoko sits statuesquely before you. No change in her expression. Not even the slightest twitch in her fingers as she flips through your documents one more time.
After a moment of silence, she takes a deep breath and asks. “Erm- my apologies, but would I be right in assuming that you’re not attracted to hi-”
“No—no, no, no, no, no-”
“Ah- well, that’s one way to pass on a match-”
“No- that’s- that’s not what I meant.” Red-hot embarrassment, shot through with a spike of excitement once your eyes drop down to the profile of the man once more, curdles in your chest. And you’re sure you look quite frantic attempting to rescind…perhaps everything you’ve blurted out in the past five minutes. Dr. Shoko raises a brow. “Of course, I’m attracted to him.”
A knowing smile tugs at her lips. “Oh?”
“Yeah- of course.” You cough out. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Piercings glinting on his ears, snakebites on his lips, and a nervous - almost sheepish, but with a bring-your-daughter-home-at-2AM defiance - expression on his face. Just your type. “He’s perfect, actually.”
Dr. Shoko puts her documents down on the table and crosses her legs. “Then what seems to be the problem?”
“It’s just…I kinda know him?” You’re wincing. “We go to the same university- he does Japanese History, and I’ve seen him ‘round in the Anime Club.”
She hums. “Mm, you seem to know a lot about him.”
You almost sputter- “J-just as much as the average person would…But the thing is that on campus he just looks a little…different? I guess? Imagine your typical nerd—glasses, vests, knows one too many things about Tolkien, cute.” Dr. Shoko throws you a look—nerds were a close second on your list of types, okay?! And you’d always believed Choso was cute even before all this sprucing up. “Anyways. That sort of thing.” And then you’re taking a second look at the photograph on his profile - maybe the distance would help you see him clearly? And nothing. “And now…”
Everything else matched up.
It was just in his photograph where he looked like he belonged in an early 2000’s emo band.
You let out a slight gasp. “Is he catfishing m-”
“No. Although that would be a little entertaining to see…” Dr. Shoko mutters that last part to herself- “However, Mr. Kamo has shown up to every appointment in exactly this style. Could it be that perhaps he prefers one style for university, and the other in private?”
“Probably.” You sigh. And you see that look on her face- you know that look on her face. “Oh, fine. We both know I want you to match us.”
.
.
.
“Fuh-fuck pleeeease—” Veins, reddened and irritated, snake down the expanse of Choso’s neck - and you’re not surprised. Not when Choso kept twitchin’ and bucking with every single fwop! of your cunt slamming down onto his hips, letting his cock rover deeeeeply inside.
Oh-so-deeply.
You’ve got the poor man sat up against the headboard of this crappy love hotel. You’ve got his face pushed between your tits, as you’re bouncing your hips up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Cute suctioning noises let off where he’s glued his mouth to one of your tits, letting his cheeks hollow as he suckles. “Please- ngh.” Unabashed tears roll down Choso’s cheeks, “Do you really think I can cum again?” Ending his sentence with a single jagged thrust inside your gooey depths.
“But of course.” You purr—purr. It’s enough to make Choso shudder, ravenous cock twitching. “Because I said so. And what did I say about me saying so?”
“M-mommy’s always right when she says so…” He responds- cheeks burning such a sweltering red.
“Hah…” Leaning down you kiss him- at least, it starts off a kiss. But soon enough you have your tongue sliding across his bottom lip, playing with the sexy snake bites that pierce through the nerd’s lower lip. Always with his nose stuck in a book—you’re kicking yourself for not noticing the holes sooner. “Not so tough now, are you?”
You’ve been teasing him for what feels like eons - but in reality has been about two…maybe three…maybe seven rounds cooped-up inside this love hotel - now; and it’s enough to set Choso on all sorts of edges. Choso can’t speak. Choso can’t form a single thought. Choso can’t control his body- what the fuck he can’t…Unable to stop himself from constantly yearning that sweet pressure that comes from striking the flat surface of the back of your pussy—
His hips are stinging. But he’s still pushing and pushing and pushing.
“Just one more, then?” He asks. Tears in his eyes.
“Awwww- you really are an emo boy. I can’t believe you had the entire campus fooled for years now.” You snicker- watching as his eyes narrow…first in exasperation, and then in ecstacy as you’re squeezing ‘round his cock. “Mhm. Just one more- mommy has to reward you for losing your virginity, doesn’t she?” You ask. Expectedly, Choso nods and nods.
That had been the entire reason for his participation in this program, it seems - the poor thing wanted to get some experience. And you couldn’t blame him—nor be nice to him. According to his profile, Choso liked it when he was fucked hard- no experience and already thinking like a freak, huh? He was definitely your type.
Tapping at your chin in an exaggerated display of thinking.
“But mommy’s wondering….where is my nerd gonna cum?”
His eyes go wide. Breath hitching, “Please-”
“I mean- maybe you could pull out and I could milk you onto the blanket—?” Dramatically, the other man’s lower lip quivers as a sob threatens to break through. So many rounds and he still hadn’t cum inside - you’d gotten him everywhere: on your stomach, on your tits, between your thighs, on your tongue. Everywhere but inside. “Hmmm. Nope.”
He perks up.
“How about my mouth again?”
Choso shakes his sweaty head.
“I wanted to- hngh—” It’s so tough for him to speak when he’s actively trying not to fall apart at the seams.
“Oh, what’s that?” Your eyes go wide. “Don’t feelin’ my mouth wrapped around your cock, Choso- is it?”
He shudders at the mere imagery of that. Every single thrust had him threatening to spill inside—those gossamer ribbons were flooding your entrance n’ starting to drip down your thighs. “No-”
“No?”
“No, no, no, no—I love your mouth-” He sputters. “-m-mommy…” And even though it’s already been so long, Choso was still wearing those chunky rings depicting skulls and such on- gliding them up and down your back soothingly. “I love every part of you. But I just really…really…really wanted to cum inside this time-” Peeking up at you through tear-stained lashes. “…if that’s okay with you?”
He looked so pretty, it was hard not to cave in then and there.
But you had to stand firm. “Nuh uh…I don’t know.” Tapping at your chin once more. “M’honestly a little hurt that you’d hide this emo side of yourself, Choso.” Leaning down to whisper into his ear- his silver studs glint. “Especially when emo boys with big dicks just make me sooooooo fuckin’ wet—”
Choso startles as though he’d been electrocuted. “I-if I’d known that then I would’ve told you in a heartbeat, mommy-”
“Ah, sweet-talking me now?” You wave. “What other secrets are you hiding, Mr. Kamo Choso?”
And it’d been a rhetorical question, something to make your poor boy squirm—honestly! But perhaps you should’ve expected that with Choso’s fried, pussydrunken brain he wouldn’t have caught onto the toying tone of your voice. That he would’ve blushed- and confessed.
“A-actually the only reason I joined was to get experience-” You raise a brow as you’d already known that. “-so that if- when I actually found the courage to ask someone out, then I’d be less likely to disappoint them in bed…”
Your lips quiver. “Oh, Cho.”
And then you’re wrapping your arms around Choso’s head - pushing his face deeper into your clammy tits, skin-against-skin - you’re running your fingers through his hair, soothing, as Choso keeps fuckin’ away into you.
You whisper against his clammy forehead, “Cum inside, baby.”
