doctor's visit (ryland grace x gn!reader) PART 1 (PART 2)
summary: you find it harder and harder to ignore the cute scientist that always sits next to you during your meetings
wc: 7k
cw: smut! submissive ryland and the glasses stay ON !! MINORS DNI !!
a/n: little nervous about this one :’) why’s ryland’s character so hard to get right?? enjoy! (cross-posted on ao3)
It took everything in you to squash the laugh that threatened to bubble out of your throat when you beheld the person dubbed the “leading scientist in Astrophage”. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the lanky man stumbling out of the jet, nearly falling backwards off the little ladder, wasn’t quite what you pictured. The second his foot touched the concrete landing pad, he hunched over to pick up a small orange traffic cone sitting next to the plane and proceeded to hurl whatever he’d last eaten into it.
Stratt grimaced, fidgeting anxiously next to you to get moving, and gestured for you to follow her once the scientist seemed to gather his bearings enough to stop heaving.
“Doctor Grace, how was your flight?” She asked.
He only replied with a thumbs up. A set of glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose and he didn’t move the orange cone far from his mouth when the two of you neared.
“Doctor Grace, this is Doctor (L/n) who’s here to make sure you’ve made it in one piece before we discuss your findings. Excuse me for a moment.”
As Stratt moved to discuss something with someone on the landing strip a couple of feet away, you took that as your queue to approach the man. He looked pale, watching wearily as you approached with a smile.
“Enjoy the view on the way here, Doctor?”
You wasted no time, moving to find the doctor’s free hand that wasn’t holding the vomit filled cone, to feel for his pulse. It was frantic, pounding against the pad of your fingers but unwavering. He let his hand fall limp in your hold, out of strength to do much besides stand in place.
“Well… I can’t say I saw much. I was unconscious for most of it. Loved the last bit though, when we’d landed and weren’t in the air anymore. Hey, do you have any water? Some guy gave me a pill and I think it’s still stuck in my throat.”
A smile creeped onto your face. You’d known this man for barely a minute but you could feel that he had a gravitating way about him. Something charming and sweet. Dropping his arm, you nodded to him and gave him the water bottle you’d brought along. You also held out a small white pill. He instantly shook his head.
“Ah, no thank you. Last time I took a pill from a stranger, I woke up on an aircraft carrier.”
“It’s dramamine, Doctor.”
A pause.
Defeat.
“Okay.”
You helped him open the bottle, as one of his hands was still occupied holding his puke cone, and watched as he gulped down mouthfuls of water to chase the dramamine.
“Pulse is strong. How’s your breathing?”
“Uh- fine, I guess?”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He adjusted his glasses with his wrist to finally properly fit over the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Two.”
You gave a firm pat to his back, which he groaned at. “Welcome aboard, Doctor Grace!”
-
While your first meeting was brief, that was not the last time you saw Doctor Ryland Grace. After he finally found his sea legs, he became a regular presence at every meeting in regards to Project Hail Mary.
You weren’t invited to many meetings, only joining when they were about the health of the crew during their journey to Tau Ceti. The robot being constructed to care for the comatose astronauts was an impressive piece of technology unlike anything ever built but it needed to be programmed perfectly to ensure the crew’s safety. If it went wrong- the crew would die and so would the rest of Earth.
That’s why you were brought aboard, to help bring up any possible problem that could happen with the crew on their trip and how the robot would handle it. You worked closely with a slew of other doctors, each of you bringing your own experience to the table.
As a Doctor specializing in neurology, your input was crucial. Being in a coma for several years was not ideal and could do some irreparable harm to the brain, which you disclosed as such in your meetings. It was an intricate dance, trying to solve the multitude of potential problems that came up with so many people with differing opinions
They also occasionally had you stationed as an on-call doctor when you weren’t discussing the mission, setting you up in the medical wing of the giant aircraft carrier to handle any ailments of the crew. You didn’t mind the busy work, it gave you something to do when you weren’t in the lab helping with the robot or fighting with a room full of scholars.
The first time Doctor Grace showed up to one of the medical meetings, he was 15 minutes late.
Stratt gave him a look that exuded annoyance as he scrambled to sit in the only empty chair at the table, which happened to be between you and the most powerful woman in the world.
“Sorry everybody,” he waved quickly in apology with an awkward laugh and dumped a folder of papers on the table. The room was dead silent. “This place is a maze! I got lost somewhere on deck C I think. They should really put up some signs.”
If Stratt wasn’t five feet away, you would’ve giggled. There were signs all over the ship. In several languages.
A cardiologist from Brazil tapped his pen against the metal table in agitation. “As I was saying…”
While the conversation buzzed on, discussing circulation and muscular atrophy that would arise from the crew's prone state for several years, you felt a shoe knock into yours. Turning your eyes away from the table, you were surprised to find Doctor Grace looking at you.
“Do you have an extra pen?” He whispered, not very quietly. He was leaning towards you like you were swapping secrets. The soft fabric of his quarter zip brushed against your arm.
Getting some glares from those sitting closest to you, you only nodded back and slipped an extra pen out of the spiral of your notebook.
“Thank you. Hey, you’re that doctor that checked up on me on my first day here, right? Thanks for that, by the way, the pill really helped. I nearly filled up that cone though, that was a little embarrassing.”
He laughed, another awkward chuckle that had you glancing sidelong at him.
Someone who used humor when they were uncomfortable, it seemed.
Taking a quick look around the room to make sure no one was watching, you leant towards him, bringing your heads closer together. He startled back a bit but didn’t pull completely away.
“When I first got here, I got so seasick I puked all over my tour guide’s shoes. At least you made it to a cone.” You whispered, smiling at the memory.
Doctor Grace looked at you in shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline. “Really?!” He was really bad at whispering.
“Doctors, do you have an idea you’d like to share with the room?” The leading creator of the nurse robot, Doctor Lamai, peered at your hunched forms.
Jerking away from each other, Doctor Grace and yourself didn’t talk for the rest of the meeting but you had to fight a smile when he slipped you a folded note that just had a crude drawing of a puking face.
-
Any meeting that you attended after that, Ryland- as he’d asked you to call him- would find a seat next to you. After learning how tough of a crowd most of the medical crew was, the two of you didn’t talk during the discussions again. But you did start passing notes like a couple of school children.
-
Did you know that the brain is a human’s fattiest organ? -R
Yes -(Y/n)
Really? -R
I’m a neurologist, Ryland. The brain is my job -(Y/n)
Oh yeah -R
Did you know that a human brain produces enough energy to power a small lightbulb? -R
-
This robot is basically like that big marshmallow doctor robot in that one movie -R
Baymax? -(Y/n)
Yeah that sounds right -R
Ours probably won’t be as cute as Baymax is -(Y/n)
Probably not. Maybe we should suggest something to make it cuter. Paint it in pink glitter and give it some eyes -R
Somehow I think that’ll make it even scarier than it already is. Go back to the drawing board -(Y/n)
-
I saw a bird today -R
What kind of bird? -(Y/n)
Seagull -R
Well, we are out at sea -(Y/n)
It’s a little too far out in the ocean to be seeing birds, don’t you think? They get tired -R
Maybe it was a stowaway? -(Y/n)
Poor guy :( -R
-
You learned a lot about Ryland over the next several weeks.
Ryland was full of fun facts and interesting thoughts. He’d barrage you with them any chance he had, and you would listen. While medical facts were mostly common knowledge to you, fun facts about anything else was always a pleasant conversation starter.
He taught you everything there is to know about Astrophage and how it works, once even letting you visit him in his little personal lab to see the little microorganisms yourself. He’d carefully prepared a slide for you, making sure the focus was perfect before stepping back to let you peer into the microscope. When you started barraging him with questions, he was more than excited to answer- leading you around his mini lab with a hand on your back.
You learned that he has a mild shellfish allergy- a rather unfortunate finding. He spent a couple of hours in the medical wing laying on a cot, popping Benadryl like candy and breaking out in hives after some cross-contamination with shrimp in the cafeteria kitchen.
His favorite animal is a fox and he has a surprisingly large collection of fox related things to prove it.
He was a molecular biologist, now turned loud-and-proud middle school science teacher. He loves his students dearly and spent the greater part of several years revolving his life around their education.
He rarely ever swears. At least, not the actual words, but their modified, kid-friendly versions. He’d have teachers knocking down his apartment door if he swore in front of his class, unintentionally expanding their vocabulary.
When he was trying really hard not to laugh, he’d make this tiny snorting noise that sounds an awful lot like a spray bottle.
He doesn’t know how to use chopsticks. Not the right way, at least.
He has no immediate family, no pets and no partners.
He was an enigma really; someone that felt so out of place on this ship. Ryland felt too… normal to be here. Not in a negative way, just a… he-should’ve-never-been-dragged-into-this kind of way. He was too warm compared to most everyone else here. The aircraft carrier was bursting at the seams with cold government officials and specialists in every science or space related field to ever exist. Many were too professional, too self absorbed to realize they had a stick up their ass.
Ryland was a breath of fresh air and you felt increasingly drawn to him every time you interacted.
It also didn’t hurt that he was attractive. Like… insanely attractive. His hair was perfectly messy every single day. He wore his glasses in such a way that you’d never seen anyone wear glasses before, hanging off one ear when he wasn’t using them. A near constant 5 o’clock shadow was always gracing his face. Despite his clothing choices which some around you found unprofessional, he pulled off everything he wore. His fox cardigan, his yellow rain coat, his cringy science-pun t-shirts. It shouldn’t, but it made him that much more alluring and it was getting harder and harder for you not to make a move.
You were friends- acquaintances at the least- but he’d never shown any interest. At least not that you’d seen. He was awkward sometimes but he was awkward with everyone. You didn’t want to make things weird, so you stuffed those feelings deep and filed them away for later. Plus, he was technically higher ranking than you in the Hail Mary hierarchy. He was Stratt’s right hand man. Maybe he didn’t want to ‘pull rank’.
These sorts of thoughts kept you up at night while you tried to ignore the sounds of the 3 other medical staff sleeping around you in your shared bunk. He wouldn’t get out of your head and you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore that tightening string in your gut.
-
On Friday nights, the room on the ship that served as the social meeting place for many of the crew, equipped with a bar, was packed to the gills. You usually dropped by to say hi to the couple of coworkers and other doctors that you were friendly with but never staying for long. You just didn’t know anyone well enough to want to stay and chat. At least you didn’t… until one particular Friday night.
The hunched form at the bar clad in that unmistakable fox cardigan caught your eye almost immediately. He was hard to miss.
This was the first time you’d seen Ryland here. You weren’t sure why he never came, but he was the one person on his whole ship you’d actually consider sharing a drink with.
Immediately making a bee-line for the bar, you saw that the doctor was flipping through several sheets of paper, head in his hand as he read. The people surrounding him at the counter were making light conversation, enjoying a beer and enjoying their Friday night.
Ryland was working.
“Y’know this room is supposed to be a reprieve from work, not somewhere you bring your work to, right?”
The blonde looked up in surprise as you squeezed to stand in the small empty space between him and the guy sitting on the barstool next to him. It was a tight fit, and Ryland immediately shuffled over an inch in his seat to give you some more room.
Or to avoid touching you, which didn’t sit right in your stomach.
His glasses were near falling off his nose. He looked tired.
“I know but I couldn't sleep so I decided to come here. I brought some homework because I needed something to keep my mind busy and so I don’t look like a total loser sitting here by myself. Is it working?”
“Well,” you hummed. “I don’t think you’re a loser but I might be a little biased.”
