this is a love story

30. Superbat, Hollanov, and other DC ships. MDNI. 🤎

[kaiiswrld]

texts w fwb fratkuna

minors dni maybe tw y/n is a women in a mans field

[ginkodraws]

i've been in a batlantern kick once again

[batmanhistorian]

BOO. ⸺ HOW CAN SOMEONE WHO HAS SO MANY TOYS BE SO MEAN? Sketchbook drawing of Batman by Kyle Rayner from Green Lantern: Secret Files & Origins (1998) #1

[half-gobbled-piece-of-toast]

“I ain’t reading all that” your brain is rotting and shrinking

[superbatsupermevr]

What can i Say 🗣️🎶🎶

[l00106]

superbat freak off in my mind….

[serikai]

satoru can be such a fucking freak in bed

especially when he’s got you pinned beneath him, buried so deep inside your tight, dripping cunt that you can barely think straight.

every brutal thrust has him dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you, slamming right into that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back and your toes curl so hard they cramp.

his hips is snapping with that cocky, practiced rhythm, stretching you open around his thick cock like he owns every inch of your body.

the wet, filthy sound of him pounding into your soaked pussy fills the room, your juices coating his length and dripping down your ass with every deep stroke.

and he just can’t help himself.

the moment you start clenching and fluttering around him, moaning like a whore, that feral side of him takes over.

he leans down with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief and hunger, and sinks his teeth into your skin very hard.

he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth digging in so sharply you yelp in pain, your whole body jerking violently beneath him.

“fuck- satoru!” you cry out, but he just moans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

he thinks you’re screaming because it feels that good.

“shit, baby… you’re so loud for me..” he groans against your bitten flesh, voice husky and dripping with arrogance.

his tongue laps over the fresh, throbbing mark before he bites down again, harder this time, right above your collarbone.

the sharp sting blooms into burning heat as he sucks hard, leaving a deep purple bruise while his cock keeps bullying that perfect spot inside you without mercy.

you scream again, a raw, broken sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming pleasure and it only makes him worse.

satoru chuckles darkly, the vibration traveling through your skin as he grinds his hips in slow, filthy circles, stirring his cock deep in your guts.

“yeah? right there, huh? keep screaming like that, sweetheart. you’re clenching so fucking tight every time i bite you… makes me think you love when i get rough.”

he shifts his angle, folding you nearly in half as he drives even deeper, another harsh bite lands on the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before clamping down.

the pain shoots straight to your core, making your pussy gush around him.

satoru’s lost in it, he pistons into you faster, harder, the headboard slamming against the wall as he chases his own high.

he bites your neck one more time, right as his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing tight, mean circles.

the mix of pain and pleasure shoves you violently over the edge.

you shatter around him, screaming loud enough to make your throat raw as your walls spasm and flutter wildly.

satoru groans in satisfaction, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release while still nibbling and sucking on your abused skin like he can’t get enough.

[bettyvick]

big problem

clark who has a really big dick x reader

warnings: sexual explicit content, penetration (f receiving), implicit oral (f receiving), implicit fingering (f receiving), clark has a huge dih, f!reader, size kink, mention of bellybulge, praising.

author's note: i promise i'm not always horny lmaoooo.

more of big dick!clark

Clark hadn't realized how big he was. He'd been told so, several times.

Of course, as a teenager, after playing soccer, he'd go to the locker room to change, and some of his teammates would stare at him, their mouths agape. He'd blush in embarrassment and always try to cover himself or hide in the corner of the shower so no one would see him.

—Dude, that's…— his old best friend from high school said, looking at his enormous member sliding down his thigh. There weren't even words to describe it.

Finding condoms his size was a pain and a headache. They were all too small, the latex cut off his circulation, and his balls turned blue from the lack of blood. He tried every possible position, but he simply wouldn't fit or would break at the slightest movement.

Clark knew he was big, but hadn't actually assimilated it.

It wasn't until he met you.

He filled the entire bed with just his body.

But he got a reality check during your first time, when he pulled his cock out of his boxers and it poked up to your belly. You gasped in surprise, your eyes bulging.

That wasn't normal; it was out of this world. Monstrous; with a thick, prominent vein surrounding the shaft, pumping with excitement, and the red tip oozing precum.

—Clark…

—It's okay, baby, don't worry, I'll make it fit, I promise— he murmured rubbing your clit furiously. He spent the next half hour just preparing you because you never seemed elastic enough. He was afraid of breaking you in half and hurting you.

—That's enough, Clark, just put it in, please— you begged, overstimulated. He used everything he had: mouth, fingers, both at once...

But when he started to sink in, all his work fell apart. You gripped the sheets with white knuckles, your mouth open in an 'o' shape. His name left your lips like a plea, begging for some mercy. But that's just how he was.

