a chaotic day at tokyo jujutsu high turns unexpectedly soft when gojo satoru is ambushed by his tiny mischievous sister who looks and acts just like him
The classroom at Tokyo Jujutsu High was unsurprisingly not being used for anything remotely educational.
“Stop moving.”
“I’m not moving. You’re just bad at this.”
“I am not bad at this,” Gojo snapped, squinting one eye shut as he leaned way too far over the desk, tongue slightly out in concentration. In his hand was a piece of chalk he absolutely should not have been using for this.
Across from him, Geto sat with the patience of someone who had long accepted his terrible life choices, namely, befriending Gojo.
“You’re trying to flick chalk into my mouth,” Geto said flatly. “There is no version of this where you’re good at it.”
From the side, sprawled lazily across two chairs like she owned the place, Shoko didn’t even look up.
“He is going to miss,” she muttered.
“No,” Gojo shot back immediately, still aiming. “And when I win, you’re both admitting I’m the most talented person in this room.”
“You already say that,” Geto replied.
“Yeah, but this time it will be official.”
Shoko snorted softly. “You’re insufferable.”
“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Shoko.”
“I’m not jealous. I’m tired.”
“Of losing?”
“I am not even playing.”
“You are siding with Suguru, so you count as a player.”
Geto let out a quiet sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not turn this into”
The chalk flew.
It didn’t go anywhere near Geto’s mouth.
Instead, it hit the side of his cheek and bounced off onto the floor.
There was a beat of silence.
Gojo stared at Geto like the betrayal had been personal. “You moved.”
“I didn’t move.”
“You definitely moved.”
“I was sitting still.”
“You breathed differently.”
“That’s not how this works.”
Gojo clicked his tongue, already reaching for another piece of chalk. “Rematch.”
“No.”
“Rematch.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
“Satoru.”
“Fine,” he huffed, dramatically tossing the chalk onto the desk. “You’re both just intimidated by my potential.”
Shoko lay back down immediately. “Your potential to be annoying, maybe.”
Geto didn’t even argue this time.
And for a brief, rare moment, the classroom settled into something almost peaceful, if you ignored the chalk dust, the overturned chair, and Gojo already plotting his next terrible idea.
The brief moment of quiet didn’t last.
He had just opened his mouth, very clearly about to start something again, when a small voice cut through the classroom.
“Satoruuuu!”
It was high. Soft. A little wobbly on the last syllable.
All three of them froze.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that the shift was noticeable.
Geto was the first to turn his head, brows knitting slightly as he looked toward the door.
Shoko pushed herself up on one elbow, squinting like she thought she’d imagined it.
Gojo didn’t move at first.
“…Did” Shoko started.
“Satoruuu!”
This time it was louder. Clearer. Definitely real.
All three of them looked.
There, standing in the doorway of the classroom like she had simply decided this was where she belonged, was a tiny girl clutching a plushie almost half her size. Her hair was messy, her cheeks slightly flushed, her expression bright and completely unbothered.
There was a pause.
A very small, very quiet pause.
And then
“SHE’S HERE?!” Gojo shrieked.
Not said. Not exclaimed.
Shrieked.
Geto flinched so hard his chair screeched against the floor. Shoko physically recoiled, hand flying to her ear.
“What is wrong with you?” she snapped.
Gojo was already halfway across the room, pointing at the doorway like the child had personally offended him. “Why is she here?”
The girl blinked.
And then she giggled.
Bright. Soft. Completely delighted.
Gojo looked like his brain had stopped working.
“Why. how did you. who let you” he gestured wildly at the door, words falling apart. “You are not supposed to be here.”
The girl just beamed at him, hugging her plushie tighter. “Satoru,” she said again, as if that explained everything.
Behind him, Geto slowly stood. He did not speak at first. He just looked.
From the white hair to the bright eyes to the expression that was just a little too confident for someone that small.
Then he looked at Gojo.
Then back at her.
“…No way,” he murmured.
Shoko leaned forward, squinting. “…Oh. that is unfortunate.”
Gojo whipped around. “What does that mean?”
“She looks exactly like you.”
There was a beat.
Geto nodded, almost impressed. “That is actually kind of impressive.”