He smiled, twirling a pen between his long fingers over the papers. You nodded over to where a karaoke machine sat and the 3 Hail Mary crewmates sat with their extra counterparts. “Why don't you go join them? You know them well enough, right? You’re working with them all the time.”
Ryland shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder. His knee pressed against your thigh which made it extremely hard to focus on his answer.
“No, I don’t think I really fit in with their crowd.”
“Why not?”
“They’re brave. Strong. Sometimes I don't even know why I'm here to be honest. Why Stratt dragged me here. A humble middle school science teacher.” He laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a genuine one.
Your heart squeezed into a knot for this man who’d been uprooted from his comfortable life as a teacher and thrown into this madness without his consent just like many others. He felt unsure about his place here and besides Stratt who had him on a leash, he had no one, it seemed.
Besides you, you hoped.
You prayed he enjoyed your company enough to feel a little less alone.
“Well,” you leant back against the bar to properly look at him. He looked up at you over the golden frames of his glasses. “I’d say you have every right to be here. You discovered how to kill an Astrophage and see what it's made of. You discovered how they breed and now we have the means to create a powerful fuel for the mission that will save humanity. All important things we might not have right now without you.”
Ryland huffed and drew a little circle on his paper. “I’m sure someone would’ve thought to poke Astrophage with a stick eventually. And learning how they breed didn’t take too much thinking either, surely someone would’ve-”
“You can't spend your whole life focusing on the ‘what if’s’, Ryland. We're here now thanks to you, whether you wanna see it that way or not.”
Finally, a real smile split his face and he nodded slowly. You couldn’t tell if he’d accepted your words as truth or not, but they at least lifted his spirits a little. Plus, a tiny bit of red painted his ears.
“Thanks, (Y/n). Can I… buy you a drink?”
Your stomach fluttered. “Yes, as long as it’s not anything too hard. I’ve got a shift tomorrow.”
He nodded quickly and signaled to the bartender. “Two beers please.”
Bottles in hand, you continued to lounge against the counter next to him, nursing the beverage and making small talk. He’d offered his seat to you but you refused.
Looking out over the crowd, you spotted two individuals huddled together in the dim corner of the room. Ryland noticed your gaze and turned to look too. When he beheld the two scientists tangled together, he shook his head and turned back to you with a raised brow.
“I think DuBois and Shapiro are hooking up.”
“Seems that way.”
“Dont you think it’s a little crazy? I mean, he’s going to be trucked off into space soon and she’ll be left here. What's the point in hooking up when it'll only end in tragedy? You’re just asking for heartbreak.” He shook his head, fiddling with the plastic label of his beer.
You shrugged. “I don't see any harm in it. Sure it’ll hurt eventually but why not live in the moment? Humans yearn for connection, it makes sense they’d want to have some sense of normalcy before the end of the world. It's probably nice to forget about the apocalypse and enjoy someone's company for a while, take your mind off the doom and gloom.”
Ryland was quiet after that, suddenly turning anxious if his ducked head was any indication. Had you said something wrong? You drained the rest of your beer.
“Is that something you find yourself doing?” He asked quietly, feigning nonchalance but his foot was bouncing erratically against the bar stool.
Nervous.
A smile began to creep onto your face. “Not currently.”
His foot stopped.
Relief.
“But… if the right person came along I wouldn’t be opposed.”
His hand squeezed the bottle and his shoulders drooped.
Disappointment.
“Oh… haven’t found the right one yet?” He picked up his head with a painfully fake smile and a nod, looking around the room like he was helping you scout the place. “Lots of interesting people on this ship. A pilot would be cool, huh?”
“Yeah but they’re a bit too cocky for my taste.”
He tapped his finger against his stacks of paper. “Okay, what about… another doctor? Or one of the government officials?”
You grimaced and he cringed back. “Right, no doctors or government staff If not them, then… what are you looking for?”
Ryland’s eyes were searching yours for a glimpse, a hint of what you might be feeling.
With the tiniest bit of liquid courage running through your veins, you tapped your beer bottle against your leg and lightly began playing with the sleeve of his fox cardigan. He became impossibly still.
“Someone real. Down to earth. Not afraid to be themselves… a nice smile and a pretty face sure helps too.”
The doctor gulped and you reveled in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing in the soft light of the room. He inclined his head once, fingers twitching against the bar. “I’ll keep an eye out for you,” he whispered.
Neither of you broke the heated eye contact until the man you were standing next to fell back in laugher and knocked you off your balance. You were able to recover quickly, but not before pressing even closer to the scientist and nearly falling into his lap. His hand had immediately planted onto your hip in an attempt to keep you steady. Being this close, you could feel the breath from his nose on yours. Your heart was pounding.
The room grew in volume as people flocked to gather around the karaoke machine that was playing a song you couldn’t even bother to name. Not while Ryland held all of your attention.
While his chest heaved, you slowly moved to stand properly on your own two feet but holding his gaze. You took the hem of his cardigan in your hand. It was so soft.
“Want to go for a walk?” You asked quietly, glancing at his stack of papers that had been forgotten about.
Ryland said nothing but started brushing his work into a haphazard pile good enough to hold in one arm and stood up. Standing at his full height, you were reminded again how tall the man was. When he offered his hand as a silent question, an inquiry to make sure he wasn’t reading anything wrong, you didn’t hesitate to take it. No one batted an eye at the two of you as you led him through the crowd and out into the silent metal hallways beyond.
-
Ryland could not unlock the door to his room fast enough.
He only had one key to his name while on the ship, you’d think it would be pretty easy to manage. In theory it was, but when his nerves were blasting through the roof and you were fiddling with the belt loop on the back of his pants, he got a little distracted.
You giggled as the scientist finally fished his key out of his pocket and proceeded to drop it on the floor with a clink.
“Sorry,” he strained, scooping it up from the floor and finally fumbling with the lock.
Once the door swung open and the two of you stepped inside, you did a quick observation of the room. It was extremely small, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. There was just enough space for a twin bed and a small desk attached to the wall. Rylands’s belongings were strewn everywhere there was space. While it was cramped, there was something he had in his room that you didn’t.
A window.
A tiny circular porthole- so small you couldn’t fit your head through it if it was able to open- but a window nonetheless. Your room was deep in the middle of the ship so no windows for you. As it was around midnight, there was nothing but inky blackness on the other side but you wondered what it would look like when it was daytime and the ocean was blue. For now, the soft glow of a tiny lamp kept the room illuminated.
“Oh god- don’t mind the mess. I don’t get many visitors.” He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, brushing some discarded clothes aside with his shoe. “But to be fair, it’s impossible to keep a room this small clean. I mean, no dresser, no closet. I’m not 100% sure but I think this used to be a storage-“
You liked to think you knew Ryland pretty well now, and knew when he was about to spiral into a rambling fit. He was especially prone when he was anxious. As much as you loved to hear him talk, now wasn’t the time.
When you took a step forward and fisted the lapels of his cardigan in your hands, his words died immediately.
When your hands tugged his body down and your lips slotted against his, his whole body froze up.
You didn’t push beyond a couple of seconds before pulling away a hair- keeping him close but giving him the room to decide if he wanted to stop or come back for more. For all you knew, he was just bringing you back to his room to show you his collection of fox things. Through lidded eyes, you watched as his eyelashes fluttered, dazing down at you in shock.
Suddenly worried that maybe you had indeed read things wrong, you began to ease up your grip on his collar. When his hands shot up to keep your head in place, cradling your jaw in his large palms and returned the kiss with eagerness, you smiled against him.
Months of brushing around each other snapped.
Your mouths were tangled in a heated dance- his body moving closer and pressing yours against the door, like he was trying to melt into you. He still had his glasses on, which meant you were being a little cautious of how close you pressed your face into his. You didn’t want to stab your eye on the rims, what a mood breaker that would be. But you didn’t want to ask him to take them off. In fact, you wanted to beg him to keep them on.
When his hands dropped to your waist to pull your hips together, you wound your arms around his neck, your hands immediately finding the back of his head- finally able to feel the mussed hair that snagged your attention day after day.
It was extremely soft, just as you’d imagined. Perfect, just like the rest of him.
Time blurred and you weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, tasting each other like you were starving. Eventually, you decided it was much too hot in the tiny room and you were both wearing way too much clothing.
Dragging your hands from his hair to trail down the strong column of his neck, you dipped your hands into his cardigan, sliding your fingers over his shoulders and pushing the cream knitwear off in the process.
He shivered under your touch, when your fingers glanced over his biceps as the cardigan fell to his elbows. His hands let go of your waist to allow the fabric to fall to the floor in a pile. When his hands returned, they planted themselves on the door next to your waist.
It wasn’t to tower over you, or to trap you against him. No, it was because he needed something to keep him upright or he was at risk of squishing you entirely against the metal when his knees gave out.
You broke the kiss with a soft gasp, chest heaving against his where his shirt stretched over the muscle.
You’d never seen Ryland without something thrown over the top of a t-shirt- always wearing some type of jacket or lab coat or something. Now that he was without one, your hands mapped over his arms and shoulders.
As he busied himself with your neck, gently nosing at the soft spot just behind your ear, you swore.
“Shit, Ryland. What are they feeding you in the cafeteria? Protein powder?”
He laughed against your skin, dipping his lips down to your shoulder. His scruff tickled and the metal of his glasses were ice cold compared to your heated skin. “No. I just… go to the gym sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
“Mhm-“ he choked on his affirmation when you slid your hands up his abdomen to feel underneath his shirt. The muscle was warm and fluttered against your fingers.
“Can I see what else you’ve been hiding under all these layers?”
Clothes were shed in a record amount of time, save for the couple of extra seconds Ryland took to take off his pants because he almost tripped over his own feet. He did seem to hesitate when he got to his boxers, fiddling with the hem, but when you hooked your fingers into the elastic, he let the fabric fall.
Once every part of you was exposed to the chill, circulated air, Ryland began chasing your mouth again but stopped with a grunt when you pushed him back onto his bed.
The look on his face was priceless, enough so that you laughed as you knelt on the hard mattress and swung a leg over his hips to straddle him. If Ryland had been red before, it was nothing compared to the color of his face now. His eyes glanced over your body, appreciating but not lingering out of nervousness as he stammered.
“You want to-?”
Straightening his glasses to fit properly on his face, you nodded. “Is this ok?”
“Yes! Yes- I’ve just never… my ex was more traditional I guess so we never… She always liked me to be on top.” He let out a breathy laugh and a shy smile.
Everything about this man was so endearing.
“As fun as that sounds, I want to try this first. I can see you better this way.”
Another audible hitch in his breath as he nodded. “Okay.”
His large palms found purchase on your thighs and he sighed blissfully through his nose when you bent forward to kiss along his jaw. It feathered under your lips and he tilted his head back to happily give you more surface area to work with.
When you finally ground your hips down onto him, he bucked under the pressure. A completely unintentional gesture that had him apologizing. You chased that response, rhythmically moving your pelvis in tandem with his.
Ryland whimpered.
You’d be damned if you didn’t try to get him to make that sound a hundred times more before morning.
You spent several minutes exploring his neck with your tongue while keeping a firm pressure with your hips, gently swaying in circles against him. You found a spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder that had him moaning. By the time you eased up, red marks bloomed along his throat and Ryland was already breathless. Chest heaving against your palms, he looked heavily up at you through those glasses of his and gave you a shy, lopsided grin.
“That was nice.”
You raised a brow. “I’m gonna have to work harder if all I get is a ‘that was nice’, Ry.”