—Oh my God— you moaned as he slowly entered your wet pussy. Your soft walls contracted around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, completely overwhelmed.

—If you keep squeezing me like that, I'm going to cum, love— he warned, and he wasn't even halfway there.

He lifted your legs over his shoulders, achieving a better angle.

—That's it, that's it, that's it...

By the time he bottomed out, your eyes had rolled to the back of your head and his balls bounced against your inner thigh.

It stung, tears pricked your eyes. But eventually it turned to pleasure, a pleasure so overwhelming it made you tremble against his body.

Clark was ecstatic; he'd never managed to bury himself completely inside you. There was a bulge in your belly he kept his eyes on, unable to move.

—What a small pussy, my god, you're taking me so well, my love— he waited, letting you get used to his size. But you didn't think that would ever be possible.

—It's too much— you blurted, feeling outrageously full. He kissed your forehead.

—I know, let me reward you.

He held you, wrapping your arms around his biceps and began to thrust slowly and painfully. Thrust after thrust left you disoriented. Your vision grew blurrier and your moaning grew louder. Although more than moans, they were whimpers of pleasure.

It was the best fuck you'd ever had.

But without a doubt, the final reality check came when he saw you limping into the Daily Planet. Everyone in the office seemed worried about you, and you had to lie. But with every excuse, your eyes were fixed on Clark across the room, watching you with a satisfied smile.

[spicymotte]

batsy kiss

[devourrrmee]

GLORY BOX

warning - p links! dni if uncomfortable.

dc men (dick grayson, bruce wayne, jason todd, clark kent) x fem! reader

warning! must be logged into twt/x for you to see the links :p

incl ⤷ unprotected sex, oral, facefucking, rough sex, spanking, fingering, breeding kink/creampie, jerking off, cumshots, size kink (heavy in clark’s…couldn’t help it💔), anal play/fingering, public sex, car sex, hate fucking, male moaning, meow

ᯓᡣ𐭩 DICK GRAYSON

— he pounces on you once you’re alone

— mutual masturbation

— bf!dick who comes home from patrol all needy for you

— the ending to the classic “shut up”…”make me”

— size kink size kink size kink size kink

𓆰 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ BRUCE WAYNE

— he’s just trying to ease your nerves before meeting the team!!

— fucking you on a yacht bc he’s bruce wayne

— husband!bruce who plays with your holes for stress relief :3

— he’s ruined other guys for you, all you crave is him

— fucking you after a gala

༉‧. JASON TODD

—“that’s it, take me all the way. fuuuckk.”

— bf!jason who sends you this shit so you’ll come home earlier

— he texts you “big dick is back in town” when he’s done w a mission

— somno with jason

— “ i hate you so fucking much.” “yeah? doesn’t seem like you hate my dick though..”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ CLARK KENT

— husband!clark who eats you out and spells his name against your cunt with his tongue

— he’s too big so he has to fuck your thighs

— someone is not aware that he is … well endowed

— enjoys when you grind against him

— he makes himself smaller to function in everyday life and forgets how big he really is

[hannrum]

Had to do something for Mermay before it ends

[softhandz]

you wanted more superbat x reader? here you go!

bruce & reader meeting martha & jon and growing closer with them 🥹 the two of you have all the love for the people who raised clark and they’re completely smitten with the way clark acts around you! the little bits of affection and sweet words when you think they’re not looking! cramming into the queen sized guest bed 🗣️

bonus points for jon being slightly apprehensive about bruce at first! clark’s never explicitly said he’s into men but he’s definitely never brought one home, let alone accompanied by a third partner. but after seeing bruce with clark he’s all in! they just want their boy to be happy with people who can really know who he is and love him for it 🥹

so sorry that this took me a little short of forever, but honestly, i never wanted to stop writing this, it's such a sweet idea and i'm definitely playing around with the idea of expanding this especially in wwwl. wc: 3.7k pairing: superbat x afab!reader thank you for requesting this, your brain is brilliant!

The drive to Smallville was quieter than you'd expected. Not uncomfortable, nothing between you and Bruce ever really was, not anymore, but the kind of quiet that meant something. The kind that sat between two people who were thinking too loudly to fill the space with words. You watched the landscape change through the passenger window, the city bleeding slowly into open sky, flat golden fields stretching out in every direction like the world had exhaled and finally let itself be big.

Bruce's hands were steady on the wheel, but his white knuckles gave way to his nerves.

You glanced at him sidelong. He'd dressed thoughtfully, not a suit, because even Bruce Wayne understood that showing up to a Kansas farmhouse in a three-piece would be a particular kind of disaster — but a deep navy henley, sleeves pushed to the elbows, dark trousers that probably still cost more than most people's rent. His jaw was set in that way it got when he was running calculations behind his eyes. Preparing and strategizing for something he couldn't fully map out, which, for Bruce, was maybe the most unsettling thing there was.