“That is not a compliment,” Gojo said immediately.
“Satoru.”
The girl took a few tiny steps forward, her shoes tapping softly, completely ignoring everything else.
Geto’s expression softened without him realizing it. “…Same eyes,” he said quietly.
“Unfortunately,” Shoko added.
“I can hear you.”
The girl stopped in front of Gojo and looked up at him like nothing about this was strange.
Gojo stared down at her.
She stared back.
“…Why are you here?” he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.
She tilted her head.
Then, very proudly, “I came to see you.”
Something in his expression flickered. Just for a second.
Then he sighed. Loud. Dramatic. Defeated.
He crouched down and picked her up.
She immediately grabbed onto his uniform, her small fingers bunching the fabric, her head settling comfortably against his shoulder like she had done this a hundred times before.
He adjusted her without thinking.
“This is a restricted campus,” he muttered. “There are barriers. Rules. People who are supposed to stop this.”
“Satoru,” she said happily.
“I know my name.”
Behind them, Geto stepped closer, curiosity fully winning now. “…You didn’t tell us you had a sister.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“It is very relevant.”
The girl shifted slightly in his arms, finally noticing Geto properly.
She stared.
Geto gave a small, careful smile. “Hi.”
Silence.
She blinked.
Then, with full confidence, she threw her plushie.
It smacked directly into Geto’s face.
Soft. Direct. Perfect aim.
The plushie dropped into his hands.
There was a pause.
Gojo stared.
Shoko stared.
Geto blinked.
And then Gojo lost it.
He laughed so hard he had to steady himself, one hand gripping the desk. “That was perfect.”
Shoko laughed too, covering her mouth. “Oh my god. aside from the looks, she acts exactly like you.”
Geto looked down at the plushie, then at the girl. “…I have done nothing to deserve this.”
The girl looked very pleased with herself.
“Satoru,” she said, patting his shoulder like she had accomplished something important.
He looked down at her, still smiling. “What?”
She pointed at Geto. “Mean.”
Gojo laughed again. “He did nothing.”
Geto sighed. “I am being judged unfairly.”
“Get used to it,” Shoko said.
The girl leaned closer into Gojo, her cheek pressing against his shoulder, her fingers still tightly holding onto him.
After a moment, she peeked at Geto again.
Then she held out her hand.
Geto blinked. “…What.”
She made a small grabby motion.
Gojo snorted. “She wants it back.”
Geto looked at the plushie. Then at her. Then handed it over carefully.
She took it, hugged it, and then smiled at him.
Just like that.
Approval granted.
Geto paused. “…I have redeemed myself.”
Gojo shifted her slightly higher, his hand steady at her back. “You are causing problems already.”
She hummed softly, completely content.
Then she reached up and tugged at his collar, dropping her plushie in the process.
He frowned. “What now.”
She pushed his sunglasses up with both hands. They slid crookedly onto his hair and stared at his eyes for a second.
Then she smiled.
Bright. Soft. Completely sure.
“Pretty,” she said.
The room went quiet for a second.
Geto looked away, hiding a smile.
Shoko covered her mouth again.
Gojo froze.
“…I know,” he said after a second, trying and failing to sound normal.
🖼️ GOJO'S GALLERY
a/n - new collection 😋☝️this will be so fun!!! istg I have so many scenarios in mind.
translation unavailable | neither of them speaks the other's language, but somehow they keep finding reasons to stay.
gojo satoru x reader . fluff . art credits to owner
The first thing she learned after arriving in Japan was that every language textbook she had ever studied had lied to her.
Not maliciously, of course. The books had tried their best. They had filled pages with polite conversations between imaginary students, carefully structured grammar exercises, and neat vocabulary lists accompanied by cheerful illustrations. They had taught her how to introduce herself, ask for directions, order food, and thank strangers for their help.
What they had failed to mention was that real people did not speak like textbook recordings.
Real people spoke fast.
Terrifyingly fast.
They swallowed syllables. They blended words together. They interrupted each other, changed topics halfway through sentences, and somehow expected everyone around them to keep up.
The result was that she spent most of her first few weeks in Tokyo feeling like she was constantly two steps behind every conversation.