His smile dropped. “No! That’s not what I meant- I just… I’m gonna be honest it’s been a while since I’ve…” his voice quieted, letting you fill in the blanks.
You knew he had an ex- he’d brought her up occasionally in your conversations when the moment called for it- but you didn’t know how long ago that had been. If you had to guess, it was probably before he became a teacher. Which if what he was saying was true… then he’d hadn’t been with anyone since then and had gone several years without being intimate with anyone (besides himself, anyway).
Ryland took your momentary pause as a bad sign.
“Not that I haven’t wanted to! I’ve just been really busy. Teacher stuff. Grading. Lesson planning. And with a teacher’s salary on top of crippling student loan debt? Fancy restaurants can be a little too steep. Even fast food is getting expensive. I don’t even have a car! I bike to work! Can’t afford a coffee date some months.”
Another rambling tangent. One of his pointer fingers tapped erratically at your thigh.
“Well, you’re in luck Ryland,” you state, pressing a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, just like you had when you first met. Just like before, it was pounding but for a whole different reason this time. “I don’t think there’s any high-end restaurants on this aircraft carrier so I don’t need any of that fancy treatment. What if we have cafeteria oatmeal and orange juice on the flight deck together tomorrow morning instead?”
He was nodding before you’d even finished your sentence. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
“Good,” you smile, raising yourself up to kneel properly over him.
His neck bobbed when you finally took him in your hand. He was warm and firm, the perfect length and size without being too much.
You felt him resist the urge to buck into your fist, instead throwing his head back against the mattress with a groan, tightly squeezing your thighs with his hands to ground himself. He was already leaking into your palm within a couple pumps.
“I-I don’t know how long I’ll be able to-“
“We’ve got all night, Ry, don’t worry.”
He nodded, comforted by your words. He was soft as silk and overly sensitive, it seemed. With the help of your hand, the scientist came quickly, just as he feared he would, painting his abdomen white. You shushed him before he could even think about apologizing.
One positive thing about him going so long without intimacy meant his refractory period was minuscule. He was hard again in minutes, which he’d blushed about.
When you finally sank onto him, moving slowly both for yourself and Ryland’s sake, all thoughts left your mind besides the ones that revolved around the man underneath you. You didn’t care about the dying sun, or Project Hail Mary, or your job. By his expression, Ryland was feeling the same.
His hands were surely leaving bruises on your thighs but you didn’t care one bit. Not when your bodies fit together beautifully. Fully seated, hips locked, you could’ve cried at how he felt inside you. He was just the right size, brushing every spot he needed to and then some without being too overwhelming.
When you began to move, Ryland helped where he could- offering your body stability and putting those muscled arms of his to good use. The veins on his forearms were bulging and the tendons in his neck were prominent against his skin.
You didn’t know how soundproof the metal boxes the higher-ups deemed bedrooms were, but you doubted they would do a good job of masking any of the noises the two of you were making. Ryland was keeping quiet as much as he could manage, teeth grinding. You were a little less reserved, gasping and groaning as you bounced. Let his neighbors hear, you didn’t care. Not when you finally got your chance with the scientist you’d been eyeing since the moment he stepped out of that jet.
Just like he was perfect for you, you could tell you were providing enough relief for him in return because you could feel his thighs begin to quake.
When he bucked up into you again, your hold on that string deep in your gut snapped and you saw white. Feeling you finish brought Ryland to the edge too. He was just barely able to lift your body high enough to free himself and release over your abdomen.
The next several seconds were spent breathing in tandem. Ryland was watching you like you hung the stars in the sky. With all of the movement, his glasses had skewed again. Huffing a laugh, you bent forward to straighten them and then pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips. You felt his fingers glide up to your ribs then wander to your spine, pressing your chest tightly to his.
His glasses were foggy by the time you pulled away, your shared breath heating the lenses.
“You ok?” You asked, brushing a thumb over the dusting of facial hair along his jaw. He nodded into your palm.
“More than ok.”
-
You woke up to snoring.
Not the loud, reverberating kind, but a soft and soothing hum that blended perfectly with the constant moans and groans of the ship you’d become so accustomed to.
Blinking open your eyes, you stared at the metal ceiling. It took several seconds to remember where you were. For a moment, you assumed you were in your room but when tiny glimpses of sunlight danced over the walls and when a hand twitched lightly against your waist, the memory of last night came rushing back.
The bar, your conversation with the scientist, and then-
A soft smile erupted across your cheeks as they warmed. Ever so slowly lifting your hand, you brushed your fingers through the head of hair that was tucked into your neck.
Indeed, Doctor Ryland Grace was laying by your side, pressed impossibly close to your body due to the cramped nature of his bed, and blissfully asleep.
All feelings of hesitancy and shyness he’d had hours earlier were gone as he slept, the doctor partially draped over you- an arm slung over your waist, a leg thrown over one of yours and tucked between your thighs. He was snoring against your neck where his face was pressed. You were pretty sure he was drooling. His feathered hair was soft against your fingers, even more unkempt than usual.
You could’ve stayed like that for hours, warm and comfortable even in the pathetic excuse for a bed.
Several minutes passed before he began waking up, stirred by the gentle pass of your fingers along the short hair at the nape of his neck. He shifted around slightly but didn’t move to pull away from your side.
He sighed against your skin, the fluttering of his eyelashes against your throat telling you he’d finally opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” you said quietly, not wanting to break the peaceful tranquility of the room that was rare to find on the bustling carrier.
You felt him blink a couple times before he responded, a smile sounding on his lips. “Morning.”
God, his voice was perfect- a rough, deep baritone thanks to hours of sleep. It had you turning your head towards him, pressing your lips to his hairline. You couldn’t see his face, but the stretch of stubble across your throat told you he’d smiled even more.
Several minutes went by in companionable silence, neither of you wanting to pull away. His fingers brushed lazily against your waist and yours didn’t stop thumbing through his hair.
You wondered after a while if he’d fallen back asleep before he mumbled a question. “What time is it?”
Peering over his head, you squinted at the small digital clock that sat on the tiny built-in desk.
“8:58.”
A pause.
Then panic.
Ryland shot upwards, unsticking himself from your body and scrambling out of the bed in a flurry of limbs and movement.
“Shhhhhiitake mushrooms!”
You watched from the bed, lightly amused as you watched him stumble around the cramped space in a frantic search for clothing. Lord above, he looked just as good from the back as he did the front.
“Something wrong?”
“I was supposed to go with Stratt to a crew meeting an hour ago.” He threw his legs into a pair of boxer briefs (which you were pretty certain were on backwards but he didn’t seem to notice or care), followed by a pair of jeans. “Kinda surprised she hasn’t barged in here already to get me up, actually. She’s done it before.”
You just hummed, watching him slug a blue button up across his shoulders and struggle with the buttons. He threw a glare at you that had no fire behind it. “Will you show at least a little sympathy? She could probably throw me into the ship’s jail for this.” He missed a button at the top of his shirt, which meant the whole shirt was now fastened lopsided. He didn’t seem to notice that either.
“I’m not going to complain that we got an extra hour or two of sleep together.”
His cheeks bloomed. There’s that shyness. He didn’t fight your statement, instead busying himself with tugging a beanie over his bedhead. When he sat on the mattress next to you to start putting socks and shoes on, he searched the room with squinted eyes.
“Do y’know where my-“
You held out his glasses. At some point last night, you’d relieved him of the spectacles for his own comfort (and so you could kiss him as senseless as you wanted to) and carefully placed them under the bed where they’d be safe from being squished.
“Thank you.”
Looking a little less than put together, he started collecting the notepads and folders stuffed with papers on the small desk, gathering everything into his arms.
“Uh- well, we missed breakfast so how about we meet up for lunch? Or dinner? Or breakfast tomorrow? Or we don’t have to do anything together at all if you don’t want to. Totally your call, really.” He kept his gaze down at the papers, avoiding your eyes. You smiled.
“Well, I start my shift in an hour and can’t leave the medical wing until I’m relieved.”
His shoulders dropped a little.
“But… there’s no rules against having visitors.”
Ryland looked at you over the rims of his glasses, starting to smile himself. “Yeah? Ok! Yeah, I’ll- Do you have a preference for lunch? I’ll bring you something. Or I can get you a little bit of everything from the cafeteria? Do they allow that?”
You sat up with a laugh, holding the thin bedsheets against your chest to keep the last little bit of warmth from him against you. “I’ll get the same thing you’re having. I’m not picky.”
The doctor nodded to himself, shuffling toward the door with large strides. Twisting the handle, the door opened barely an inch before he doubled back like he forgot something. You expected him to search for something else he needed, not expecting him to rush over and press a fast kiss to your lips. It was your turn to blush.
“Right! Ok, I’ll get us something good. See you in a little bit! And lock the door on your way out, will you? Thanks!”
With his goodbye, he rushed out of the room, gently shut the door and began racing away. You heard his pounding footsteps reverberate the walls as he ran down the hall.
His room was too quiet now that he was gone, only the sounds of the ship keeping you company.
It took you several minutes to shake out of your star-struck stupor.
When the blonde showed up in your quiet office in the medical wing at 12pm sharp, precariously balancing two to-go boxes stuffed full with cafeteria food and harboring a broad smile, you quickly realized just how tightly Doctor Ryland Grace already had you wrapped around his finger.
a/n: ryland grace: the people’s pillow princess. thank you for reading!
𝜗𝜚 February 14th- Valentine’s Day. In other words, a day for romance, love, and chocolate- or, in other words, a day for the JJK men to show you just how much they care. Everything from breakfast in bed, to cards, to dinner and a new dress. Oh, and did I forget to mention the sex?
| content: smut, being spoilt, love confessions GALORE, creampies, fluff, dates, oral (f. receiving), its all very romantic, fingering, princess carries, multiple orgasms, pussydrunk men, ties as restraints, whimpering men (…Choso), begging to eat you,domesticity, riding, spanking, bad weather, being bent over the couch? backshots, accidental aphrodisiacs, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, happy Valentine’s day!
more like this
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𝜗𝜚 Satoru Gojo… goes allllll out. How could he not? Everything from blooming flowers to chocolate takes up room on your kitchen island, pristine marble hidden behind the glittering array of hand-selected gifts.
But the display of affection isn’t as ostentatiously overboard or tacky as it might sound. Everything has been meticulously thought out in advance, from the vase holding the stems of your favourite flowers (they aren’t even in season yet- he must know a good florist) to the dinner reservation booked somewhere you’ve been desperate for, reservations notoriously impossible to land.
“How did you manage to get these ones?” You squeal, smiling at the bouquet of very-not-naturally-in-season buds.
“I have my ways.” Gojo grins, waving it off with a laugh.
There’s a new dress, too- the one you mentioned briefly in conversation with Shoko in fucking January, the one you complained about the price of, now sits draped perfectly in your wardrobe. A waterfall of gloriously elegant fabric, dangling from a hanger as perfect as it looked online.
You gasp, hand reaching out to thumb the fabric between your fingers. “Oh- Satoru, you didn’t have to-“ you turn to him, hand still clutching the fabric.
“I wanted to.” He cuts you off, cheek rubbing against your shoulder as he hugs you from behind. “Should I leave, or... do you need somebody to zip it up?”
You blush, eyes glowing with reverence as he pulls the fabric taut behind your spine and gently lifts the zip with long fingers. And if his hands linger a little too long, who can blame him?
Warm steam swirls from two mismatched mugs on the counter, chipped ceramic soothingly smooth against your chilly palms. The tea is lovely- the one you mentioned "needing to buy more of" a few weeks ago, the one that now sits fully stocked in your cupboard. Courtesy of Gojo, of course.