"You're doing the thing," you said, a teasing lilt to your voice. To distract from your nerves, you are more than willing to tease Bruce.

He didn't look at you, but you still heard the fondness in his voice. "What thing?"

"The thing where you're mentally building a dossier on two people you've never met so you feel less exposed when you actually do." A beat before the corner of his mouth moved, barely, but you caught it.

"Jonathan Kent, sixty-four. Retired farmer, part-time hardware consultant for the county. High school athletics, modest academic record, no financial irregularities, consistent church attendance until about 2003 when records show—"

"Bruce."

He exhaled through his nose, counting as if he were almost laughing. "I'm thorough."

"You're scared."

You hit it on the nail, evident by the slight tension at his jaw, the way his thumb pressed a little harder against the leather of the wheel. You hadn't said it to be unkind, you'd said it because it was true, and because with Bruce, naming the thing was always the first step toward letting him breathe again.

You reached over and rested your hand on his forearm, feeling the muscles tense before relaxing.

"I am," he admitted, after a moment, quiet as if it cost him something. "Which is — I'm aware of how that sounds. I've sat across from heads of state. I've negotiated with people who wanted me dead and had the ability to do so, but…"

"This is different."

"This is completely different!" He glanced at you then, just briefly. "They raised him. Everything Clark is — everything that's good and warm and entirely too earnest about him — that came from them. And they're going to look at us and decide whether we're—" He stopped.

"Worthy of him?" you offered gently.

The word sat there between you. Bruce removes one hand from the wheel dislodging it from his forearm in order to interrwine your fingers together, giving your hand a quick kiss and a squeeze in comfort.

"I don't need their approval. Neither of us do," Bruce said, which was such an obvious deflection you didn't even bother challenging it.

"No," you agreed. "But you want it. Because you love him. And people who love Clark Kent tend to care very much about what Martha and Jonathan think." You paused. "I know I do."

He looked at you again, longer this time. The late afternoon light caught the grey at his temples, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that he'd earned from years of squinting into darkness. There were moments, still, when you looked at Bruce and felt the full weight of him — how much he carried, how rarely he let anyone see it, how extraordinary it was that he let you.

"You're nervous too," he said.

"I'm absolutely terrified," you said pleasantly. "I've just decided to feel it without narrating it at length."

That got a real sound out of him, low, warm, and genuine. You felt it like something settling in your chest.

"They'll love you," he said, after a moment. The strategy in his voice had softened into something else, something that sounded almost like certainty. "You know that, right? You care about people the way Clark does. Not because it's expected, not for any kind of return. You just do. And you love kids, and you give everything you have to the work, and you're—" He stopped himself, recalibrated, but his voice stayed soft. "You're good. Genuinely good in a way that people recognize when they meet you."

You were quiet for a moment, both watching the fields roll past. A water tower appeared on the horizon, red letters faded by decades of sun.

"Thank you," you said, and meant it deeply. Then: "Can I?"

"Go ahead." Bruce's voice is dry, having already given up trying to get you and Clark to stop lavishing him with compliments. Because while Bruce Wayne has spent his life in the public eye, love and hate thrown at him from a young age, there's a sincerity and such obvious love in your and Clark's words that make it difficult for him to brush it off the way he has with others in the past. While he might never verbally say it, all three of you know that Bruce does secretly crave these words of affirmation, to hear the way you and Cllark see him, so completely opposite of the way he sees himself.

"You're not easy to know," you said carefully. "And I think you've heard that used against you so many times you've started to believe it's a flaw. But Bruce — the people who've taken the time? Who've actually seen you?" You turned in your seat to face him more fully. "They don't leave. Because what's underneath all the armor is someone who is so completely, relentlessly sincere about the things he cares about that it's almost overwhelming. Your integrity isn't a brand or a strategy. It's just you, and any parent who raised a man like Clark Kent will see that. I promise."

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. "You've been practicing that," he said finally.

"Me? I don't need practice to sing your praises, my love." It's silent for a beat as Bruce turns his head slightly to give you an apprehensive look. You huff, turning to look out the window, before admitting, "Okay, maybe Clark helped, but you know I get flustered otherwise."

"Of course he did."

You were still smiling about it when the farmhouse came into view.

It was exactly what you'd imagined from Clark's descriptions: white clapboard siding, a wide porch, flower boxes that had been replanted recently, a tire swing hanging from the old oak at the far side of the yard. The kind of place that looked like it had been loved over decades, not renovated. Everything was slightly worn in the way that meant it had been touched by many hands, many seasons, many ordinary and extraordinary days.

Clark's truck was already in the driveway, and so was an older Ford that had to belong to Jonathan.

Bruce pulled in slowly and had barely cut the engine before you saw him.