And he does with a broken groan—long, lengthy ribbons of cum decorating the interior of your cunt. “Th-thank you, mommy.” He whimpers. They cling onto the outer ring of your entrance- which Choso has to push inside with a flicker of his thumb. The heat floods you instantly - bursts and bubbles of warmth spreading from your core, every single time that Choso twitches with another pang of pleasure- and his cockhead bursts out in cum.
Choso might be an utter sweetheart, but his cock was not-
He thwacks! out a few more creamy wads, and when he’s finally done and shooting blanks- Choso accumulates those dollops on the tip of his cock all to smear them at the bottom of your pussy. That sweet, sweet cervix.
“C-can I tell you another secret, baby?” He sobs.
“Of course, Choso.”
“You. It’s you.”
You free him from your embrace to look at him properly.
“It’s you that I’ve been wanting to ask out.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - HE MATCHED?!
“Wait- who…?”
“The King of Curses.” Dr. Shoko responds with a straight face. Too straight. You needed her to crack a smile- you needed her to tell you that this was a joke. “At least—that’s what he calls himself, and we did have to track down his records to find out his actual name.”
Name: ITADORI (RYOMEN) SUKUNA
Age: 32
Occupation: ‘It’s complicated’.
Category: Rough n’ tough
Primary likings: ROUGH. Partners in lingerie. DP. (For a more detailed report on sexual proclivities and medical assessment, please see Page 55 onwards…)
“What does he mean by his occupation being…‘it’s complicated’?” You squint at the man’s profile.
“He wanted to put ‘King of Curses’ for that, too.” Dr. Shoko takes a long swig of her coffee. “Goodness knows I couldn’t figure that out even with a PhD. But it’s a lot more flattering than putting ‘Loitering’, isn’t it?”
“He loiters.” You ask.
“Hopefully a forgivable crime.” She nods.
And, sure, you didn’t give a shit about the loitering—what instead caught your attention was the little matchmaking measurement that was on the top of the page. Or at least supposed to be. Instead of a percentage like all your previous passes had, this time was greeted you instead was a simple note: MATCH MADE!
And underneath it was a few semi-erased notes from who you assume to be the matchmakers spelling out- ‘Thank goodness.’ ‘We thought the day would never come-’ ‘Take him off our hands, please!!’
Dr. Shoko catches you staring at them and promptly shuts your file for you. “It’s just ah- your match seems to have a bit of a…reputation here, you see?”
You ask, “A reputation? Is he some weirdo?”
“Well that’s one way of putting it…” She mutters to herself-
“What was that-”
“Nothing!” Dr. Shoko clears her throat, and smooths her mask of professionalism. “To be quite frank with you, Sukuna was one of our first clients—and we’ve been operational for quite some time now, and yet Sukuna never matched with anyone. If it wasn’t an extremely low percentage, then a match didn’t get past the interview stage- especially because Sukuna himself can be a little…intimidating. At one point we just started showing him the profiles first, expecting pass after pass.” She gives you a meaningful look. “But for the first time, it seems, the King of Curses has found himself interested.”
You don’t know how to interpret the little quirk of a smirk on her lips. “I see.” Flipping the file back open, you’re taking in those smoldering crimson eyes, that pink hair. He was handsome, that was for sure- and he sounded like such a character.
You can’t help but find yourself, perhaps, a little interested as well.
“But of course, it’s completely up to you. And I can pass this one and get some more matches lined up if-”
“Nah. No need to pass, Dr. Shoko.”
.
.
.
“Now do a little spin f’me- atta girl.”
Just about three dates - and you’d discovered that the pink-haired man honestly wasn’t too bad. A little eccentric- alright, very eccentric. He spoke in extremely old-fashioned Japanese and knew far too much about cannibalism, but other than that you thought him to be just fine. Handsome, too.
Just an hour into your romantic dinner at that one fancy French restaurant downtown. Just a glance at the nearby love hotel before you’re both huddling inside one cramped room, Sukuna tugging off his coat before he bore you with a strappy black lingerie set.
It barely covered…well, anything.
And that seemed to be just how he liked it.
Not even needing to tug those panties of yours to the side before he’s pressin’ his plump tip against your pussylips. Both so sensitive that the contact makes you hiss—and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as soon as he starts to enter. “O-ohhh-”
“Hey- hey—” Of course, it’s not long before you’re feeling one of his roughened hands come and lightly tap your cheeks. It makes you snap out of your little daze and discover that Sukuna had entered a few inches - barely halfway through - but it still felt like he was touching your deepest throat. “Ya have the King of Curses right before you and you’re not even looking at him? Tch-”
Without warning, he pummels just a little deeper. Just a tender caress of his zig-zagging veins along your wet channel-
“C’mon, woman—” Sukuna grumbles. “Literally what could be so interesting inside the back of yer skull? Look at me- look at how well m’fucking you.”
“S-so good…” You’re blabbering out, as soon as your senses are returning. Because the stark sensation of Sukuna streaking your insides was mind-numbing - you don’t think you’ve ever taken anyone this big before.
“Never?” Fuck- you said that out loud?! His smirk makes your heart race- honed canines all on display. “Well buck up, brat.” He taps the side of your hips - and too late does it register as a signal to fuck your hips back down onto his pummeling ones. Funneling your cunt so fucking tight with all his inches. “Because if it takes you this long ta take me regularly, then we might just be here all night trying to get you to take…heh-”
The hairs on your body raise.
You bite down on your lower lip. “Your…second one?”
Sukuna chuckles. “No.” Reaching upwards - not caring if it’s making your hamstrings scream so deliciously at the stretch - Sukuna leans his sticky forehead against yours n’ kisses your lips. Tongue and all. He finally whispers as he parts, “It’ll be yours.”
And just a few more thrusts, a few more whack-whack-whacks! of his thickened cock reaching your deepest depths possible. He was just so big and his thrusts were just so vicious—you’re floating through a haze of pleasure when you feel it…that cold press of silicone against your precious orifice.
You’re jerking up with a yelp. “Shit- hngh, you’re putting it in now?”
“Hah? Duh.” Sukuna scoffs. “Why? Unless you don’t wish to-”
“I’m just wondering what took you so long.”
Sukuna seems stunned for one second- two. Before the King quickly snaps out of it to pleasure the sopping line of your cunt with his silicone dildo—“Dirty girl.”
Because what’d intrigued you the most on his profile was one thing: double penetration. And Ryomen Sukuna took it seriously—he’d slathered that impressive size - molded after himself, he’d told you - with a passion fruit-scented lube before starting to crown it at your entrance. The very same pussy he was stuffed in, too.
His cock throbs away wildly inside you as Sukuna squeezes- and squeezes. And you wince at the mixture of pain and pleasure - that utterly wiiiiiild stretch making your mind dazed. “Keep going.” You beg. “P-please- keep going, Kuna—”
“Kuna?” You can’t tell if he’s feigning outrage or he’s serious. He tugs your body into his- using one of your lingerie straps. “How ridiculous- fuck, and just for that- don’t expect me to go easy on ya, brat.”
And then it’s both. At the same time.
He started off nicely—surprisingly. He started off just shuffling his thick, throbbing cock behind and stuffing the orifice of your cunt with the purple-colored dildo. He started off so-
And then you’d gotten just a tad too mouthy and Sukuna’s letting the globular, slick-glazed edge of the dildo rover all over - aaaaaall around the first ring of your entrance, and then smearing apart your channel to search for your sweet spots inside. Competing - fucking competing - with his own cock to massage your spots the best. It takes one hand clawed onto your hip n’ pinning you down with all his weight to actually squirm the dildo inside you.