"Try it!" You insist, holding out the mug towards him.
Gojo doesn’t care about the tea. He isn’t even looking- he’s far too focused on dragging your giggling self to the bedroom, peppering doting kisses across your face with rosy lips.
“Fuck, I love you.” Gojo breathes against your chest, bare skin exposed in the dim lighting of the room. "I'm never letting you go."
He holds you close as he pushes in slowly, taking the time to savour the warmth of the stretch and your facial expression as it warps into bliss. You’re already dripping when he starts to move, gasping and clawing shakily at his toned back.
"You're so perfect, aren't you?" Gojo groans, teeth clamping down onto your neck as his hips stutter, "my perfect, smart, pretty girl. You deserve e-everything, you know that?
You can only mewl in response, walls clenching softly as your clit throbs for attention from his nimble fingers, already dipping between your bodies to rub small shapes. Circles, erratic hearts, even messy kanjis of his very name-
The bedsheets smell of Gojo’s cologne and your perfume as he wraps your thighs around his slender waist; sweet nothings of love and warmth curl into your ear as he fills you up, ruins the expensive sheets, goes for another round.
And another.
And another…
𝜗𝜚 Suguru Geto… is subtle. Almost unbearably tender. You’re awoken by daylight seeping in through the gauzy curtains, pale February sun looping around your bed, casting shadows upon your soft form.
Your eyes flutter open, lips quirking into a small smile as Geto tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. You repeat the action with his own long, soft tresses, thumb lingering on his temple as you do so.
“Happy Valentine’s, Suguru.” You murmur, eyes half asleep again.
The aquarium feels floaty. You smile politely at the elderly couple holding hands in the mangrove exhibit and giggle behind your hand at the awkward teenagers in the freshwater section, standing slightly too far apart with flushed cheeks as they pretend to not be looking at each others faces, and at the fish instead.
"Aw, remember when that was us?" You nudge Geto quietly, stifling another laugh as they brush hands and jump apart like they've been burnt.
It's only then you realise, with a heated blush creeping onto your face, Geto hasn't been looking at the couple- he hasn't even really been looking at all the fish you've been pointing out, because his eyes have been fixed on you the whole time.
You smile sweetly, pupils dilating against your will as you gaze up at him; a few deft fingers swipe a strand of hair from your forehead. Fish swim on peacefully in the tank behind you, arrays of silvery scales splattering glittery spots of light onto his face.
He's so, so pretty- and you're so, so painfully in love with him.
The walk home is romantic and sweet, remnants of cool daylight bleeding into darkness as your bodies weave through pedestrian traffic of even more couples out for the evening; but you don’t look twice at any of them, too busy losing yourself in the way Geto grasps your palm and absentmindedly rubs his thumb over your knuckles.
“Sugu?” You call from the bedroom, hair loosened and lipstick kissed away. You’re only in underwear and your blouse, the material floaty and light. “Can you come help with the zip?”
He’s there so quickly it almost gives you whiplash, the soft hissing noise of the zip hushed as his hands palm away the fabric covering your torso.
"It seems such a shame to take it off..." you murmur, looking shyly at the reflection peering back at you in the mirror. You in just your underwear, lace hugging to you delicately as Geto stands behind you, peeling the fabric away. Hands travel around from your back to your waist, just holding you in place against him as he adjusts his mouth to suck soft marks into your skin.
"It did look gorgeous." Geto hums, focused on the slide of his palms down to hold your bare hips and the soft stretch of the elastic in your underwear parting as he slips two fingers to hook below the waistband, just low enough to tease. "But I don't think it's selfish to say I prefer this version."
Soft lips press to the curvature of your spine, gentle and warm and domestic in a way you’ve become accustomed to. They dart lower- swap course to your front, move down your bare chest to your stomach.
Geto looks up at you through long lashes, hair falling over his shoulders. “Can I?”
You nod.
His mouth closes over your clit, breathing you in the way he’s been dreaming of all day. He continues- flipping you onto the bed with ease, fingers prodding between your slick thighs and swerving inside, crooked to feel every ridge and sweet spot.
As his fingers work between your thighs, your own are busy unclasping your bra and tumbling through his hair when lips meet yours; swallowing down the pretty little sounds you let loose as he pads across every memorised orifice inside your dripping cunt.
𝜗𝜚 Kento Nanami… is organised; breakfast in bed with fruit he pre-cut the night before, dinner is booked for seven sharp, and he doesn’t want you doing anything.
Other than picking out an outfit, of course- nothing too fancy, just something to match the tie he’s had pressed for two weeks and the shoes you love but never get to wear.
Heels- gorgeous and sleek, adding extra inches to your height yet still managing to be shorter than your husband.
He quirks a brow. “Are you sure, my love? We’re walking, after all, and you know how much they can rub.” He clears his throat and flushes a little, “although, you do look… very beautiful in them.”
You smile. “Ken, I’m sure I’ll be fine- it’s only a short walk, and I’ll have your arm to fall back on, won’t I?” You say, patting the bicep filling out his suit jacket. So biteable.
You were decidedly not fine.
The heels started digging in merely ten minutes into the walk, cutting the skin against the back of the shoe. Your jaw clenches, but you say nothing- the pain dissipates over dinner, anyway, dulling away as you smile and giggle at your husband’s conversation.
“Wait, stop walking.” You say, streetlights glimmering as you casually crouch down to slip off your shoes. Nanami is there instantly, tutting.
“None of that.” He disapproves, holding out his hand for you to hold confusedly. All your questions are resolved when, suddenly, you’re being hoisted into the air princess-style by your darling husband. You giggle like a teenager and kiss his jaw.
“Aw, my knight in shining silk.” You joke, tugging at his tie a little. He smiles.
Nanami doesn’t put you down to open the door to your house, nor to shut it- he just carries you to your marital bedroom and lies you down softly on the duvet.
Your mouth meets his instantly, the kiss turning needier as he slots his knee between your splayed legs. It’s not long before Nanami pushes your underwear down, and plants lovingly caring kisses to your inner thighs as his saccharine mouth works its way up.
Then, his cock works you through the first, the second, the third orgasm-
“Fuck-“ your hands dart to his scalp, buried inside the crook of your neck, tugging as your hips twitch away. “S’too much-“
“Darling…” Kento Nanami croons, completely and irrevocably pussydrunk, “if you try to pull me away again, I will have to use this tie as a restraint." Your eyes widen.
"But- but I-"
"Actually..." Nanami sleazes out a drippingly drunken smile, "isn't it always good to get ahead, my love?" Even as he talks, cooing into your ear about how pretty the colour looks on you, how well the pattern matches the ruffled bedsheets, the silk cuts into your wrists as your sweet, feral husband pins them to the sheets.
The soft material loops, then Nanami leans back- still thrusting, still forcing needy whimpers from your lips- to admire his lewd handiwork.
"Now, darling... this feels like an a-appropriate-" he stutters, your dewy cunt clenching and squeezing his cock for all he's worth, "appropriate time to tell you about the gift I'm most looking forward to giving you."
"And- and what-" you gasp, chest heaving as he rams into you again and again, pummelling your cervix for all it's worth, "would that be, Kento?"
"Oh, my love..." Nanami grins lopsidedly, leaning down to capture your mouth in such a searing kiss, "a baby."
You gulp.
𝜗𝜚 Choso Kamo… doesn’t really understand all the fuss surrounding a random day in February. He loves you every day of the year, so why should he have to get you a present to prove it?
Still, he loves you so much that he’s willing to go along with whatever you want.
“Do you wanna stay in tonight, Cho?” You ask, curling up into his arms on the couch and peering up into big brown eyes. It's cosy- his own excess of body heat dissipating into your own skin, your face pressed to his chest. “M’comfy like this. We can order in?”
He beams agreeably; wanting nothing more than this, anyway, just you drowsily cozying into his chest and his hands splayed across your back as he kisses your scalp. His arms tighten more as the food gets eaten, your hand guiding chopsticks to his lips, giggling at his poor attempt to catch a piece of popcorn in his mouth.
“Cho?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Can I play with your hair? It's just... the movie’s kinda boring.”
Choso nods eagerly, and resumes his practiced pose on the floor as you sit cross legged on the couch behind him. Fingers card absentmindedly through his hair, scratching lightly at the roots before working their way down his soft nape.
Your manicured nails catch particularly deep on his scalp, and he shudders. A full body shudder, goosebumps prickling his skin as a hand clamps over his maw, failing to effectively muffle the whimper that slips out.
Suddenly, Choso’s whipping around so fast you can’t muster any response but blinking in shock.
“Baby…” he starts, nervously avoiding eye contact despite the obviously growing bulge in his underwear, “can I, um…”
You already have an idea of what he wants- the tent in his pants is enough of a clue.
“…yes?” You tilt your head cutely, and Choso feels his heart pound even harder in his chest.
“Ireallywanttoeatyourpussy.”
“I-“
“Please?” He begs, already on his knees and pressing his cheek to your thigh as your legs dangle from the couch. “Please, I really really want to, and your hands feel so good in my hair, and I just love you so much, even if I don't really get the whole 'Valentine' thing-“
His lip wobbles. Oh, how could you deny him?
Choso Kamo’s face is buried into your weeping cunt as soon as you give him the go-ahead, lips mouthing messily at your entrance and inhaling every drop of slick you give him.
And oh, do you give him a lot- tugging at his dark hair, hips bucking into his mouth as he claws at your thighs to keep you smushed against his desperately flushed face.
"Fuck," he moans, fingers brushing your skin as Choso reaches up to hold your hand. The interlacing of your fingers is oddly romantic - despite the context - and, even better, you swear he groans louder at the contact.
At the physical, tangible evidence that you're his, that he can do this and you'll let him because, well-
"I love you, Cho." You slur deliriously, hips canting into his mouth as your orgasm soaks his chin in shiny gloss.
It smears across his pretty face and makes for such a sight- perhaps not exactly romantic, but the sight of him right now, glistening with your slick and love-filled pupils makes for the best Valentine’s gift you could ever hope for.
𝜗𝜚 Toji Fushiguro… looks totally out of place staring at the glitzy, pink wall that is the Valentine’s section in your local store, as he rolls his eyes at the nervous boyfriends skittering away to give his hulking form a wideeeeeee berth in the aisle.
“Awww, ‘Ji, you big softie!” You tease, prodding at his beefy bicep after he presents you with the handwritten card.
“Don’t get used to it.” Toji says, even as he leans down to press his lips to your forehead, scarred maw grazing your skin softly as his calloused hand cups the back of your neck.
Later, when the streetlights have all switched on to slice through the dark, you throw your legs over his lap on the couch and sigh contentedly.
“You’re comfy.” You say offhandedly, crossing your ankles over each other as a big palm comes to rest on your soft thigh, rubbing absentmindedly like second nature.
Rubbing further, lazy circles trace their way up your legs until two calloused digits are slipping their warm way through your soaked heat and smearing your own slick over your thighs.
“Mhm, jus’ like that.” Toji directs, veined hands holding your waist steady as your trembling cunt drops down slowly onto his waiting tip. Smeared with pre, just throbbing eagerly to be inside you, he can’t take it any longer- and he drops you down.
“Shit!” You gasp, the sudden stretch deliciously unbearable, nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. “Jesus, you’re so- so big, ‘Ji-“
He huffs out a laugh, scarred lips stretching into an obscenely debauched grin as he looks down at your pretty, crying cunt, stretched out around him. “Maybe,” Toji says, already starting to bounce you up and down, “but look how wellllllll she’s taking me, baby.”