Clark appeared on the porch first, and even from here, you could see the way his whole face changed when he spotted the car. That smile. The one he tried to moderate in public, the one the rest of the world got in careful, measured doses. Out here it was just, unguarded, whole. He was in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, a little flour on his forearm that suggested he'd been helping in the kitchen, and he looked so entirely himself that something in your chest ached with it. While it was only a few days of seperation, you've missed him. And from the echoed sigh from your left, so did Bruce.

He was off the porch and crossing the yard before you'd even gotten your seatbelt undone. Your door swung open.

"Hey—" you started, laughing, and then you were being lifted, his arms around you, your feet leaving the ground entirely as he pulled you in close. You buried your face against his neck and held on, and for a moment neither of you said anything, just breathed each other in. He smelled like the outdoors and something warm from the oven and Clark, distinctly, irreplaceably Clark, and you felt the last of the drive's tension just dissolve.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair.

"Hi," you said back.

He set you down, cupped your face in both his hands, looked at you the way he did sometimes when you'd been apart for longer than usual, like he was checking you were real, and whole, and still his. Then he kissed your forehead, soft and deliberate, and you watched some private relief move through his expression.

Then he was already moving.

In less than a breath — a whisper of displaced air, a motion too quick to fully track — he was on Bruce's side of the car, door open, standing there with that same bright, barely-contained expression.

Bruce stepped out with all the dignity he could muster, which was considerable, and still somehow ended up pulled immediately into Clark's arms.

"Clark," Bruce said, muffled slightly against his shoulder, as Clark nuzzled into Bruce's neck, enjoying feeling both of his partners finally here with his beloved parents.

"I missed you," Clark said simply, pulling back enough for blue eyes to meet.

Any fight that Bruce had left him immediately upon hearing those words. Instead, Bruce relaxes, bringing a hand up to cup his face, thumb lightly tracing his cheekbone, a smile on Bruce's face that he could never hide around either of you. "I missed you too."

"I know."

Both you and Bruce let out a laugh at Clark's positively smug voice. Clark pulled back enough to look at him, really look, and his expression shifted into something quieter and more private, the way it did when it was just the three of you, and there was nothing to perform.

"Hi," Clark said, softer.

"Hello," Bruce said, and the word was entirely different in his mouth than it was anywhere else.

Clark kissed him with the easy confidence of someone who had figured out a long time ago that Bruce Wayne responded well to being kissed before he could argue about it. Bruce's hand moved to the back of his neck, and for a moment you just watched them, feeling that warm, particular glow that you'd never quite been able to name — that feeling of being part of something that made sense.

When they broke apart, Clark glanced back at the porch, making you follow his gaze.

Martha Kent stood at the screen door with a dish towel over her shoulder and an expression that said she had seen that whole thing and was making absolutely no effort to pretend otherwise. Her eyes moved from Clark to Bruce to you and back again, and she smiled, full and genuine, turning to say something to the man behind her.

There in the door frame just behind, Jonathan Kent was harder to read. He was watching, quietly and carefully. His gaze moved to Clark first, and then settled, briefly, on Bruce, before moving on to you. While his wife was friendly and easy to read, you surely couldn't get a clear read on the man. Hopefully, Bruce could, and you'd both be able to compare notes later.

While your group stepped up to meet them, you and Bruce shared a look that was filled with equal parts trepidation and comfort. You've faced intergalactic aliens hell-bent on destroying the world. Surely meeting Clark's parents wouldn't be too bad.

--

Martha had the gift of making a person feel immediately, unconditionally at home.

Within ten minutes of stepping through the door you had been handed a mug of something warm, guided to a seat at the kitchen table like you'd sat there a hundred times, and thoroughly interrogated in the gentlest way imaginable. She asked about your work with the kind of interest that suggested she'd actually been told about it beforehand, which meant Clark had talked about you, and the thought of that made something flutter pleasantly behind your sternum.

"It started as something after-school mostly, and centered on safe housing and creative outlets for the kids. Storytelling, art, and different ways to help kids process things that are hard to say out loud." You wrapped both hands around the mug. "It started small, but it's grown more than I expected."

Martha looked at you over the rim of her own cup with an expression that was warm and very knowing. "That's how the things that matter usually go."

Across the kitchen, Clark was helping with dinner prep despite Martha's protests. He claimed he wasn't a guest since he lived here, which has not been true for years, but he wouldn't hear it. Bruce stood slightly apart from the activity, in that way he had in unfamiliar spaces, not uncomfortable exactly, just observing and learning the room. You could see him taking in the photographs on the walls, the arrangement of things, the way Martha touched Clark's arm when she moved past him, the ease of it all.

Jonathan came in from outside around then, finishing cleaning and turning on the grill, wiping his hands on a cloth, and the dynamic shifted slightly. He greeted you warmly enough, kissed Martha's cheek on his way into the kitchen, and shook Bruce's hand with the particular firmness of a man who had formed opinions about handshakes decades ago and would not be revising them.