Shivers run down Sukuna’s spine as he feels his sensitive shaft rub against the firm silicone. Uuuuuuup rubbin’ his skin against the material. And down. Uuuuup and down. Uuuuup and down.
Fucking you twice over.
Such looooong and lecherous slides of your overstuffed pussy- “Look at her go.” The King drags you back using a strappy ribbon from your lingerie, glances down and snickers. “She’s just so hungry, huh?”
“C-can feel you all the way in my throat.” You whimper.
“That’s nothing, wait till you feel me in your cervix.”
And he’s bottoming out. Twice.
“Fuck, how I’m glad you found me.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - INFINITY% MATCH?!
Dr. Ieiri Shoko sits before you in her office, and she looks as though she wished she was doing anything but.
Now, you’re sure this wasn’t anything personal - after all, you’ve met with Dr. Shoko for numerous appointments prior, and each time she’d been cordial if not nice. You’ve filled out all your forms. You haven’t been late to an appointment. You made sure during each appointment to be open-minded and thoughtful about your potential matches.
So…what?
What could have happened in the thirty-six hours between your last appointment (six passes that day) and the sudden frantic phone call you’d gotten this morning regarding the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT? You’d rushed over - still half-asleep and attempting to tug on your pants - as soon as you could, sure that perhaps today would be the day you find your perfect match and-
“Ehem- today is the day you’ll be looking over your perfect match.” Ah- what? Still jolted by Dr. Shoko’s sudden change in demeanor, it takes a second for the excitement to hit you.
You gasp. “Seriously? A perfect match?”
“Well…perfect would be overselling it…” She mutters to herself- and then catches your look of confusion. “Ah- mathematically and scientifically, the numbers are perfect of course. A 99.99% match.”
“Then, what seems to be…”
“It just seems that your match is a little-” Dr. Shoko waves her hands in the air, searching for the word.
“Eccentric?”
“No.”
“Odd?”
“No.”
“Crazy.”
“Almost.” She sighs, looking far more exhausted than the last time you saw her. Far more exhausted. The bluish splotches beneath her eyes crinkle as she grimaces, “Apologies. I’m not that good at describing Lovecraftian monsters.”
You chuckle- before you realize. “Wait, what?”
“But—onto the profiles, we don’t have all day and I have about thirty more appointments.” She shoots you a look. “And none of them above 60%, I fear.” Then turning towards her second door - the one connecting her office to one of the building’s laboratories - she calls. “You can come out now!”
The door clicks open immediately- as if whoever was on the other side had been waiting impatiently to be called, fidgeting, hand already on the door handle.
And in walks a tall, white-haired man—although he couldn’t have been more than thirty or so, wearing a sterile white scientist’s coat and thin-rimmed glasses. There were a few Digimon stickers on his shoes, and his name tag read: PROF. GOJO SATORU.
He was cute- you had to give him that.
Dr. Shoko takes one look at your face and sighs.
You’re immediately straightening up. “E-erm, hello.” And the man bows rapidly- sputtering out greetings and introductions a mile a minute, that you don’t even catch them. “Ah…I believe you have my match profile?”
The other woman smacks her forehead. “He is your match profile.”
You gape. “What?”
Gojo practically beams- fuck, he really was too cute. He immediately reaches over and grasps your hand—then unabashedly kisses the back of it. Such a loud mwah! “Your pleasure to meet me, sweetheart.”
From the corner of your vision, you see Dr. Shoko download a resignation letter template. “Please…you’re all he’s been talking about for the past two days-”
“Like a true romantic~” Gojo trills.
“-pass on him and put us all out of our misery…please. I beg of you.”
You look at the miserable Shoko- and then you look at Gojo.
.
.
.
“So…” Gojo’s breath sticks to the side of your neck, utterly syrupy, and his cock sticks to the goopy insides of your cunt.
They wouldn’t have been able to pull him out with a wrench, he can tell you that much-
Because you were swallowing him up whole—little mewls leaving the gap between your lips, little dribbles of slick going down the corners of your mouth - ones he’s nearing towards and licking right off your face. Gojo’s chunky glasses crush against the side of your temple. His fingers dig deeper into your soft flesh. “-it seems I have fallen victim to my own creation.”
Gojo Satoru had you pushed against his clinical desk; it’d been long since Dr. Shoko had wrapped-up your first meeting (and gone to take a lay-down on her examination bed). Meanwhile Gojo had valiantly volunteered to give you ‘an insightful and educational’ tour around the laboratories.
The first place he took you to was his private office.
…The first place he took you to, neither of you could keep your hands off each other.
“Th-the program?” You’re babbling. Your hands grasp the edge of his desk- a plumage of documents soar upwards as you’re struggling and failing a few times- he was just fucking you so good. “How are you falling victim—”
“Because when I wanted to figure out a way to lose my virginity, I didn’t expect it to be this good—!” Gojo bursts out in confession. And you’re feeling the full impact of his statement- and the rough slam of his cockhead against the back of your pussy.
“S-so this was all…” Your mouth gapes - and you’re not quite sure whether it was because of the sudden confession, or the increasing force of his hips. “-a scheme to pop your cherry?!”
“Erm, actually- I wouldn’t say scheme—” Gojo huffs. Those thick-framed glasses of his kept sliding down his nose due to the force of his thrusts, and he was smearing his pretty face against your shoulder to keep pushing it up. “I am- was a virgin, heh…”
He takes a glance down at where the two of you were sloppily connected - those swollen folds of yours spread so wiiiiiide open around his long cock - and instantly, he’s hypnotized.
For a beat.
Two.
“—Satoru.” Honestly- you have to give him a good clench to snap him back to his senses. Otherwise you’re sure he would’ve kept funneling you full of his cock until one or both of your bodies gave out—he just seemed addicted. Tingling with desire. He wanted you. He needed you.
Every single second he was reeling his hips back- Gojo was angry just until he could rover his thickened inches back inside n’ bash your very cervix. Again. And again. And again and again.
And Gojo’s pushing his glasses up with a huff. “What if I was having a telepathic conversation with your pussy?”
You gape. “Shoko’s right, you’re crazy-”
“Yeah yeah-” He sighs as if he’s heard that one before. Many, many times. With a roll of those blue eyes, Gojo keeps explaining - not slowing down for a single split-second. “I was a virgin with too much time between my extra credits and three honors degrees, okay? So instead of being a lunatic and going out to actually meet people, I did what any sane person would do…”
“Create the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT-”
“I created the BIG BANG THEORY PROJECT!” It was almost…cute just how passionate he was getting. And it certainly helped that the more excited he got, the more his twitchin’ tip splurged out precum. Flinching it into all sorts of little hidden spots inside you—“A cutting-edge matchmaking system that pairs partners’ sexual proclivities-”
He leans against you- and it feels like a furnace, in the best way. Gojo’s blushing cheek against yours. Gojo’s aching cock against your cunt.