You reel as he starts to rock his hips up, his dark tip imprinting buttery waves of drooling pre into your insides.
“Fuck, you’re so tight, doll.” Toji groans into your neck as you splay around his lap, cock burying itself bruisingly deep into your cervix. “Always so tight, you’d think I don’t fuck you enough.”
“You do, don’t w-worry.” You moan, back arching below one of his old shirts as strong arms anchor you to his body. “Love you.”
“Fuck-“ he groans, smothering your sensitive insides with pearly white, “-love you too.”
𝜗𝜚 Ryomen Sukuna… pretends he doesn’t care. Glarres at the cheap roses wilting outside the corner store and openly despises the idea of sitting in a restaurant full of couples who don’t even want to be there themselves.
“Kuna, I thought you loved me!” You whine dramatically, pushing him off you.
“Woman, you do not need a card from me to signify my attraction, do you?” He grumbles, admitting defeat as his form sulks at the far end of the couch. You don’t respond.
Which is why he finds himself in the middle of the store on February the 13th, the aisle disgustingly overflowing with sparkly cards and glittery bows that do not match his appearance at all.
He gives up on the search for a heartfelt card a little over three minutes into the search, groaning under his breath about how stupid this is as the cashier rings up the first box of heart-shaped chocolates he saw after realising they didn't sell your favourites. See, he can pay attention!
Red eyes glare at the cashier as she quirks a brow at his purchase, Sukuna concluding it must be due to the curiously sappy nature of his purchase in comparison to his appearance.
It was something else entirely, in fact.
“They didn’t have the ones you like.” Sukuna declares, handing you the box and avoiding eye contact the next day.
“Thank you!” You giggle, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back to pop a chocolate into your mouth. “I knew you had it in you.”
Sukuna rolls his eyes as he watches you eat the sweet; raising a brow in questioning as you furrow your eyes at the box.
“They taste… different.” You question, eating another. The chocolate is odd- not unpleasant, but the creamy taste is tinged with something akin to… well, you can’t quite put your finger on it.
“Here, have one.” You insist, “they taste a bit like honey, but they’re kinda… I don’t know, spicy, too?” He stares, unimpressed, arms folded across his bare torso as you sit up further in bed. “Come on, you like spicy stuff.”
“Fine.”
Ten minutes pass, and all the chocolate is gone- the box left empty and discarded, pink ribbon slumped futilely on the floor.
The same can be said for your clothes.
“Fuck, fuck-“ you gasp, face buried into the pillows, thighs trembling already as Sukuna sheaths himself inside your needy pussy and curses. “Fuck, Kuna, what was in those?”
“Just take it-“ he ignores your question, preferring to smack! his hips against yours. His open palm comes down on your ass, the sharp crack echoing through the humid bedroom. “Stay just like that for me, hah, s’good-“ Sukuna says lowly, hand pressing firmly down between your shoulder blades to force you into the filthiest arch.
Is he slurring his speech? Keens tear themselves from your throat, exploding like fireworks as you’re relentlessly filled up from behind by your boyfriend.
“Yeahhhhhh, that’s good- greedy, aren’t you?” He hisses, tattooed hands clamping themselves around your hips and tugging your squirming body back towards him, cunt building a mess upon the base of his cock. "Greedy for me, shit, I can see you sucking me in when I pull out-"
"Yeeesssss," you wail unabashedly, cunt visibly fluttering around him when he slips out halfway only to watch you drool around his size. A mean, pussydrunk smile slips across his handsome face, sweat plastering salmon-pink hair to his forehead as he swipes a calloused thumb through your slick and sucks.
You’ll only realise in a few hours.
When you’re lying almost incapacitated on the bed, cum still dripping dreamily down your thighs and spit smeared across your marked-up tits and face, Sukuna will throw the box at you and cackle.
There, clarified in tiny swirls of red font:
“Aphrodisiac: consume only as serving size directs. Adverse side effects may include…”
𝜗𝜚 Megumi Fushiguro… wakes up to your arms tangled around his torso, your cheek pressed cosily to his chest as you bury yourself into the comfy sheets.
He could stay like this for hours- and he almost does, just lies there in contentment until you wake up, thumbing gently at your back as his hand settles on the curve of your spine.
“Megs?” You say quietly, voice still a little slurred from sleep as you blink up at him.
He almost jolts, surprised you managed to wake up so quietly. “Yeah?”
Lips curving into a genial smile, it’s all you can do to lean up and press a soft kiss to his awaiting mouth; when you pull back, Megumi’s cheeks are tinged pink as he stares at you like you’re the first thing he’s ever seen in colour.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
The day is quietly perfect in a way only Megumi could ever be; a quiet stroll through the local park, giggling as you link arms and press your face into his shoulder to laugh at a stupid joke he makes.
“I still can’t believe Yuji thought-“ you wheeze, shaking your head in disbelief. Then, a single bead of liquid taints the skin of your nose, and you freeze. “Megs, it’s going to rain.”
“Huh? Oh.”
True to your word, it’s like the heavens split open- fat droplets of water peal down onto the paving below, puddling in muddy circles on the grass you have to messily trudge through to run back home.
By the time you make it back to the apartment, you’re uncomfortably damp. The coat wrapped around your shoulders is dripping onto the carpet, Megumi’s scarf is at least three shades darker and your hair is bedraggled to say the least.
You groan, tugging your soaked shirt over your head as you simultaneously hop on one leg to yank off the socks gluing themselves to your feet.
“I hate February.” You grumble, squeezing the water out of your hair with double-handed wrings that have you wincing.
Megumi blanks the moment your shirt comes off, standing there in the cramped hallway of your shared apartment in your underwear. It’s not even the underwear- you just look so tangible, so real, it makes his hands twitch at his sides.
Ringlets of soaked hair plaster themselves in ritualistic little spirals to your collarbone and nape, the pretty lace of your bra catching on the droplets running down your chest to disappear into the fabric.
You almost laugh at the comical expression of shock on Megumi’s face. “You okay, Megs?”
“It’s just...” he breathes, long lashes fluttering against his cheek, “you look really nice.”
“Your shirt is wet, too.” You say pointedly, nodding at the visible outline of his abs clinging to the material.
Once his shirt comes off, you don’t last thirty seconds.
“Fuck, fuck fuck-“ you pant, rocking your hips back onto Megumi’s cock from where he has you bent over the couch- patience, apparently, is not a virtue Megumi possesses in his arsenal when it comes to you and your pretty cunt.
It’s also a positive that you can’t see just how fucked he looks.
Cheeks flushed roseate all the way up, eyes struggling to stay open as he debauches himself on the feeling of you sucking him back in with every jarringly good thrust.
“M’gonna cum.” Megumi pants, mouthing openly at your skin. “M’gonna cum, fuck, can’t hold it-“
“Megs!” You sniffle, blindly reaching a palm out behind you to palm at his shoulder. “Megs, don’t stop-“
He doesn’t. He doesn’t stop until it’s spilling down your legs, slicking your inner thighs, until he’s breathing slowly against your still-damp hair. He feels so wonderfully content he could-
“Achoo!”
Sneeze?
“Are you- did you-“ he chokes on incredulous laughter, rushing to tuck your hair away.
Your nose twitches again. “Sneeze? Yeah. I think I caught a cold.”
He sighs. “Well… happy Valentine’s Day.”
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: shoutout to all the single girlies (me) spending valentines alone/with friends/reading fanfiction! all love and kisses to you pretties <33
tags (open):
@esavyrse @f33bs @loverofladybugs @p3stop3sta @arabellasolstice @dreamcastgirl99 @starsandni7 @sharkiethrts @what-the-jams @likstars @elenathriel @gyusheadphones + tagging @lipstainedgemini for this one because in my head she's legally married to Megs anyway, and her headcanons lowk influence my writing for him <3
Ryland is obsessed with touching you. Not even sexual touching. Just like touching —a hand on your back. Or holding your hand. Playing with your hair.
He’s so touch starved 😭
Oh absolutely
The moment you give him the okay (and he’s worked out the first initial awkwardness he feels in himself) that he can touch you whenever —that man doesn’t stop.
It starts because the ship is tiny. The Hail Mary is small, and cramped. And he doesn’t mean to brush against you, or touch your back like that when he tries to move around you. He really doesn’t mean to. But then he does mean to.
And you notice immediately because Ryland isn’t subtle. Even Rocky notices eventually.
“Why Grace touch so much?”
And Ryland gets so flustered and freaked out by the call out. But you just laugh, and tell him it’s okay! You don’t mind. You even like it.
But Ryland thinks, at first, you’re just being nice. So he’s still a little awkward about it. Until you start touching him back. Running a hand through his hair when you walk by. Touching his arm when you’re standing close. And that’s what really makes him realize he misses touching another person —you touching him.
So he doesn’t stop. He has his hand on your lower back when analyzing slides or working. Holding your hand in the mental health room. God, cuddling. He loves cuddling. Lay on his chest, let him hold you. Or reverse it —he loves laying on you. Loves being held.
i swear—when he was a kid, he drove his parents crazy in the night from how often he woke up. “there’s a monster under my bed!” type of kid, who is really just getting the night time creeps every time he wakes up at odd hours.
it continued into adulthood. always plans flights knowing he wont be able to sleep on the plane, always dreading being in a hotel room because he can never sleep unless in his own bed.
and if he has a partner? dont get me started.
you always feel horrible, knowing he’s a light sleeper. the slightest shift you make would wake him. he swore he doesn’t mind, but you can’t help but feel like you’re losing him sleep.
until one night, you wake, finding his hand stroking softly over your ribs. a blurry, red light across the room reads 04:13. and now, you pity the man more than ever. his arms are wrapped tightly around you, hugging you like a teddy bear with your back against his chest. he’s trying to get himself to fall asleep, you realize.
Ryland was always the most warm-blooded person you’d ever met. T-shirts in February, AC permanently set to 65°F. so cuddling was usually a no. he wished, but no. it just made sleeping harder.
but now, as he’s trying to absorb you, you can feel how oddly cold he is. his body shivering, no blanket in sight around him.
oh my god. your one eye squints open, finding yourself gripping onto the majority of the comforter, with no slack left for him. and of course a sleeping human would start to freeze without one.
you turn around in his arms, pulling the blanket over both of you. he immediately exhales a long, relieved breath.
“sorry, did i wake you up?” he half-whispers, not having a true concept of being quiet.
you hum (which comes out more like an irritated groan), eyes closing again. he whispers a few more sorrys before you end up slapping your hand over his face, dragging your fingers over his eyelids, and forcefully closing his eyes.
“go to sleep, ryland.” you sigh.
he wakes up again before morning, sweating his ass off, but too scared to wake you up so he suffers through it and doesn’t move a muscle ❤️🩹
Can we just talk about how much music helps with writing? Don’t know if I’m the only one, but I’ll often have curated playlists with a certain “vibe” of my works and listen to those playlist to help motivate me.
It’s almost like a switch in my brain, like, “Ohp, we’re listening to this playlist? Time to work on its associated WIP.”
AM I THE ONLY ONE?! Am I crazy? Because that’s very possible…
hey guys you know a work can have challenging & disturbing & weird themes without it actually being a kink that the writers have, right? I know we all like to use that “the author’s barely disguised fetish” meme but i truly need y’all to understand that some things are just recurring themes & motifs in a body of work without it being sexual for the writers or anyone involved in the creation of art. It’s important to me that y’all know this.