His eyes lingered on Bruce a beat longer than was casual before he moved to wash up at the sink, playfully ribbing his son about the large slices of pepper he cut. Clark, who noticed everything, glanced over his shoulder to look at Bruce and make sure he was okay while upholding the conversation with his dad.

You met Bruce's eyes across the kitchen and gave him the tiniest nod. It's okay, let it settle.

Dinner helped, thankfully. Something about a shared meal had a way of softening things; the passing of dishes, the filling of glasses, the particular rhythm of conversation around food that didn't require anyone to be anything other than present. Martha had cooked enough for approximately twice as many people as existed and seemed pleased by this. Clark ate with the wholehearted commitment he brought to everything and somehow made the table feel warmer just by being at it.

Bruce, to his credit, and you watched this with private admiration, didn't perform. He didn't deploy the Wayne charm, the boardroom ease, the polished social architecture he used when he needed to impress and was most likely expected to by the Kents. He was just careful and attentive, every bit of the man you and Clark have grown to love. He asked Jonathan about the land, about the mechanical issue he'd mentioned to Clark last week, and when Jonathan answered, Bruce actually listened, not nodded-while-waiting-to-speak, but listened with the same focused quality he gave to everything that mattered.

Jonathan noticed, and you, Martha, and Clark eased slightly at the new comfortable air between the group. The shift was subtle, a slight ease around the older man's shoulders, the way his responses stretched a little longer. But clearly, whatever test that Jonathon had, Bruce passed with flying colors.

After dinner, Clark was drafted into dish duty by virtue of being the person Martha trusted most not to chip anything, which left you and Bruce and Jonathan in the living room. The lamp in the corner put out a low amber light, while a baseball game murmured on the television with the volume mostly down.

Jonathan looked at Bruce for a moment before slowly starting, "Clark's never brought anyone home before."

"No," you say. "He mentioned that to us."

"Not a woman. Not a—" Jonathan stopped to consider his words. "I didn't know before. About any of it, regardless of how bad a father that makes me feel. He never said, and I never asked." There was no accusation in it, just an honesty that felt very much like where Clark had inherited his own. "I want to understand I'm not — I don't have a problem with—"

"I know," Bruce said, quietly, and slightly heartwarmed by the older man's clear attempt to try. "It's okay, I'm sure that it's a lot to come to terms with."

Jonathan looked at him steadily, and like this, you can clearly see the way Clark has emulated his father's calm, soothing tone when having a serious conversation. "I just want him happy. That's all I've ever wanted. He carries so much. More than anyone should and more than we even fully—" He stopped again to clear his throat, working through his emotions. "I just want to know that the people he chooses to carry with are — that they see him. Not the hero, but him. My son, our Clark."

The room was quiet for a moment, all of you having reached a common ground.

"Clark is the most human person I've ever known," Bruce said, not performed and not measured, but deeply true. "I don't say that carelessly. I've known a lot of people, many of whom get praised publicly for being good when they're nothing more than spoiled brats with great PR agents. He's the best of what that word means. And yes, I see him, we see him. Completely."

Jonathan held his gaze for a long moment, then he nodded, and you three continued watching the baseball game, oblivious to the shadowed figures in the background who watched the whole thing.

Later, when the house was quieter, and Martha had won the argument about everyone staying the night, you were getting ready for bed when Clark appeared in the doorway of the small guest room, shoulder against the frame, already in an old t-shirt and sweats.

"The bed's not very big," he started.

You looked at the queen-sized bed, at Bruce who was already sitting on the edge of it with his book, at Clark, and back.

"Oh, shucks. Does that mean we'll have to squeeze in together? All night between two incredibly buff, handsome, and sweet men? I don't know…" you playfully say, Bruce closing the book, laughing while enjoying the comfort of it just being you three. It's well known that the three of you always end up wrapped in one another's arms throughout the night, always drawn to the comforting presence of one another.

Clark's smile was radiant in response, quickly crossing the distance to wrap you up in his arms as he brings you to the bed, dragging Bruce back with you. In the end, Clark winds up in the middle because there was simply no version of any of you that was going to argue otherwise. He was warm the way he always was, almost unreasonably so, a kind of bone-deep warmth that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with proximity to him. You had your back to his chest, his arm loose around you. Bruce was on his other side, on his back, which was how Bruce slept, and Clark's hand had found his in the small space between them.

The lamp was off, just pale moonlight through the curtain, casting everything in soft silver.

"They love you," Clark said, to the ceiling, to both of you, happiness clear in his voice.

"Your mother loves us," you said. "Your father has decided to accept Bruce, and by extension me, which I think is functionally the same thing."