He’s scouring the silken depths of your cunt and ramming into that one spot- “The Gräfenberg spot.” Gojo titters to himself. “Erm- I did my reading…” By now he wasn’t even pulling his hips off of yours- glued to those stinging ass cheeks of yours, he’s plasterin’ every nook inside you with his precum. “And the fact that we’re a near-100% match must mean one thing—”
Gojo cums from pure excitement.
He cums from pure excitement. White-hot pouring into the depths of your cunt, slathering it in an oily layer of his cum.
You almost don’t dare to ask. “And wh-what does that mean?”
“That next I must make a pregnancy program!”
Too caught up in the moment; the two of you don’t register the light buzz of your phone.
A text from Shoko.
A/N. IDK why working on their profiles was so unserious shsdhsd-
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who was sitting around waiting for his next appointment. The door bell chimes over head, and he turns in his swivel chair.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who was NOT expecting someone like you to walk, much less be his next customer. Yes he's seen his fair share of good looking people over the years but you... oof
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who puts on a non-chalant face and reminds himself you're a customer(always time to get your number once he's impressed you with his awesome skill.)
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who notices you're pretty nervous and tries his best to reassure you.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who asks for the placement and the design. You pull out a sketch of the design you, explaining it's your own drawing because you couldn't find one you LOVED so you drew one yourself. And the placement is on the lower back. (🤨 !)
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who is now the impressed one.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who tells you to lie down and lift your shirt.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who through out the process finds himself letting his hands wander on your spine, stopping himself before he scares you away.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who makes deep eye-contact when he's finished and trying to explain what to wear, how to take care of the tattoo and what not to do. he tries to play cool but ends up tripping over his own feet, leading you out the room.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who curses himself internally and is shocked when you ask if he's alright. He mutters yes, blushing furiously.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who is pissed yet delighted. he is NEVER this way around people. It always the other way around, him making them flustered. Now he feels like a bright red fool.
"And if I have any questions?" You ask
"Um... Well I mean i can write them down?" He rubs the back of his head, struggling.
"Mmm... how about your number? You know, in case of question. Or if can think of better reasons to contact me." You respond.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who watches you saunter out the door with his number, promising to text
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who turns on his ringer, ecstatic when he sees your message, asking him out.
Tattoo artist!Sukuna Ryomen who clutches his phone to his chest. Cheeks a deep red and heart pounds. what kind of spell did you put him?
PREMISE : sukuna ryomen is the university's undefeated boxing star, but his reputation might cost him the career he's been fighting for. you’re just a student trying to write the article that could make your name, until he offers you a deal : fake date him.
he gets the image he needs. you get the story of a lifetime.
it's supposed to be temporary. just an arrangement. just for appearances. but when the season ends and the cameras are gone… what happens when they have to figure out what's real?
PAIRING : boxing!sukuna ryomen x fem!reader
GENRES / TAGS / WARNINGS : modern college au, athlete!sukuna, boxer!sukuna, fake dating, senior sukuna, slow burn, enemies to lovers, banter, fluff, angst, smut, lots of jealousy, mutual pining, smau with written chapters, emotionally constipated sukuna, reader who talks back, competitive tension, campus drama
series masterlist song of the ep : different pages by mariah the scientist
The third paragraph had become your mortal enemy. You knew this because you'd spent the last hour deleting it, rewriting it, staring at it and deleting it again; surviving exclusively on cold fries and spite. The cursor blinked at you, accusing. You blinked back.
The library hummed quietly around you, pages turning, keyboards clicking, someone sneezing in the distance like they were being exorcised. Your own laptop, by contrast, contained nothing but suffering.
Because Sukuna Ryomen, for reasons known only to himself and whatever deity governed varsity athletes, had decided to drop the most unhelpful critique in human history onto your head and then vanish.
Fix the third paragraph.
That was it. No explanation, no elaboration, no notes. Just six words that had somehow triggered a full identity crisis.
You reread the paragraph for what had to be the twentieth time. It was fine. Objectively, probably even good. But now every sentence sounded fake, every adjective dramatic.
You dropped your forehead against the table with a soft thud. Maybe you should switch majors. Maybe you should fake your death. Maybe you should hunt Sukuna for sport, purely as a public service.
A crumpled paper ball bounced off your laptop screen. You sat up and looked around the library in mild disbelief. Gojo waved from two tables away, looking far too pleased with himself.
"Did you just throw trash at me?" you hissed as he sauntered over.
"It was paper," he corrected, dropping into the seat across from you. "I recycle. I'm basically an environmentalist."
"You missed the bin by six feet," you pointed out.
"Bold of you to assume I was trying," he quipped, setting his iced coffee down like he owned the table.
You narrowed your eyes. He grinned back, unbothered.
"Wow," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You look unwell."
"Thank you."
"No, seriously," he added. "You look like someone just told you your marriage was arranged."
"I'm fighting for my life."
Gojo glanced at your screen. "The article?"
"The article."
"Thoughts and prayers," he said, nodding gravely.
You kicked his shin under the table.
"Ow."
"Liar," you said.
"True," he admitted.
You sighed and shut your laptop halfway. "The third paragraph is ruining my life."
"You're beefing with a paragraph now?" Gojo asked, blinking.
"Sukuna said it sounds fake."
He stared at you for exactly two seconds before he lost it.
"He reviewed your article?" he laughed.
"He reviewed one paragraph."
"'Sounds fake' isn't feedback, it's a personality flaw," you muttered.
"It's Sukuna. That's basically a five-page peer review, coming from him," Gojo said.
You buried your face in your hands. "I hate him."
"No, you don't," he said simply.
"I hate that he thinks he's qualified to critique journalism."
"That part's fair," Gojo conceded.
"You're taking his side suspiciously fast," you said, looking up.
"I'm taking your side. I'm just doing it by pointing out you're both insane," he replied.
"By laughing at me?"
"That's how friendship works," he said.
You opened your mouth to argue, then paused. "...I hate that you're right."
"I know," he said, far too pleased.
The conversation derailed after that and you weren't entirely sure how. One second you were complaining about deadlines and the next Gojo was passionately ranking the worst professors in TJU history.
"Jones," you said immediately.
"Absolutely not. Blasphemy," he shot back.
"Explain," you said, staring at him.
"Dr. Fernandes failed me because I forgot to submit one assignment," he said, sitting forward, deadly serious.
"One assignment?"
"It was worth forty percent!" he protested.
"That sounds like a you problem," you said, pointing at him.
"It was a group project."
"You don't have a group. You don't have friends," you said flatly.
"You're sitting right here," he shot back.
You threw a fry at him. He caught it in his mouth without even looking. The traitor.
"Actually," he continued, suddenly thoughtful, "I think the real villain is whoever designed the fourth-floor lecture hall."
"The one with the broken AC?"
"The one that feels like a Victorian orphanage."
You laughed and kept laughing, because Gojo immediately launched into an increasingly dramatic reenactment of Nanami trying to survive a three-hour lecture. You laughed hard enough that the girl at the next table shot you a look that could kill.
"She's acting like we're the problem," Gojo said, looking personally offended on your behalf.
"We are the problem," you said.
"That's debatable," he argued.
"It's really not."
He stole one of your fries. You slapped his hand away. He stole another one anyway, smiling the whole time like a man with no consequences in his life.
At some point, your laptop stopped being the center of the universe. The deadline still existed. The article still needed fixing. Sukuna's stupid comment still echoed somewhere in the back of your mind. But for the first time all afternoon, none of it felt crushing. You weren't thinking about tomorrow or publication or whether your editor was secretly disappointed in you. You were thinking about the fact that Gojo had somehow convinced you that ranking campus vending machines was a serious academic discussion.