Idk if I’m gonna post feverroot chapters (or any long fic for that matter) on tumblr, I’m still debating with myself
Although I’m following an outline, feverroot chapters won’t be posted weekly or on any sort of schedule!! It’s out when it’s out, and I’ll post notifs on here when they are & update the masterlist :>
(n.) a want so deep it grows into the bones, permeating everything in its sickly sweet longing.
PAIRING nanami x haibara
TYPE series
GENRE fluff & angst
SYNOPSIS
Nobody was hiring, and Haibara Yu — a broke 20 something year old with college debts to pay — was desperate for a job. Which is how he found himself standing fretfully in front of Kaisen Blooms, fifteen minutes early to the only interview he had scheduled for the next month. He absolutely needs this job, and it's enough stress to make him want to rip out his hair; instead, he wrings his hands together looking up at the neon "open" sign in silence.
"...so, are you just going to stand there?"
NOTES cross-posted to ao3!
CHAPTER INDEX
Chapter 1 (2k Words) (AO3) March 18, 2026
Chapter 2 (1.7k Words) (AO3) May 3, 2026
JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST !
ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting! thank you if you do 🤍
Here's my attempt at collecting all my Shigaraki fics in one post! We'll see how it goes.
Last updated 6/3/2025, and under a cut because it's now really, stupidly long.
One-shots
reentry - Established Tomura/f!Reader, no quirks AU, angst with a happy ending. Mind the content warnings.
these things I've seen - As you lay dying in the aftermath of your hometown's destruction, a necromancer's path crosses yours. (rated hard M, Tumblr exclusive)
Gift-Wrap - Tomura buys himself a birthday present, but you're the one who gets to open it. (rated E, available on Tumblr and Ao3)
fallen - You were a double-agent, but you failed your mission, and you're expecting to pay for your betrayal with your life. Shigaraki doesn't see it the way you do. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
enemies to lovers forehead kiss - villain!Tomura, MLA!reader (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
enemies to lovers forehead kiss - villain!reader, pro hero!Tenko (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
wanted (if you want me) - You're a down-on-your-luck succubus who just got rejected by the guy who summoned you, and you can't go back to Hell until you find somebody else's soul to steal. Shigaraki Tomura, reeling from a Valentine's Day rejection of his own, is the perfect victim. Or so you think. (Demon AU, explicit, available on Tumblr + Ao3)
casual - You and your roommate Tomura have been hooking up for six months, and you caught feelings in spite of yourself - but before you can confess, he snags a Valentine's Day date with somebody else. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
among the wildflowers - You were raised to hide your magic, but Tenko didn't learn about his until it was too late. When it erupts with deadly consequences and splits the two of you apart, you turn to your own magic for a solution, even knowing that it could change you for good. If it brings Tenko back to you, it'll all be worth it - no matter how long it takes. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
ascension - You couldn't escape the sinking ship in time, and now you're trapped in an air pocket, waiting to die. But the being who appears outside your window might have more to offer you than the chance not to die alone. (Mer!Tomura, human reader, 3k, Tumblr exclusive)
the crying game - You gave up on love a long time ago, but you keep getting invited to weddings, and after eleven receptions spent at the single's table, you're almost at the end of your rope -- until first-time wedding guest Shigaraki Tomura asks you to show him how it's done. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive.)
magnum opus - you're a crime scene photographer, and serial killer Shigaraki likes your photos a little too much. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3. part 1 of the serial killer AU)
videre licet - Six months after he kidnapped you, the Symbol of Fear's laid out his most gruesome crime scene yet - and this time, he's taken the victim's heart hostage. While the rest of the police force grasps at straws, you follow the clues Shigaraki Tomura left you, hoping to find the heart so his victim can be laid to rest. Tomura is hoping for something else. (Rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, part 2 of the serial killer AU)
d-o-l-l-h-o-u-s-e - spooky AU based on the movie The Boy. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3)
Best Practice - Taking the night shift at a 24-7 emergency vet hospital isn't for the faint of heart, and you've seen a lot of crazy things. But on one particular shift, it's Tenko Shimura and his service dog who make the biggest impression on you.(rated T, Tumblr exclusive.)
camera shy - You're a villain who likes catching heroes in compromising positions, and when you can't do that, you put them there yourself. It's not until you capture Tenko Shimura that you lose the upper hand. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive.)
Somewhere in the Crowd - Tomura tells himself he's content with singing backup in the band he founded, and most of the time he is. But when he takes a song request from you during the biggest concert the League of Villains has ever played, he realizes that there might be a few advantages to claiming the spotlight. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
taking care of boyfriend!Shigaraki when he's sick (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
hands-off, hands-on - Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (rated E, available on Tumblr + Ao3)
now with a follow-up: hands-free
Radio Silence - For the last year, your best friend has been somebody you've never met. When Tenko suddenly stops answering your messages, you don't know what to do. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive)
Tam Lin - When a child from your settlement goes missing, you go willingly into the woods to rescue him from the entity that dwells there. You're not at all prepared for what you find. (Based on the tale of Tam Lin. 7.1k words, afab reader, rated M with warnings for dubcon + smut. Tumblr exclusive)
you and Shigaraki try to survive your zombie-infested high school (rated M, soon to be expanded, currently Tumblr-exclusive.)
watching a scary movie with Shigaraki (rated T, Tumblr-exclusive.)
Multi-parts/Series
the new postmodern age - Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, complete)
blind date i + ii - After endless failed attempts to help Tomura up his game, his friends have settled on their last resort: A blind date. Even before you show up, it's not going well. No quirks AU, female reader. (rated T (for now), Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
needle, compass, north:
what I can't remember now - Tomura's life doesn't end when his death sentence is handed down, and he knows damn well that he's innocent. It won't be long before one of his appeals proves it, and he can come home -- back to his friends, and back to you, the girlfriend who stood by him through the trial. But death row is a nightmare Tomura can't wake up from, and as the years behind bars begin to pile up, Tomura starts to question if it really matters whether he did it. If he'll ever be free. And if you and the other people who love him have forgotten him for good. (No quirks AU, rated M, angst + triggering content, available on Tumblr + Ao3, complete.)
if my heart was a house - It's been nineteen years since Tomura was sentenced to death, and you've built a life in the space he left behind, braced each day for the worst. You're prepared for everything - the questions your daughter asks, the memories that sting a little more in the winter, the specter of the news you've been afraid of for years. But of all the things life's thrown your way, it's the one you haven't dared to hope for might be the one thing you can't handle. (No quirks AU, rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing.)
(secret) santa, baby - Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive, complete)
Hana Lives AU - you have a crush on your best friend's little brother, and you don't know how to handle it, except that you're probably doing it wrong. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
Pariah - Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you. Nosferatu AU, multi-POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you. (rated M, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
Guitarist!Tomura AU - The walls are so thin in Tomura's shitty apartment building that he can hear everything going on around him -- including your singing as you go about your day. One day while he's tuning his guitar for band practice, he finds himself singing along. (College band AU, rated T, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
one way to live (not recommended) - Tomura doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about his one and only ex-girlfriend, but winter always brings back the memories a little more strongly. When he runs into you again, ten years after the breakup he instigated, he's not opposed to seeing where things go. After all, he hasn't changed much -- but you have. (two-parter, angst, Tumblr-exclusive)
red cap au - Your quirk forces you to witness the last moments of any person who died a violent death when you walk over the place they died, and you've been haunted by Shigaraki's last moments for eight years. But placing flowers on his death site every year has consequences, and you're not at all prepared for them when they arrive. (Post-canon, angst with hope, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing.)
still life, with hope - You're an art student with a crippling fear of birds and an assignment to create art from life, so when you're assigned to study swans, you're pretty much dead in the water. And there's something strange about the swans you find on a secluded lake, something all too human. As your artwork grows increasingly surreal and your suspicions about the swans continue to build, you can't help but ask yourself the question: Are you losing your mind, or have you walked into the middle of a fairytale gone wrong? Whatever it is, you'd better figure it out fast. Seven lives depend on the answer. (Swan Lake AU, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing.)
the one - You made a deal with Fate to grant Shigaraki Tomura a long and happy life, but that came at a cost - in the world your wish created, the two of you never met. But his life isn't the only one your wish changed, and as you struggle to carry the burden of a past that exists only in your memory, you find your path crossing with old friends and former enemies in a way you never expected. Can you build a life worth living in the aftermath of everything you've seen and done? Can you do it without the person you changed everything for? Or will you and Tomura, against all odds, find your way back to each other one more time? (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Call Me Sometime - You work the dispatch desk at a phone sex line to make ends meet, and you're used to handling some strange calls. But the caller you're babysitting tonight is the strangest by far -- and that's before you find out why he called. (rated M, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
certain stars - Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do. (rated M, Tumblr-exclusive, complete.)
terminator AU - you walked in on your boyfriend's murder, but for some reason, his murderer let you live. the fact that his murderer is a robot from the future who can transform to look exactly like him only makes it worse. Terminator 2 AU, Shigaraki x reader, T-1000!Shigaraki, kidnapped!reader, discussions of murder, threats of violence, etc. (rated hard M, Tumblr-exclusive, ongoing)
a tainted heart - In a dangerous and uncaring galaxy, the rich and powerful turn to specially raised, genetically manipulated humanoids called Nomu to protect themselves and their own. You were created to guard a single person, to kill anything in your path in order to keep them safe, all to make up for a failure you barely remember. You have no other purpose, until the day Shigaraki Tomura gives you one. (rated M, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK - You're a hero who specializes in water rescue, and you've been captured by the League of Villains. It only gets worse when you find out why. (rated T, Tumblr exclusive, ongoing)
Longfics
Anomaly - Ever since he was rescued by All Might from All For One, Shimura Tenko's led a charmed life - except that he's a beta, in a society where alphas are privileged, omegas are prioritized, and betas are an afterthought. But when Tenko finds himself investigating a series of designation-swaps that have devastated the lives of the victims, he comes face to face with the terrible truths at the heart of society's placid, inflexible structure, and the enigmatic villain who's bent on exposing it all. The one they call Love's Executioner - otherwise known as, you. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Designated Villain - You loved BNHA's ending, mostly, but a few weeks after the last chapter is published, you get isekaied into BNHA on the day the story begins. That would be a dream come true, except you ended up in the body of a common criminal, and instead of enjoying life in your favorite fictional world, you find yourself struggling to survive in a world that's much crueler than you ever imagined. Armed with nothing more than BNHA Tumblr brainrot and a highly suspicious iPod Shuffle, you set out to fix the few things that are wrong with BNHA's ending. But as you learn more about the villains you hated and every change you make pushes the plot further off the canon storyline, it's not long before your feelings about the ending start to change. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Bloody Valentine - When you get to school on Valentine's Day, your biggest worry is how you're going to give chocolate to your lab partner and crush, Shigaraki Tomura, without him knowing that it was you, and when it all goes wrong, you can't imagine how your day could possibly get worse. But when a plague of zombies erupts within the halls of UA High and the evacuation leaves you behind, you find yourself trapped with Shigaraki, both of you left behind. You've been forgotten. There's no help coming. Forget being each other's valentines - now you're each other's only chance to get out of this alive. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Expiation - Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Enough to Go By - Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Off-Script - Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Opposites Attract - Your quirk lets you capture almost anyone with ease, and you can't believe you let Shigaraki Tomura escape. Shigaraki can't believe it, either, and according to the League, there's only one possible explanation -- you let him go because you've fallen in love with him. He decides to find out if it's true. You decide you won't fail to capture him again. You both get a lot more than you bargained for. (rated T, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Skin Hunger - There's no such thing as a good night at work when you work in the world's most infamous brothel for monsters, but your night takes a turn for the worse when you find yourself serving drinks to visiting half-vampire Shigaraki Tomura. You don't mean to catch his interest, and you don't mean to start a conversation. You definitely don't mean to get him drunk. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Haunting for Beginners - Ghosts summoned and bound to the human world have one purpose - haunting - but Tomura's never met a human he could stand long enough to haunt them, and he's pretty sure he never will. When you cross the threshold of his house, you capture his interest, and for the first time, he finds himself with a chance to do what ghosts are meant to do. It's too bad he doesn't know how. Scenes from Love Like Ghosts, through the eyes of the ghost in question. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, ongoing)
Love Like Ghosts - You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (rated M, available on Tumblr + Ao3, complete)
warnings: 18+ nudity/bathing (no smut) , touching, suggestive?, reader bathes bucky, reader finds bucky injured, scares of death, blood and wounds (non graphic) angst, food, fluff at the end, “Soldat” used a few times, hydra, set kinda old timey, open ending?
word count: 4.0k
a/n: first fic since my new job! Haiii ;) I’m very open to adding on to this but let me know what y’all think! I couldn’t stop thinking of @superbassbuck when writing this idk why I feel like I say that a lot lol but anyways!
summary: You live alone in a secluded woodland cottage, your life is peaceful, shaped by nature and routine. Until one autumn morning brings an unexpected intrusion when a wounded stranger appears at the rivers edge.