"That's actually his version of love," Clark confirmed, pulling you in closer.

Bruce made a sound that was almost a laugh. A comfortable quiet settled over you three, while outside, crickets started up a familiar tune. The old farmhouse had its own sounds — creaks and exhalations of a structure that had held its shape for decades.

"I forgot," Clark said softly, "what it feels like in this house. Being here. I spent so long not coming back because it was — I didn't want them to see how much I was—" He stopped, and you felt his chest rise and fall. "But tonight just felt like, like I could breathe."

You turned enough to press a kiss to his shoulder, feeling the bed creak and the sound of Bruce doing the same.

He pressed his lips to your hair. Then, across you, quiet: "Thank you for coming."

Bruce's thumb moved once across Clark's hand, the simplest possible thing, but the message was clear: Here. I'm here.

You listened to the farmhouse breathe, felt Clark's heartbeat slow into sleep, steady and faithful as everything else about him. Felt Bruce's stillness on the other side, not restless, for once.

Just here, with your partners, do you close your eyes and think, with a fullness that didn't quite have words yet: so this is what it feels like. Not a place, exactly. Not four walls and a quilt and moonlight, but still something like home.

Down the hall, Martha appeared at the bedroom door in her robe, while Jonathon looked up from his book.

"They asleep?" he asked.

"Mm." She climbed in beside him, settled against his shoulder in the way of forty years of the same motion. He was quiet for a moment, before turning to look at his wife.

"He looked happy," Jonathan said finally. "Clark. Happier than I've seen him in—" He shook his head, letting out a long sigh. "A long time."

Martha smiled, soft and certain. "I know," she said. "I saw the way he looked at them when they weren't watching." She reached over and turned off the lamp. "Like he couldn't believe they were real."

Jonathan was quiet again. "Good people," he said eventually, like a conclusion reached.

"Very good people," Martha agreed.

And the farmhouse held all of them gently, as it always had, through seasons and secrets and all the ordinary and extraordinary shapes that love takes when it finally finds its way home.

buy me a coffee | dc masterlist | anime masterlist

requests are open till june 14th; posting week: 15th-21st

[calzone-d]

stop i’ve already read this three times 😭😭

reading bruce being so soft for clark literally killed me, ily.

[iressails]

worth the wait forehead kiss / i love you so much double forehead kiss

[t0jisbunny]

Asking Toji to fuck you slow for a change ⋆˙⟡

⤷ m.list ˎˊ˗

Your face was buried in your pillows, ass hiked alllll the way up as Toji pounded you with his thick, veiny cock.

“Always squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight” he snarls, delivering a firm smack! to your ass, both hands spreading it roughly.

“Ngh- Toji, fuck!” you moan, biting down on the pillow below you. He was so fucking big compared to you, thrusts brutal and relentless.

God, he fucked you so good every time, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish for a change of pace sometimes- something slower, more intimate.

You lift your head slightly from the pillows to say something when Toji pushes it back down, large hand gripping the back of your neck.

“Head down, ass up, stop squirmin’” he rasps, large frame leaning over your smaller one, forcing his cock deeper into your sopping hole.

“Toji I- ah! Wait, just-”

He yanks your head back up by your hair, chin resting on top of your shoulder as he pants hot against your ear. You were practically flat against the bed, helpless beneath him.

“Got something’ to say, huh? Interrupting me while I fuck this greedy cunt?” He licks your ear before nipping it with his teeth, making you yelp.

It’s now or never.

“Jus thought m-maybe you could- mmph- go slower.”

Your boyfriend was so taken back by your words he stopped fucking you altogether, the loss of friction making you whine childishly.

“Got a problem with the way I fuck you, doll?” he responds, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust.

You mumble incoherently, gripping the sheets below you for some type of much needed stability.

“Huh? Speak up.”

“N-no!” you cry out, “jus’ wanted to try something different…” you whimper.

He pauses again for a second, the room going silent besides the sound of both of you catching your breath.

Toji didn’t do slow. But for you, he’d try.

“…Fine” he says with a sigh, turning you over onto your back effortlessly, glistening cunt on full display as he lines himself back up with your entrance.

“Least let me see this pretty face while I do” he grunts, pushing his length back inside of you.

He rolls his hips against you, deep, slow thrusts that make your head spin. You grip his biceps, bulky veins pulsating beneath your hand.

You moan shamelessly, head thrown back against the pillow as his cock massages the deepest parts of you. You look at him with watery, half lidded eyes, his jaw clenched from holding himself back.

“This what you wanted, huh?” he groans, your pussy squeezing him so fucking tight, fluttering around every thick inch.

“Y-yes, feels s’good baby” you moan breathily.

If there was one thing he hated, it was admitting he was wrong. But his body was doing all the talking, his cock beginning to throb as he neared his peak.