"You've clearly never suffered the science building vending machine," he was saying.
"It gave me sparkling water when I pressed Pepsi."
"Skill issue," he said.
"You sound like Sukuna right now," you told him.
"Take that back," he said, looking personally wounded.
"You both say 'skill issue' every five minutes."
"Yeah, but when I say it, it's charming. It's a whole personality," he added.
You rolled your eyes. He grinned, entirely too pleased with himself.
The thing about Gojo, you realized, was that talking to him felt weirdly easy. Not in some life-changing, movie-montage kind of way. Just easy. You'd say something stupid and he'd somehow make it stupider. You'd make a joke and he wouldn't look at you like you'd just spoken ancient Greek. He simply kept up, which, honestly, you hadn't expected, not after only a handful of conversations, not after meeting him through Sukuna, not after a month spent orbiting a man who communicated primarily through grunts and threats.
The thought came and went so quickly you barely caught it.
Then Gojo stood, checked the time on his phone and groaned like he'd just been drafted into war. "I have practice."
"You say that like someone's holding a gun to your head," you said.
"Someone is," he replied.
"Who?"
"Sukuna, probably. Spiritually," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"If you told me he held it literally, I'd still believe you, you know?" you added.
"Valid," he said.
Gojo picked up your highlighter from where he'd abandoned it thirty minutes earlier and tossed it back onto the table. "You'll fix the paragraph."
"You haven't even read it," you frowned.
"Doesn't matter. You care too much to let it stay bad," he said.
That shut you up.
Gojo smiled, victorious, then started toward the door. Halfway there, he turned back around. "Oh and for the record?"
You looked up.
"The fries were mediocre at best," he said.
"You ate half of them."
"Out of pity," he called back.
And then he disappeared into the hallway.
The library felt quieter after he left. Not sad. Just quieter.
You stared at your laptop for a moment, then, with a sigh, opened the document again. The third paragraph looked different somehow. Not magically fixed. Just less impossible. You deleted two lines, changed a quote, moved a sentence, read it back and suddenly, it worked.
You blinked. "...Unbelievable."
Forty-five minutes of suffering, solved by an hour-long conversation about broken vending machines and professor slander. Annoying. You submitted the article before you could change your mind, then shut your laptop and reached for your phone.
One unread message. Sent forty-two minutes ago.
sukuna ryomen🥊: did you fix it
You stared at the text. No hello, no punctuation, no context. Typical.
You smiled despite yourself and before you could think too hard about why, you typed back :
People get genuinely concerned whenever ghost flirts with you in public, right?
Maybe it's the fact violence nurtured every moment of his life, maybe he's just a little twisted. Doesn't matter the reason when he looks your outfit up and down and grunts "you'd look good tied up in my basement in that, lovie."
Gaz and soap pause their conversation mid-flirt to cast equally judgemental looks at ghost. Price, who's met you plenty of times before, doesn't react when ghost hooks a finger into your belt-loops and tugs "blood stains wouldn't come out, either."
To the sergeants horror, you just smile at ghost and rest your arms over his shoulders like a love-sick fool. Gaz is about ready to ask if you've drank anything when you hum "yeah? Would you chase me through the woods?"
"For you, dove? I'd have a snare set up already. Herd you right to it." Ghost's arms around your waist, eyes soft when he pulls you closer. "You'd make a perfect, adorable victim."
Later, the bartender will try to get you alone and ask if you need help. You'll have the joy of watching her face fall into horror as you explain ghost is just flirting with his soon-to-be fiance.
a/n: I just threw this together bc this idea has been rotting my brain and I needed to write it down before I exploded </3 this is lowk so bad but oh well🥀 also no beta we die like women
Collegestudent!Sukuna who's in desperate need of a roommate after a bad fight with the last one made him leave. The only person he gets an offer from? Singlemom!reader with a 6 month old daughter.
At first, he thinks oh, fuck no. He's not living with some random chick, nevermind one with a baby. Buuuuut as the month goes on and he realizes he won't make rent, he calls the reader back with a sigh and thus it begins.
Y'all don't talk much since Sukuna's a full time student and you're busy working full time/being a mom. But eventually your schedules begin to line up more and you get to see more of his… lovely personality.
He acts like he hates you. And the kid. Like babies are the grossest, most annoying beings to ever disgrace the face of this planet. He speaks like you're stupider for having one. He straight up tells you that you're even stupider for doing it with some asshole that didn't stay.
…Ouch.
He's not wrong, technically, but it still kinda hurts to hear. But that's just how he is— rough around the edges. Stoic. All sharp features and bad attitude.
Yeah, sure, he's a dick, but you don't have to see him much more than a few hours a week. Plus, his criticisms aren't anything you've never heard before as a single mother.
Although for how much of a douche he is, how much he claims to detest you and your “sticky ass brat”, there's something redeemable under all those tattoos and mean glares. He always cooks dinner, full stop. He's an amazing chef (plus it's one less thing for you to cram into your hectic, exhausting schedule.)
On the nights you're both there, he begins to sit with you. And then, slowly, hang around afterwards. It's just sharing space at first. Him washing dishes while you wipe down the counter. Scooping leftovers into Tupperware while you scrub stubborn residue off pans on the sink.
Over time, he begins to hang around after dinner instead of shutting himself in his room and blasting music that makes it impossible to get your baby to sleep. He'll lean back on the counter, watching you rinse out your daughter's bottles. Ask a few genuine questions that turn into an honest conversation about your life. How you ended up here, what you do, and your bastard ex.
You expected to get berated by him again, but instead Sukuna channels his disgust towards your ex; calling him a bitch and a coward for not taking responsibility.
For the first time, you genuinely laugh at something that Sukuna has said. And dear god, is he a sucker for the way you smile over your shoulder.
He becomes more open to being around your daughter now, despite his insistence on being opposed to babies as a concept. His complaints lessen slightly. He even lets her stare at him without taking it as a declaration of violence. (Mostly, anyway.)
One night, Sukuna steps through the door only to witness you in shambles. Runny makeup, red eyes stinging with tears, the house is a mess, and your work clothes are still on.
If anyone on the planet doesn't know how to deal with emotions like this, it's Sukuna. He's not a comforting presence. Probably the human manifestation of its opposite, actually.
He's always been a man of practicality. He isn't one for words or grand gestures. It's the small things with him. Leftovers in the fridge. Laundry flipped without being asked. Knowing your takeout order.
That remains true in the moment as he walks over to you and crouches down to see your face.
“Oi,” he calls out, motioning for you to lift your head up. “The hell’s wrong with you?”
His face screws up in discomfort as you hardly manage to explain that you're running on fumes, haven't showered in three days, hate your boss, and are currently so hungry that it's a miracle you haven't passed out.
In fact, you end up spilling out all the fears, frustrations, and hardships of being a single mother. You're broke. You're so fucking lonely. You're afraid your daughter might never have a stable father figure. You can't remember the last time you got a good night's sleep.
All while your kid is screaming, by the way.
“Tch. Go take a goddamn shower,” he orders, standing back up slowly.
“She's still awake, how am I supposed to—”
“I'll watch her.”
Huh?