Whenever someone spoke to her, she would recognize perhaps one word. Sometimes two if she was lucky. The rest became an incomprehensible blur of sounds that slipped through her fingers before she could catch them.
By the time she managed to process the beginning of a sentence, the speaker was already halfway through another one.
It was exhausting.
Humiliating.
And occasionally enough to make her want to bury her face in her hands.
Still, she was trying. She reminded herself of that every day. She had come all the way from France for this experience. She wasn't about to let a language barrier defeat her.
At least, that was what she told herself.
The second thing she learned was that somewhere in the middle of Tokyo existed a man who seemed completely immune to the concept of language barriers.
In fact, he appeared to find them entertaining.
She met him entirely by accident. At least, she assumed it had been an accident. Looking back later, she wasn't so sure. The afternoon had been cool and overcast, the kind of day where thick clouds covered the sky but never quite committed to raining.
She had been wandering near a train station, carrying a small tote bag over her shoulder and debating whether she wanted something warm to drink.
A vending machine stood near the sidewalk, bright and colorful against the dull gray surroundings. Under normal circumstances, choosing a drink would have taken less than a minute.
Unfortunately, she was not under normal circumstances.
She stood in front of the machine with increasing despair. Rows upon rows of colorful bottles stared back at her. Every label was covered in Japanese characters. Some bottles had pictures. Others did not. Some looked like tea. Others looked suspiciously like tea. Several looked identical. One might have been coffee. Another might have been soup.
At this point, she genuinely couldn't tell.
She squinted at a bottle.
Then another.
Then leaned slightly closer as though the labels might suddenly become readable through sheer determination.
Nothing happened.
With a sigh, she folded her arms and considered simply pressing a random button.
Maybe fate would decide her beverage for her.
It was while she was contemplating this highly questionable strategy that a voice suddenly spoke beside her. A rapid stream of Japanese washed over her before she even realized someone was standing there.
She startled so violently she nearly dropped her wallet. Her head snapped toward the source of the voice.
And immediately tilted upward.
Then upward again.
And somehow even higher.
The man standing beside her was absurdly tall. That was her first coherent thought. Her second was that his hair looked impossibly white. Like fresh snow under sunlight.
Dark sunglasses hid his eyes despite the cloudy weather, and there was something immediately strange about the easy confidence with which he occupied the space around him.
He stood as though the entire world belonged to him. As though he had never once doubted that people would pay attention when he spoke. And judging from the smile currently stretched across his face, he seemed completely unconcerned by the fact that she was staring at him in confusion.
He said something else. More Japanese. Just as fast. Just as incomprehensible.
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
Finally, she offered the only response she could.
"...Pardon?"
The man's smile widened. A spark of amusement flashed across his face. Then, to her complete bewilderment, he laughed. As though he had just discovered something unexpectedly entertaining.
She stared.
The man stared back.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then realization seemed to dawn on him.
A bright expression crossed his features. The kind people wore when they suddenly understood a situation. Unfortunately, whatever conclusion he had reached only appeared to amuse him more.
He said something else.
Still Japanese.
Still impossible to understand.
Still accompanied by that infuriatingly pleased smile.
She rubbed her forehead. "English?" she tried hopefully. Though her English wasn't great, but she couldn't expect him to speak in French.
Instantly, his expression brightened.
"Ah!"
Relief surged through her.
Finally.
Someone who spoke English.
Or at least understood it.
She could work with that.
The stranger pointed dramatically at himself.
"Gojo Satoru."
She blinked.
Then nodded.
Right.
Names.
That she could do.
"Y/N."
The smile he gave her in return was oddly triumphant. As though learning her name had somehow been a victory.
Then he pointed toward her.
"Kawaii."
Silence.
She stared.
Gojo stared back.
The silence stretched longer.
"...Oui?"
The reaction was immediate.
Gojo doubled over laughing. Actually doubled over. One hand pressed against his stomach while the other covered his mouth in a completely unsuccessful attempt to contain himself.
She remained frozen.
Her confusion only deepened. Had she answered incorrectly? Was there a question? Had she accidentally agreed to something? Was she being insulted? Complimented? Threatened? She had absolutely no idea.