His thumb finds your swollen clit, rubbing it in unhurried circles as he picks up the pace jusssttt a little- your thighs shaking as you cream deliciously on his dick for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

“So fuckin’ pretty f’me when you cum” he groans, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“Want you to- ngh- fill me up” you mewl against his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist, forcing him in deeper.

“Fuck, yeah- keep talkin’ like that baby” he pants, angry red tip beginning to leak.

“Wan your cum so b-bad” you continue, his eyes locked onto yours.

You were the prettiest sight, cheeks flushed pink as you beg for his load so sweetly. With that, he snaps, grunting loudly as he spurts copious amounts of cum into your heat.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close, his cock plugging your hole to keep his load from weeping out.

“Shut up” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck.

AN; ib a post i saw a few hours ago but it was sukuna x reader. pls tag them if u know who as i cant find it !!

[gaygoatshane]

draft age accurate shane hollander

[ttakosuu]

ᰔ older toji & his aching love for (x younger reader | 18 or older)

tags: jujutsu kaisen, toji zenin, anime, fluff, slight smut, short fic, wholesome, relationship, au, older man, grumpy x sunshine duo.

authors note: follow for more toji content! <3 ik this isn’t the best so bear with me.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

older toji x younger reader ꣑ৎ

“you’re too good for a man like me, doll.”

there was once no such thing as gentleness in toji's life. to him, being gentle didn’t get you anywhere, only heartbreak and embarrassment.

there was once no such thing as warmth. only the cold, hard floors of the zenin clan and the icy gazes he would receive from everybody around him

but then, he met you.

you were different than the usual people he was surrounded by. different than the cold, money hungry loan sharks and the cocky sorcerers that he would hunt down.

you were soft in a way that made toji a bit jealous. untouched by the worlds cruelty. you were still young enough to not know what exactly it is that you want in life, what you want to be, but old enough to know better.

the way you looked at him— at first, it made him feel confused, unsettled. why did you look at him with those beautiful eyes? those orbs that held warmth, innocence, and a kindness that came so naturally to you, an eagerness to please that almost disgusted him.

you had no reason to smile at him, to greet him and ask if he needed anything. and yet, you did anyways. he told himself to not think about it too much, you were just doing your job as a waitress. and yet, you managed to maneuver your way within his heart.

after that, toji had made it a habit to visit that little downtown restaurant more frequently. he would tell himself that it was simply for the food, but deep down, he knew he was hungry for more than some simple ramen.

on days where he had nothing to do, nowhere to be, he was there. on nights where he was finishing his work at nearly midnight, he’d be there. and you were always there, so inviting, and so gentle.

next thing he knew, you both began to have legitimate conversations. you would ramble about some prick who you had to serve, or about how you had spent an hour getting ready last week just for your plans to get canceled. little meaningless, and simple talks, that meant so much to toji.

he barely did any of the talking, he was a listener, giving small grunts of acknowledgement and little nods. maybe even a chuckle if you were lucky.

and when you would giggle or blush… god, it made him feel like he was doing something right for once.

that’s when he finally gave you his name. a piece of him that he usually didn’t share so easily, unless if it was for mere business or transactional purposes.

now, everytime toji would enter the little restaurant, and you were there? he would hear that sweet, soft voice.

“tojiii~!” you would chime, waving and smiling from behind the counter or as you were taking an order.

for the first time in forever… or probably ever, he felt like he mattered to someone, even if it was just simply offering company or a reason for someone to smile. he didn’t feel like a tool, a weapon, or a reject. he felt like he was worth something.

little chats in the restaurant shifted into text messages, phone calls, and even small dates at the park or a ran-down takeout place which toji claimed to have “the best takoyaki in tokyo.”, with questionable staff and presentation.

you were like a bundle of joy, a ray of sunshine, and he was a grey cloud, a human thunderstorm. and yet, you both aligned so perfectly.

toji eventually reached a point where he didn’t want to be away from you for too long. didn’t want to go home to his barely furnished apartment and sleep in his bed with nobody beside him. he knew you were good for him, maybe too good. you balanced him out and even taught him that it’s okay to let go for a bit, to give yourself the luxury of happiness. you taught toji that he deserves love, and he deserves to love.

after less than three months of establishing a proper, healthy commitment to you and officially making you his girl, he offered that you come and live with him.

he knew you were still living with your parents, parents who wouldn’t approve of a rough, older man like himself. but he didn’t care. he stopped caring what people thought of him long ago— well… except for you.

now, you both live together, in his small, cozy apartment which now has touches of you all over the place.

your smaller shoes sat next to his in a cute contrast. your purse hanging at the front door where his keys laid. your trinkets and accessories occasionally scattered around the perimeter.

you made a cold, empty apartment feel so warm and full of life with your things, with your presence.

toji barely ate takeout food anymore, because you would now make him home cooked meals. you bought a cookbook just so you could learn how to make his favorite things. that spoke to toji more than anything.

older toji loved the way his large, calloused hands felt on your soft skin and your body. the way his body practically dwarfed yours, even if you wore heals or stood on a stool.

you loved how big toji's arms were. the way they’d so effortlessly lift you and embrace you into a bear hug.