You blink, looking up at him as if trying to figure out if he really just said that. If this is a joke, it's not a very good one.
“What?”
“I said go take a goddamn shower.”
“Do even know how to—”
“It’s not fuckin' rocket science, woman.”
“Yeah, but what if—”
“She can't even crawl yet. The fuck is she gonna do? Stick a fork she can't hold in a toaster she can't reach?”
You chuckle, wiping a tear. Sukuna's face remains the same.
“Time's running out. Go.”
Knowing Sukuna, his kindness being on a timer probably isn't a joke, so you get your ass in the bathroom as he'd ordered. After one of the quickest (but also most refreshing) showers of your life, you return to the living room clad in hastily dawned PJs while you ring out your hair with an old T-shirt.
Sukuna's got your baby cradled to his chest, holding her in place with one massive hand as he uses the other to flip through channels on the TV. His legs extend far beyond the edge of your rather small sofa, one ankle resting atop the opposite knee.
The permanently angry knit to his brow lessens slightly as he glances down at the chubby infant. He mumbles something to himself before looking up to see you standing there in all your post-shower glory.
“She stopped crying?”
“Yeah. Wasn't hard.”
“Wh— how? She doesn't quiet down for hours sometimes.”
“I dunno,” he shrugs. “I just held her.”
You sigh, wishing maybe he'd been harboring some secret baby whispering technique that he'd been holding out on showing you.
Softie!Simon starting to cry happy tears when you pick him up from the airport just because he feels so happy seeing you.
Softie!Simon buying you stuffed animals any time he goes to the store no matter what just because he loves to see you smile.
Softie!Simon eating anything you make and telling you its amazing (even if you cant cook because it fisically pains him to see you disapointed at anything)
you don’t know why you thought simon would be a cocky fuck.
maybe it was how cool and collected he always was. that hot, quiet confidence.
if only you knew when you’d finally got him into bed. ready for him to be rough, to be a little mean, not that you’d mind.
in reality, he was whining into your neck as he pumped into you at a primal speed. whispering and mumbling half words into your throat as he groped you anywhere he could. his eyes were rolled and he was drooling on your collarbone.
“o-oh.. oh, fuck- nghhhuhh… yyeah?.. awww… my baby.. gonna fill y-you… mhm…”
sweet little brain-numb nothings falling of the tongue of the smartest, coldest man you know.
and you could’ve cum just from the sight when he lifted his head and started actually panting and pathetically stuttering his hips against yours like a mutt.
part 3 > part 2 : part 1 | ask to be in the taglist !
it was already attempt number 3, and sukuna wasn’t giving up any time soon. third times the charm, apparently.
you guys shared some classes, so he had a better excuse to talk to you. he knew you liked cafes or eating out, so what better way to take you your friend out and get yourself involved in some way?
sukuna was talking to a friend of yours, the same one that hooked up with him. she agreed to help him, mostly because she would get money out of it and another quick fuck.
it was time for your econ class, and you usually sat next to your friend. She invited you to the hangout, well dinner, and you agreed.
—
at the right time, 8 PM, you and your friend walked into the hotpot restaurant, where Sukuna was waiting.
when you spotted him, your eyes widened and you turned to your friend.
“what the hell, why is he here?!..” your eyes darted to his, where he was staring back.
“relax, I didn’t know he was going to be here, okay?” your friend led you onto the restaurant, where he also followed after.
—
you and sukuna just gave each other death glares, eating silently while your friend ‘excused herself to the bathroom’ yet it had been 20 minutes and she wasn’t back.
“why do you hate me so much?” your head snapped up at Sukuna words.
“who said I hated you?” the meat on the grill sizzled, providing some noise to fill in the silence.
“well, you’re always ignoring me and turning me down. no girl turns me down.” Sukuna messed around with the piece of meat with his chopsticks, sulking.
“looks like I’m the first and to be honest, you’re just not my type. you’re a playboy, fratboy, need I say more?” you took the piece of meat, putting it into your mouth.
“what?”
“just the truth. look, no offense, but I would rather shit on my hands and clap than ever give you a chance.”
—
well, safe to say that the dinner date didn’t end up well at all, ending with you taking the train home when Sukuna offered to drive you home.
he was starting to lose a slight flicker of hope but he’s still going to try.
authors note: this may be ass cause I’m currently suffering from food poisoning and can’t think straight but I wanted to release this today 💔🙏 tell me how many more parts this should have 👀
I believe Ryōmen would be the worst at sex; his original view was that it is simply a transaction, so he stayed untouched with the outer claim that no filthy human deserved his virginity. In reality, he just never thought somebody would mate with such an abomination. He didn’t even want the shame of claiming one’s title, let alone spawn, because he couldn’t imagine marking a child with the same DNA as himself. It was internal hatred and fear for rejection he must’ve felt in his era, but with strength as standard and weakness as privilege, he never bothered with such vulnerability.
Wake up hard? He didn’t exactly know how to masturbate, so shamefully, his abdominal mouth would lap at his weeping tip, and its adorable sensitivity got him there fast. All orgasms he’d experienced were weak and pulsing, nothing full-body or eye-watering. He probably struggles with keeping it up anyway, which is kinda hot. I feel like because he’s only ever dealt with the touch of battle, he’d love being manhandled or dominated. It’s a rush of strength that wouls get him off—and once more—his rejection of physical touch, scents also turn him on. He’d be so feverish and disgusted in himself for smelling something potent or musky and getting a major bone. I feel that, if he were to ever have sex, he’d be extremely difficult for the other person. Awkward and uncomfortably hot and sweating puddles, and in the case of penetration, the stimulation of contact would be so intense that he’d cum instantly. It’s the first ever full-body orgasm he’s ever had, and its impact is so toe curling, so consuming that he can’t help but be vocal. It’s something pitched and sexily broken, a feeling far more pleasant than pain has ever felt alive, something warm and simmering just to boil over and ever quiet down.
I like to imagine he’d cry, mortified, because he not only just caved in on lust but gave that purity away - not to mention the fear of spawn. He really, really fears the vulnerability of connection through blood, because the protective and emotional attachment is so visceral he’d be bedridden. When he finally gets over himself, to his horror, his libido has shot up.
It’s pathetic and ugly and so raw that even you feel you can’t handle it. He’s forgotten his size and sheer weight, and you fear he’s out of control - yet still curled in the palm of your hands. He pays you handsomely through pleasure because his sex on yours is just too primitive to make light of, and he realizes it’s not a transaction at all, but something to tether him to. In all of his time of not having a worldly possessions or temptation, he finds that you are as sinful as he, and basks in your taboo-ish flavor. He also finds that it’s not primal at all, and it is not sex nor ecstasy he feels. It’s elation, and he is making love to you with great vigor, more free and expressive than he’d ever been in battle. Sex with Ryōmen is more than a full-body experience, but out-of-body, because neither of you have dared connect so physically close to another’s heart before. It is the most excruciating act of vulnerability, and he is completely devoted to your body, unaware a human could be so perfect in any other subject aside from hunger. This gluttony is not consumption, it is desperation, and to be in a body is to have a temporary vessel, and that vessel is a temple, while also his soul’s ruin.
He thinks he’s just fallen in love with something living and not scarring to the skin. He would rather parish than admit it, albeit he’d rather perish before giving up anything of the sort. Who knew his body’s sensitivity reflected on his heart so sweetly?