The cottage was a secret between you and the forest. It sat nestled deep within the pines and towering oaks, a small timber-framed thing with a moss covered roof that looked more like a grassy hill then a house.
But, it was your world. Your days were measured not by the ticking of a clock, but by the ripening of berries, the fetching of water pails, and the quiet footfalls of the animals who considered you a friendly neighbor.
It was a life woven from solitude and silence. Mornings began with the scent of dew-damp earth and the soft scratch of a quill and ink on paper as you sketched the cardinals that flitted to your windowsill.
Afternoons though were for your work: tending to the herb garden, foraging for mushrooms, and keeping the woodpile stocked against the coming chilly wind.
Evenings were for resting, for reading your father’s worn books by dancing firelight, and for the gentle company with the wild things. The bunnies, with their twitching noses and cotton tails, would gather at your feet as you skipped through the greens. The deer, shy and majestic, would approach the edge of the wooded clearing, their dark doe eyes watching with a profound, unspoken trust. You were their keeper, their quiet guardian.
This morning was no different. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine needles and the promise of a clear autumn day. You knelt by the riverbank, the icy water swirling around your wrists as you washed the sleep from your skin. The river was your lifeline, its constant current— a soothing balm. You were lost in the simple, meditative act, watching a woodpecker tap at an oak, when a flash of unnatural color caught your eye.
Further downstream, tangled in the leaves, lay a shape that did not belong. It was too dark, too rigid to be a fallen log. Your heart gave a sharp, anxious flutter. A poacher or hunter’s prey? A fallen hiker or traveler?
You rose slowly, hands dripping, and moved toward the shape with a caution born of living alone for years now. As you drew closer, the shape resolved into a man. He was face down in the banks mud, half his body limp in the water, the current tugging at him with a harsh jostling motion. He was clad in some sort of dark, form-fitting leather, scuffed in places, even torn in others. An empty holster hung from his hip and thigh, his boots were tied to his shins, heavy, military-grade things, one was missing its lace. His hair, a thick, matted mane of brown, was fanned out in the water like sodden seaweed.
A cold dread, sharper than the river cold, seized you. You stepped in, the current pulling at your dress skirt, and knelt beside him. His skin was frighteningly pale, almost translucent in the morning light, and a dark, ugly gash marred from his temple to his cheek bone. But the most alarming thing was the unnatural stillness of him. He wasn’t breathing. Or was he? You pressed two small, trembling fingers to the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. There it was. A faint, thready beat beneath his skin, a fragile, stubborn spark of life.
"H-hello?" You whispered, voice sounding impossibly loud in the quiet of the forest. "Can you hear me?"
No response. His eyes were closed, lips tinged with blue. He was bleeding, he was freezing, and he was lost.
Fear gave way to a fierce, protective instinct. You couldn't leave him here. Taking a deep breath, you hooked your arms under his shoulders. He was heavier than you could have ever imagined, a dead weight of muscle and bone. Grunting with effort, you dragged him from the river's greedy grasp, his boots leaving deep burrows in the soft mud of the bank.
You propped him against a large, moss-covered rock, away from the water, and knelt to examine him more closely. The gash on his head was the most pressing, but his skin was burning up. A growing infection, then. A fever.
You gently brushed a wet lock of hair from his forehead. His skin was turning shockingly hot beneath your cool fingertips.
At the contact, his eyes flew open.
They were the color of a stormy sea, wide with a primal, animal terror. He flinched violently, a choked gasp escaping his lips. His body coiled in on itself, muscles tensing as if to spring, but his injuries betrayed him. He slumped back against the rock with a pained groan, his gaze darting around wildly, searching for a threat, an escape.
"Shhh," You soothed, pulling your hands back to show him you meant no harm. You held them up, palms empty, open. "It's alright. You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."
His wild eyes fixed on you at your voice, distrust and confusion warring in their depths. He tried to push himself up again, his hand clawing for the empty holster at his hip. He found nothing. A flicker of panic, deeper this time, crossed his face.
"You're hurt," you said, voice soft and even, a tone you used for spooked does. "You were in the river. You need my help. My cottage is just through those trees. Theres fire. It's warm. I can help you."
You pointed, and his gaze followed your finger to the faint outline of your home. He looked back at you, expression unreadable. He was a predator, assessing, calculating. But he was also wounded, raw. The fight was slowly draining from him, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion and hurt.
"Come," you said, rising slowly and extending a slow hand. "Let me help you."
For a long moment, he just stared at the gentle gesture, as if it were some alien object. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he reached out. His fingers, calloused and scarred, wrapped around yours. His grip was firm, almost crushing, but you didn't pull away. Together, you made the slow, agonizing journey to the cottage, his arm heavy across your shoulders.
Once inside, you got him settled onto the old, worn armchair by the heat, the one your father used to read in. The leather of his suit creaked and rubbed as he sank into the cushions. He looked enormous and out of place amidst the lacey curtains and the scent of dried lavender from the pick this morning.
"I'm going to get you clean, now" you explained, moving to the small washroom attached to the main living area. You began lighting an oil lamp in there, casting a warm glow on the simple tin tub and the hand-pumped faucet. You turned the knob, making the pipes groan and squeal before a stream of cold water began to fill the basin. "There's a shower in here. You just turn this knob," you looked over your shoulder, demonstrating, "to get hot water. It might take a moment to get warm since it’s by fire. I'll find you some clean clothes and make you something to eat. We'll clean your wounds after."
He watched your every move, his gaze intense, missing nothing. You gestured to the washroom. "Go on. Get out of those wet things. There's a bar of soap on the ledge there."
He stood, a bit unsteadily, and waddled into the small room. He closed the door behind him and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.
Your heart was still hammering against your ribs. Who was he? An army soldier, clearly. A fugitive? The empty holster screamed danger, but the vulnerability in his eyes had screamed to you for help.
You busied herself as he washed off, pulling out your father's old clothes from a cedar chest. They would be too small for the man's broad shoulders, but they would have to do. Better than your own sundresses and silk nighties.
You laid a soft, red, flannel shirt and a pair of sturdy canvas pants on the bed. Then went straight to the kitchen, putting a cast-iron skillet on the stove, pouring some olive oil inside and cracking a few eggs into it, slicing thick pieces of the bread you baked yesterday. The familiar, grounding ritual of cooking helped to settle your nerves.
You had just dropped in the eggs and bread with a fragrant herb oil when a sound from the bathroom made you pause. It was a soft, frustrated thud. Then, silence.
You waited.
Another moment passed. Concern began to prickle at you. Had he fallen? Fainted?
You approached the bathroom door, knocking lightly before calling out softly. "Everything alright in there?"
No answer. You pressed your ear to the wood. Nothing but the dripping of the faucet. "Hello? Are you okay?"
Slowly, the door creaked open.
He stood there, framed in the doorway. Steam billowed out around him, smelling of soap and wet metal. He was completely, utterly nude. Water droplets tracked paths down his broad chest and over the hard planes of his stomach down his thick thighs. The sight of him was breathtaking and deeply shocking. His body was a roadmap of violence—a lacework of pale, silvery scars crisscrossing his torso and up his arms, a brutal scar high on his ribs, the puckered skin of old pink bullet wounds.
Your breath hitched, cheeks flooding with a scorching heat. Your eyes flew from where they were looking down back up to his face, which was a mask of pure, confusion.
He was holding the bar of soap in his flesh hand, looking utterly baffled by the knobs of the shower, the concept of the water, of the entire process. He looked like a giant, frightened cub, lost in a world of simple mechanics and normalcy. He made a small, frustrated gesture with his free hand—the metal one you couldn’t stop glancing at, a universal sign for “I don't understand”.
"Oh," you breathed out, voice barely a whisper. "Oh, the... the knobs. Yes. Sorry, I, um... I didn't explain it well, did I?”
You were aware of his nudity, of course, the sheer physical presence of him. But his confusion was so genuine, so innocent, that it cut through the awkwardness you felt flushing within you. He wasn't trying to be shocking; he was simply, earnestly, lost.
Pulling yourself together, you stepped into the steam-filled room heading for the basin immediately. "Here," your voice was steadier now.
You reached past him, your arm brushing against his, a jolt of warmth shooting through you at the contact. You turned the knob, and the water hissed to life again, raining down from the shower head. "You see? This makes the water come from above. And this one," you turned the other knob, "makes it warm. You just need to find the right balance."
He watched her hands, his gaze flicking between the knobs and her face. He seemed to understand. Kinda. He nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his head.
"Right," you felt your blush deepen remembering the little to no space between you two and the lack of clothing. "I'll... I'll just get you a towel."
You crouch down under the sink and grabbed a large, fluffy towel from the shelf and set it on the closed lid of the toilet. When you turned back, he was still standing there, looking at the spray of water as if it were a miracle. He hadn't moved. He was waiting for you to leave, but he also seemed hesitant to be alone with the strange, noisy contraption.
An idea, wild and reckless, bloomed in your mind. "Do you... need help?"
His stormy eyes locked on yours. There was no lewdness in them, no expectation. Only a quiet, desperate need for guidance. He gave another, almost imperceptible nod.
The air in the small room grew thick, heavy with steam and unspoken tension. You were very new and unknowing to these feelings.
You took the soap from his hand, fingers gently ghosting over his. "Okay, let's get you clean."
He slowly stepped in the tub and turned to the wall so his backside was facing you. So, you started with his back, working the soap into a deep rich lather. His skin was hot and slick under your palms. With every circled motion you traced the lines of his scars, each one a story you couldn't read, a testament to a life of pain and abuse.
He stood perfectly still, head bowed, a low rumble vibrating in his chest that might have been a sigh or a groan. You washed his shoulders, his arms, the powerful muscles of his chest, careful to avoid the gash on his side. He was as tense as a drawn bowstring, but he let you.
When he moved around so his front faced you, you kept your eyes on his face, a hard, effort. You soaped up his chest, your hands sliding over the hard planes, yet avoiding his eyes. He was watching you, his expression unreadable. You could feel the heat radiating from him, could smell the clean scent of the soap mingling with the unique, masculine scent of his wet skin.