“flex your muscles, 'ji!” you’d plead with that cute smile that toji could just never resist.

toji would always roll his eyes and grumble, but he loved every second of it, a smirk on his lips. “you’re insatiable, baby.” he could playfully complain, all while complying with your demands and flexing his arms.

when you would make fun of how old toji was compared to you, basically ragebaiting him, he wouldn’t show that it bothered him at first, he’d simply give you that “really?” stare.

if you kept egging it on and teasing him, telling him that he’d grow grey hairs soon or would break a hip, toji would show you just exactly how “old” he really was.

“heh, you’re cute. what happened to runnin' that pretty lil mouth’a yours, hmm?” toji would taunt as he had you laying on your tummy in his bed, his muscular body pinned against your back as his thick cock pounded your pussy, making your ass jiggle and slap with each thrust, your sweet cream schlicking onto his shaft and balls with each fwop and slap.

“i-im sorry, toji! please— mmh!” you would whine as you grasped onto anything you could, a pillow, the sheets, his forearms. you would act all shocked from the outcome of teasing your boyfriend, but you enjoyed every bit of the “punishment” toji would give you, whether it was putting you over his knee and spanking that bratty ass, or fucking you around the house until you were put to sleep.

toji may be quite a bit older than you, but he can keep up. he knows better than those arrogant, clueless boys your age. he knows how to effortlessly make you laugh and smile, he knows your favorite chip flavor. he knows how to make your brain go blank when he fucks you. there’s never a time where toji lets you pay for anything. “don’t you worry about money, doll. you just stand there n' look like my pretty girl.”

he would fix things around the apartment, bring you home your favorite candy or snack if he went out, would call you at night if he was away during a mission.

older toji till this day doesn’t understand what he did to deserve such a sweet, perfect girl such as yourself, but he knows that he ain’t ever letting you go. he knows someday he will put a ring on that finger and take your last name, to give you a baby.

he was the storm, and you were the sun that would soon after come to wash the rain and clouds away.

[iheartyuyu]

5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.

oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.

— ☆ —

1. movie nights.

you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.

first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?

for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.

your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.

tonight, everything was perfect.

you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—

bzzz.

you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?

you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.

you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.

so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”

he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.

“can i come in?”

you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”

“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.

holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—

“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”

your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”

you paused. “well…”

“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”

“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”

he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”

“hey—“

he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”

“oh. you didn’t have to—“

“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”

with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.

what. the. fuck.

2. hangouts.

you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.

at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.

however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.

today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.

the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.

“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”

you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”

he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”

you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”

you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”

before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.

and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”

“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“

“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”

you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”

“…did you just call me angel?”

his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”

that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?

you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.

fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.

how horrible for you.

3. aquarium.

you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”

she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”

“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”

she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”

“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”

she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”

you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.

and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.

‘couples only day!’

“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”

“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.

“yes.”

“ask sukuna to go with you.”

you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”

“that is quite literally not what i said.”

“you’re a genius.”

you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.

what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.

you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”

“…where?”

he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”

“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”

his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”

you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”

“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”

you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.

you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.

“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.

“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”

gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.

4. the beach.

you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.

you were freezing.

you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.

oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—

a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.

“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”

ah. your genie.

you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.

fuck. how could someone be so pretty?

he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”

“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”

“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”

“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”

“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”

“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”

he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”

you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.

you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”

he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.

what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.

“…you went early, huh?”

“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.

“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”

you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”

you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“

he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.

holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.

well. at least it wasn’t you this time.

5. studying.

as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.

during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”

gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”

“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”

gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”

“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”

you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”

“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”

“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”

you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”

“yes, please.”

later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.

you really needed caffeine.

everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—

fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.

sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?

you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.

you: please :c

a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.

“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”

“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”

you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”

he hummed. “good.”

in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.

you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”

he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”

in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”

you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”

his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”

“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”

he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”

was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”

“don’t mention it, angel.”

+1.

against your will, you were dragged to a party.

you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.

you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.

gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.

you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.

sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.

sukuna covering you with a blanket.

sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.

geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.

sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.

after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.

the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”

“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”

“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”

it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.

“…the stars are pretty.”

“mhm.”

he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”

“…mhm.”

he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”

“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.

“fuck.”

“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”

and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”

you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”

he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”

“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.

he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”

that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”

his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“

you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,

he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.

once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”

“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”

“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”

“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”

“…anything you fucking want, forever.”