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ a hopelessly lovesick sukuna secretly leaves you handmade paper flowers every single day, until you finally catch him in the act.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, student council president!reader, sukuna is hopelessly in love, secret admirer!sukuna, daily handmade paper flower, yearning!!!, rambling confession, emotional intimacy, sukuna is basically a gentle giant lol.
the first time ryomen sukuna saw you, he tripped over his own feet and nearly face-planted into a vending machine.
it was freshman orientation, and you were standing at the front of the auditorium, clipboard in hand, expression utterly unreadable, directing a flood of nervous eighteen-year-olds with the calm efficiency of a general commanding troops. your voice was steady, unhurried, every syllable measured, and your posture was impeccable; you looked like you had never made a mistake in your life, like you had never once felt the hot flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, like you were carved from marble and given a student id.
sukuna, meanwhile, was a mess of gangly limbs and too many tattoos for someone who had just turned eighteen.
his pink hair stuck up in wild spikes that no amount of product could tame, and his face was still carrying the last dregs of teenage awkwardness, even if he was already six-foot-two and built like someone who could bench press a small car. his ears were burning, his hands were sweating, and all sukuna could think, as he watched you direct a lost-looking girl toward the science building, was oh no.
it’s been two years since then, and nothing has changed except for the fact that sukuna’s crush has only gotten worse.
the pink haired boy is sitting in the back of the student union right now, nursing a lukewarm coffee that he’s been pretending to drink for the last forty-five minutes, watching you across the room; you’re at your usual table, the one by the window that gets the best morning light, surrounded by a small mountain of paperwork. your pen moves across the page with quick, decisive strokes, and every so often you pause to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
sukuna’s heart does something really embarrassing in his chest every single time.
he’s aware of how pathetic this is.
he’s aware that he, ryomen sukuna, who has a reputation for being the most terrifying person on campus, who once made a guy cry simply by looking at him, is currently sitting here like a lovesick teenager in a bad rom-com. he knows damn well that if anyone — really, anyone — caught him staring at you like this, his entire carefully constructed image would crumble into dust. but he can’t stop; he’s never been able to stop.
you’re just so . . . so you.
composed and unflappable and impossibly graceful, even when you’re stressed out of your mind. sukuna has seen you handle a student council meeting where half the members were at each other’s throats, he has seen you smooth over a crisis when the spring festival almost got cancelled, he has seen you calmly talk down a furious professor who was threatening to fail an entire class. you don’t raise your voice. you never panic, you just . . . handle things, and sukuna thinks that’s the most attractive thing he’s ever witnessed.
he’s been in love with you since day one, and he’s been too much of a coward to do anything about it.
it’s not that he’s scared of rejection — okay, fine, maybe sukuna is terrified of rejection, but that’s not the main issue! the main issue is that he has absolutely no idea how to approach you; you’re the student council president, busy and important and constantly surrounded by people. you don’t go to parties, you don’t hang out in the quad, you don’t do anything that would give him a natural opportunity to strike up a conversation. and even if you did, what would he even say? hey, i’m the guy who’s been pining over you for two years, want to get coffee? no. absolutely not.
so he’s settled for something more subtle; something that, in his mind, is a grand romantic gesture but in reality is just deeply, deeply nerdy.
sukuna has been leaving you paper flowers.
it started last semester, when sukuna found himself in the art building for a general ed class he was barely passing. he’d wandered into the sculpture studio while waiting for his professor, and there’d been a stack of origami paper sitting on one of the tables. he’d picked up a sheet without thinking, his fingers moving on autopilot, folding and creasing until a small paper rose sat in his palm; it was clumsy and lopsided and missing a petal, but something about it made him think of you, so he’d left it on your usual table in the student union, tucked under the corner of your laptop, and he’d practically sprinted out of the building before you could see him.
the next day, the flower was gone, and sukuna’s heart had nearly stopped on the spot.
he’d stared at the empty spot on the table for a solid minute, wondering if you’d thrown it away, wondering if you’d even noticed it, wondering if he was the biggest idiot on the planet. but then you’d walked in, and there it was — the paper rose, sitting next to your coffee cup, carefully propped up so it wouldn’t get crushed. you’d touched it gently when you sat down, a small, soft smile flickering across your face before you turned back to your paperwork.
and sukuna had felt like he was floating.
that was three months ago.
he’s left you a paper flower almost every day since, each one slightly better than the last. sukuna has gotten embarrassingly good at origami, spending hours in his small apartment folding and folding until his fingers ache. he’s made you roses and lilies and tulips, each one carefully crafted from sheets of paper he buys in bulk from the craft store. he never leaves a note — that would be too obvious and too direct — and he always makes sure to leave before you arrive, so he can watch from a distance as you find his little offering and smile that soft, private smile that makes his chest ache.
it’s the closest sukuna has ever gotten to you, and it’s simultaneously the most wonderful and most torturous thing he’s ever experienced.
today, he’s got a new flower in his bag, a delicate paper camellia he spent two hours on last night. his fingers are twitching with the urge to go place it on your table, but you’re already sitting there, which means he’s going to have to wait a little until you leave for your next class. sukuna checks his watch — you usually head to the library around ten, so he’s got about twenty minutes.
twenty minutes of sitting here, pretending to drink his coffee, trying not to stare too obviously.
well . . . sukuna fails miserably.
you’re wearing a sweater today, something soft and cream-colored that makes you look impossibly cozy. your hair is a little messier than usual, like you ran out the door without checking a mirror, and there’s a tiny smudge of ink on your cheek. sukuna’s fingers itch with the urge to reach out and wipe it away. he wants to touch you so badly it’s almost painful. he wants to know what you feel like, if you’re as warm as you look, if your skin is soft under his calloused fingertips. he wants to hear your voice directed at him, not at some other student or professor, he wants to see those calm, steady eyes looking at him for once.
sukuna is so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses it when you start packing up your things. he jerks upright, nearly knocking over his coffee, and watches as you slip your laptop into your bag and stand up. you pause for a moment, glancing around the room, and sukuna ducks his head so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash.
he can feel his face burning, he can feel the heat creeping down his neck, and he presses his palms against his thighs to stop them from shaking.
when sukuna dares to look up again, you’re gone, and the table is empty.
sukuna moves before he can think about it, crossing the room in a few long strides and finally dropping the paper camellia onto your table. it lands perfectly, right in the spot where your laptop was, and he’s about to turn and flee when he hears a soft voice behind him.
“you know, i’ve been wondering who’s been leaving these.”
sukuna freezes as his blood turns to ice.
his heart stops, then starts again at double speed, hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. he turns around slowly, painfully, and there you are, standing a few feet away with your bag slung over your shoulder and an expression on your face that he can’t quite read.
you’re looking at him. at him. your eyes are steady and calm, just like he always imagined, and they’re focused entirely on his face. sukuna’s mouth goes dry. he opens it, closes it, opens it again, and absolutely no sound comes out.
you tilt your head slightly, and there’s a little hint of something — amusement? curiosity? — in your gaze.
“you’re ryomen sukuna, right? the guy who made a freshman cry last week for stealing his seat in the lecture hall?”
sukuna winces.
“that was—he was being an asshole,” sukuna manages, his voice coming out rough and strained. “he sat in my seat and then he laughed about it. i just—i looked at him. that’s it. i didn’t even say anything.”