You knelt to the floor to wash his legs best. His thighs were like oak trunks, his calves corded and rigid. You scrubbed and scrubbed going up, up, up till you got to his intimate area. While rinsing the suds away with a pail you saw his face contort at the sensitivity there. You quickly finished to keep him as comfortable as you could, while letting him know he was safe with you and you weren’t trying anything at him.
You whispered a quick sorry and filled the pail with water once more flushing away all the grime and blood, revealing the truth of him. He was a weapon, honed and used. But here, in your tiny washroom, he was just a man who didn't know how to work a shower.
When you were finally all done, you rose to your feet, knees aching from the tile. He closed his eyes, a look of profound relief on his face. For the first time since you found him, the tension seemed to drain from his shoulders.
You turned off the water, and the sudden silence was deafening. You handed him the towel. He took it, his movements still stiff and uncertain. He patted himself dry with a strange, methodical awkwardness. You watched for a moment, then, realizing you were staring, you backed out of the room. "I'll... I'll leave the clothes on the bed for you," you stammered, and fled.
By the time he emerged from the bedroom, dressed in your father's old clothes, the awkwardness had receded slightly. The flannel shirt was strained across his chest, the sleeves were an inch too short, and the fabric of the pants were tight in the thighs, but he was warm and covered. His long, damp hair was slicked back, revealing the cuts and lines of his face. The bruise on his temple was blooming a violent purple. You saw now how handsome he actually was,
You set a place for him at the small wooden table in the kitchen. The smell of fried eggs and herbs filled the cottage. He stood in the doorway, gaze sweeping the room, before settling on the plate of food. A flicker of something—hunger, disbelief—crossed his features.
"Sit," you said gently, gesturing to the chair. "Eat. You must be starvin’."
He sat slowly, his movements careful to not break the small wicker chairs. He looked at the gleaming silver fork, then at the plate, as if trying to remember its function. Then, he picked up the bread with his fingers, tore off a piece, and used it to scoop up the eggs, taking a bite.
It wasn't eating; it was a consumption born of absolute starvation. He devoured the first plate in under a minute, his eyes never leaving the food. You wordlessly took the plate and piled it high again with eggs, placing another slice of bread, buttered this time—beside it.
He demolished that one, too, eating with a focused, almost animalistic intensity. You gave him a third and final plate, and he finished that as well, slower this time, a sliver of humanity returning to his movements. He wiped the plate clean with the last piece of bread, then sat back, looking at his empty hands then to you.
You had prepared earlier a basin of warm water, clean tea cloths, and a jar of your special salve—a concoction of honey, milk, and beeswax that your mother had taught you to make. "Alright, let’s look at your head, okay?”
You led him to the couch, the softest place in the cottage, with the bucket and medicine in one hand, your other cradling his. He sat stiffly, posture rigid and cold.
You plopped down beside him, close enough to work but careful not to crowd or worry him. You dipped a corner of the cloth in the water and gently began to clean the leaking gash on his temple. He flinched at the first touch, his hand coming up reflexively holding her wrist then settling to your waist, but he let you continue.
"Hold still," you murmured, your touch light and sure. "It's a nasty cut. You must have hit a rock when you fainted."
He didn't respond, just watched your hands with that same intense focus. As you worked, you could feel the raw power holding back in his stillness. The couch creaked under his weight as he shifted.
"What's your name?" You questioned softly, dabbing at the wound again.
He was silent for so long you thought he didn’t hear you. Then, a low, gravelly voice, rusty from disuse, spoke. "Soldat."
The word hung in the air. Soldier. His Russian accent thick. Not a name. A designation.
"Soldat," you repeated. "Is that what you are? Or who you are?"
He looked in your eyes, his own filled with an emptiness. "I don't... remember."
The confession was quiet, heavy with a despair so deep it seemed to suck all the air from the room. He didn't know his name. He didn't know who he was. He was just a soldier, an empty vessel.
Your heart ached for him. "Alright, Soldat," you finished cleaning the wound and began to apply the medicine with the tip of your finger. His skin was warming up under your touch. "No more questions for now. Let's just get you patched up."
You continued to work in silence, cleaning the smaller cuts and scrapes on his arms and hands. His body was a testament to a life of combat, but your touch was healing, soothing. You finished with a clean wrap—a makeshift bandage on his head.
"There," you pulled back looking at your work. "All done. You should rest."
He looked at you, his gaze searching your face for the rest of it. He was looking for a “you can rest, if—“ or a “after you do this”.
But he found nothing else. He looked exhausted, the adrenaline and the warmth, the food, finally catching up to him all at once. The fear in his eyes had receded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and a flicker of... something else. Gratitude?
He didn't go to the bed you had offered. Instead, his gaze drifted to the empty space beside you on the couch. He looked back up at you, a silent question in his eyes.
"Go on, then," you smiled softly, patting the cushion.
He shifted, sinking into the worn fabric. The couch groaned in protest. He was still tense, a coiled hard spring. You reached for a thick wool quilt from the back of the couch and draped it over his legs and your own. The simple act seemed to be the final straw. A shudder ran through him, and the tension began to bleed away.
He leaned his head back against the cushions, his eyes closing. He looked so young like this, the harsh lines of his face softened in the flickering firelight. The bandage on his head was stark white against his skin. He was clean, fed, and tended to. Safe.
He wasn't a soldier or a weapon. He was a boy who didn't know his name and had almost died, alone in a freezing river. A wave of fierce tenderness washed over you. He was a stray, just like the bunnies and the deer, only more broken, more lost.
He started to drift, his breathing evening out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. But before he fell completely, he moved. His head, heavy with exhaustion, lolled sideways and came to rest in your lap. He didn't stir, just settled there with a soft sigh, as if he had finally found the one place he was meant to be.
You froze, breath catching in your throat. His hair, still damp, spilled across your thighs. You could feel the warmth of his cheek through the fabric of the blanket and your skirt. He was so trusting in his sleep, this giant, dangerous man.
Your hand hovered over his head, trembling slightly. Then, slowly, carefully, you let it settle on his thick, dark hair. It was clean now, and so soft, smelling of your own rosemary soap you used.
You began to gently run your fingers through it, untangling the last of the snags and tangles. The rhythm was soothing, hypnotic. His breathing deepened. You found a loose strand and began to braid, fingers moving with a practiced ease you had learned from braiding your own hair, from weaving the vines that grew by the river, and the fabric as you sewed.
You wove another strand, and another, a small, intricate plait forming against his temple. The act was intimate, ancient. A ritual of care, of claiming peace.
You braided his hair as he slept, the fire crackling in the chimney, the forest holding its breath outside. He was a mystery, a danger, a ghost from a world you had left far behind to resign deep in the forest instead.
But for now, in the quiet of your cottage, with his head in your lap and the scent of clean soap in the air, he was just a man who needed a safe place to sleep. And for now you could give him just that.
-end
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Gojo would be overly sweet with his words only when teasing you— in front of family, friends, or whoever, he loves to put a blush on your face as you stammer and hit him back with a witty response. He thinks it’s hilarious, and after his lengthy laugh about it, you miss the gentler smile he gives you momentarily before engaging with the conversation again.
He fucking loves bragging about you to anyone who will listen, in a very confident and assured way. The way he talks about you almost doesn’t even qualify as bragging, his words are so confident, so obvious, he speaks as if he’s stating fact; and then he gives a smug little smirk, and yeahhh he’s bragging (he can’t help himself).
He’s much more sincere in private moments; he still teases you, but it’s softer and more praising, a gentle whisper against your ear before he bites your earlobe or some dumb shit like that. Because as sweet as he can be with you, Gojo at his core is a fucking brat.
When you give words of affirmation to him, it’s hard for him not to deflect it. He hears it all the time, that he’s the strongest, that he’s godlike and powerful and ethereally pretty, he’s heard it all. Comments like those are impersonal at best and dehumanizes him at worst. But you don’t do that, complimenting his peculiarities instead: the way he hums in the mornings as he brews tea, the way he’s so expressionate and easily excited, the amount of joy he brings by just being in your life. When you say things like that, he looks at you, his mind going blank by the wave of contentless he feels. He may reverse the compliment with a blush here and there, but majority of the time he just stands there looking at you with a tilt of his head and a blush on his cheeks.
Gift Giving
If there is one thing about Gojo Satoru, it’s that he fucking loves buying you sweet treats. He always says it like that too, “I’m coming home with a bag of sweet treats, don’t fall asleep on me now,” and “me? Buying a sweet little treat on my walk? You know me so well— I’ll be home soon 😋”. When there’s enough time between missions, he loves taking you around Japan to visit a bunch of cafes to try out their desserts!
On the other hand, giving him a gift is kind of hard. It’s not that he wants super luxury items, but he has enough money to buy anything he could want. So instead of going the route of luxury, you get creative; taking Polaroids of your dates and compiling a photo album, annotating a copy of his favourite book with all of your thoughts (so that when he’s reading, it’s like you’re right there with him, even if he’s on a mission on the other side of Japan), and other things of that nature.
Acts of Service
One would think that a man who the world asks everything of, would maybe want to shirk his responsibilities when it comes to personal relationships, but no. Gojo’s acts of care are preventative; potentially dangerous situations are handled before the risk gets any bigger. He’s not building that shelf though, good luck with that one 💀
That’s where you come in though. You’d make his life less stressful by stepping in when he’s tired. He can’t handle everything, he’s only human, no matter what the higher ups think. So if it takes building that shelf by yourself as he naps on the couch, you’ll do it. It’s not a grand gesture, it’s not like you’re literally saving his life, but the small things add up, and he’s immensely appreciative of your presence. He trusts you to hold down the fort when he can’t, and even more so when he pretends he still can.
Quality Time
For someone as busy as Gojo Satoru, he highly values any time spent with you. Regardless if it’s cafe dates and shitty movies, or something quiet and simple like a lazy Sunday morning, he loves the time he gets to be present at your side. He’s always early to arrive and late to leave, lingering on the edges of you.
Y’all get into so much mischief together too istg, the sheer amount of hijinks you two cause should be fucking studied. Your time together is chaotic and messy, filled with nonsensical games, plots for the next prank, and a soulful cackles that genuinely scare birds out of trees.
Gojo is used to being wanted for his usefulness. He loves that you consistently seek him out outside of that, that you chose to spend silly moments with him instead of solely focusing on what he can provide for you. That seems like such a low bar but like, it’s Gojo Satoru. The number of people like that in his life don’t even reach double digits.
Physical Touch
Gojo Satoru is always up in your fucking space let’s be so fr. That man always has an arm draped over your shoulder, a hand at your waist, his body nestling into yours to no end. Oh but it’s not all sunshines and rainbows; he forehead flicks you to get your attention, or purposefully bumps shoulders even though he just did like five seconds ago. He likes annoying you, likes the way you react to him being so touchy, so flirty, so goddamn annoying. Your responses are comforting in their consistency, even if you sometimes just huff and puff at him. If you bump his shoulder back, nip at him after he bites your lip, or purposefully make him stumble after locking arms? Fuuuck, you’re just playing into it, he gets worse 😭 (if you do it back and forth with him enough times it turns him on a lot, it’s like his bratty way of flirting)
Asides from when you play back into his shenanigans, Gojo also really likes when you reach for him first: holding his hand when yours is too cold or when you tiredly lean your head against his shoulder? He feels that same wave of happiness hit him and it renders him quiet and still, a small blush dusting his ears. He’ll look away momentarily, his heart fluttering, before quickly looking back at you, not able to focus on anything else for too long.
JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST !
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