“and yet he cried,” you say, and there’s definitely amusement in your voice now. a tiny quirk at the corner of your mouth. “you must have a very intimidating look.”
“i don’t—i mean, i’m not—that’s not—”
sukuna is aware that he’s babbling. he’s aware that his ears are probably bright red, that his hands are shaking like crazy, that he looks like a complete and utter idiot. he’s also aware that you’re still looking at him, and you haven’t run away screaming, which feels like a minor miracle.
“that’s not who i am,” he finally manages. “i mean, i’m not—i don’t go around making people cry. that was a one-time thing. he just—he really pissed me off.”
“i believe you,” you say, and sukuna’s poor heart does a triple axel. “so . . . the flowers.”
“the flowers,” sukuna echoes weakly.
“they’re yours, aren’t they?”
you step closer, and sukuna’s breath catches in his throat. you’re close enough now that he can smell your shampoo, something floral and warm, and he has to resist the urge to lean in like a complete creep.
“i’ve been getting them for a few months now. every time i come to this table, there’s a new one. i thought it was someone in the art club at first, but they said they didn’t know anything about it.”
sukuna is trying very hard not to pass out.
“it’s—yeah. they’re from me.”
“why?”
the question is simple, direct, and utterly devastating.
sukuna opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. his brain is screaming at him to say something smooth, something charming, something that won’t make him look like a complete fool. what comes out instead is;
“i wanted to give you flowers, but i didn’t know if you were allergic to real ones, so i made them out of paper. because paper flowers don’t cause allergies. and they last forever. so you can keep them as long as you want, and they won’t die, and—and i just thought they might make you smile.”
sukuna is not really sure when exactly he started rambling, but he can’t seem to stop. you’re still looking at him with that unreadable expression, and his face is so hot he’s surprised his skin hasn’t melted off.
“i didn’t want to be too obvious,” sukuna continues, his voice getting higher with every word. “i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. and i didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, so i just—i kept making them. i didn’t think you’d notice. i mean, i hoped you’d notice, but i didn’t think you’d—you’re always so busy, and you’re the student council president, and you have all these important things to do, and i didn’t want to bother you, and—”
“sukuna.”
he stops, his mouth still open mid-sentence.
you’ve said his name . . . you’ve said his name! the world feels tilted, slightly off-kilter, like he’s standing on a ship in a storm.
“you don’t bother me,” you say, and there’s something soft in your voice now, something that makes his chest ache. “i’ve been looking forward to these flowers every day. i have all of them. i keep them in a box under my bed.”
you reach out and pick up the paper camellia he just placed on the table, turning it over in your fingers. your touch is gentle, almost reverent, and sukuna feels like he’s going to combust.
“they’re beautiful. i’ve never seen anyone make flowers like this. the detail is incredible.”
“i practice a lot,” sukuna says, and immediately wants to sink into the floor. “i mean—i just—i like making them. for you. i like making them for you.”
you look up at him, and there’s a smile on your face now, a real one, soft and warm and absolutely devastating. sukuna feels his heart stop for the second time in five minutes.
“do you want to sit down?” you ask, gesturing to the table. “i have some time before my next class. i’d like to talk to you.”
sukuna is going to die.
he’s absolutely going to die, right here in the student union, and his last thought will be about how pretty your smile is.
“yeah,” he manages, his voice barely above a whisper. “yeah, okay. i’d like that.”
you sit down, and sukuna sits across from you, his long legs folding awkwardly under the table. his heart is pounding so loud he’s sure you can hear it, and his palms are sweating, and he’s pretty sure he’s making the most pathetic expression known to man. but you don’t seem to mind. you just look at him, that soft smile still playing on your lips, and sukuna feels like the luckiest person on earth.
“so,” you say, leaning forward slightly. “tell me about yourself, ryomen sukuna. other than your impressive origami skills.”
sukuna swallows.
his throat feels tight, and his huge hands are still trembling, and he’s never been more nervous in his entire existence. but you’re looking at him like you actually want to hear what he has to say, like sukuna is not just some scary-looking guy with a reputation, and that gives him the courage to open his mouth and start talking.
he tells you about his major — history, because he likes the stories — and about his shitty apartment off-campus, and about the stray cat he feeds even though he claims he’s not a cat person. he tells you about his tattoos, the meanings behind them, the way the ink felt on his skin. he tells you about his family, or lack thereof, and the way he’s always felt like he had to be tough to survive.
and you listen.
you actually listen, nodding along, asking questions, offering small hums of acknowledgment. you don’t flinch when he talks about the harder parts of his life. you don’t look at him like he’s a monster. you just sit there, patient and warm, and sukuna feels something crack open in his chest.
“what about you?” sukuna finally asks, when he’s run out of words. “tell me about yourself. the real stuff, not the student council president stuff.”
you blink, and for a moment, your composure wavers. it’s the first time he’s seen you look anything less than perfectly put-together, and it makes his heart squeeze.
“i don’t know,” you say, and there’s a hint of something vulnerable in your voice. “i feel like i’m always the one people come to with their problems. i don’t get a lot of chances to just, you know . . . talk.”
“then talk,” sukuna says, and he sincerely means it. “i’m here. i’m listening.”
you look at him for a long moment, and then you smile, small and shy, and sukuna’s heart melts into a puddle.
you tell him about the pressure you feel, the weight of everyone’s expectations, the loneliness that comes with being in charge. you tell him about your love for old movies and the way you stay up too late reading, and about the dreams you have that you’re too scared to chase.
and sukuna listens.
he listens like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done, because it is. he watches the way your hands move when you talk, the way your eyes light up when you describe something you love, the way your shoulders relax just a little bit, like you’re finally letting yourself breathe.
“i’m glad you’re the one who’s been leaving those paper flowers,” you say, and sukuna’s breath catches once again. “i always wondered what kind of person would go to so much effort for a stranger.”
“you’re not a stranger,” sukuna says, and his voice comes out rough and earnest. “you’ve never been a stranger. i’ve—i’ve been watching you for two years. not in a creepy way,” he adds quickly, when your eyebrows raise. “i just—i see you. i see how hard you work, how much you care. i’ve always wanted to tell you that. i just didn’t know how.”
your cheeks flush; it’s a tiny, barely-there pink, but sukuna notices it. he notices everything about you.
“well,” you say, and your voice is slightly breathless. “you’re telling me now.”
“yeah,” sukuna says, and he’s smiling, a real smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “i guess i am.”
the silence between them is comfortable, warm, filled with something that feels a lot like possibility. and when you reach out and touch his hand, just a brief, feather-light brush of your fingers against his, sukuna feels like he’s flying.
“the camellia,” you say softly, looking down at the paper flower. “do you know what it means?”
sukuna shakes his head, his throat too tight for words.
“it means gratitude,” you say, and you look up at him, your eyes shining. “thank you for letting me see the real you, sukuna. and thank you for the flowers. i think this is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”
sukuna’s heart is so full it feels like it’s going to burst.
he doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to express the way he’s feeling, so he just squeezes your hand and deeply hopes you understand.
and when you smile at him, soft and bright, he knows you do.
my ex gave me a paper flower the first time because he wasn’t sure if i was allergic to real flowers then it slowly became a habit & he kept making me paper flowers all the time (^^) sigh . . . i lowkey miss my ex now
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