And judging from the tears gathering at the corners of Gojo's eyes from laughing so hard, she suspected she wasn't going to get an explanation anytime soon.
Looking back later, she would realize that moment should have served as a warning. A very clear warning. Because somehow, against all logic and reason, that bizarre encounter was only the beginning.
---
Over the following weeks, Gojo seemed to appear everywhere. At cafés, bookstores, near train stations, outside bakeries. Once, somehow, at a flower market she had wandered into by complete accident.
By the sixth encounter, she was convinced he was following her.
When she attempted to communicate this suspicion through a combination of broken English and exaggerated gestures, Gojo listened attentively before placing a hand over his heart and saying something in Japanese while smiling at her.
She narrowed her eyes. "You are suspicious."
Gojo pointed at himself. Then at her. Then made a heart shape with his hands.
She blinked. "What?"
His grin widened.
"Oh no."
She pointed accusingly at him.
"You are definitely suspicious."
The only response she received was laughter. The worst part was that he never seemed discouraged by the language barrier. If anything, it encouraged him.
Every time they met, he would immediately begin talking to her. Not slowly. Not carefully. Not with simple words.
No.
Gojo spoke to her exactly as though she were fluent.
He would launch into entire stories while walking beside her, gesturing dramatically and occasionally looking offended by events she could not understand.
She would stare at him helplessly. Then answer in French. Neither of them understood a thing but neither of them stopped.
One afternoon, they ended up sharing a table at a small café. She had been trying to read a menu when Gojo suddenly leaned forward and said something.
His tone sounded suspiciously smooth. Very suspiciously smooth.
She narrowed her eyes. "What did you say?"
Gojo smiled innocently. Then repeated the sentence. It sounded exactly as incomprehensible as before. She sighed dramatically before pulling out her phone. Gojo immediately looked interested.
She opened a translation app and shoved it toward him.
His smile faltered.
Just slightly.
"Repeat it," she said.
Gojo stared at the screen.
Then at her.
Then back at the screen.
Slowly, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He leaned toward the phone. The app translated his words.
You have excellent taste in coffee.
She stared.
Then she stared harder.
Then she pointed at him. "No."
Gojo blinked. "No?"
"That is not what you said."
His grin widened.
She smacked his arm.
Gojo immediately dissolved into laughter.
"You absolutely said something else!"
His shoulders shook.
The translation app remained between them. After a moment, he leaned toward it again. This time the translated text appeared on the screen.
You are very beautiful when you are annoyed.
She froze.
Gojo looked entirely too pleased with himself.
She smacked him again.
His laughter echoed through the café.
After that, the translation app became dangerous. Whenever she pulled it out, Gojo treated it like a game. He would say something outrageous. She would demand a translation. He would deliberately translate something completely different.
Then she would catch him because his expression gave him away every single time.
One afternoon, while they were walking through a shopping district, he pointed toward a jewelry store window and said something. She immediately pulled out her phone.
Gojo sighed dramatically. The translated text appeared.
That necklace would look pretty on you.
She looked at him suspiciously. "That one was real, wasn't it?"
Gojo smiled.
The silence was answer enough.
For some reason, her face grew warm.
Another time, they sat beneath cherry trees while petals drifted lazily through the air around them. Gojo had somehow convinced a small child to give him a flower.
The child had run away immediately afterward. Gojo turned and tucked the flower behind her ear. The gesture was unexpectedly gentle.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he said something softly. She immediately reached for her phone.
Gojo groaned. The translated text appeared.
Pretty.
She stared at the screen. Then at him. Then back at the screen. For once, he wasn't laughing. The warmth in her cheeks returned.
Gojo noticed instantly.
Of course he did.
His grin returned immediately.
Weeks passed like that.
Somehow, despite barely understanding each other, they grew closer. She learned that Gojo laughed with his entire body. She learned that he loved sweets. She learned that he became ridiculously pleased whenever she managed to understand even a single Japanese word.
Gojo learned that she always stopped to look at flowers. He learned that she absentmindedly hummed when she was happy. He learned that her eyes lit up whenever she talked about home, even if he couldn't understand a single sentence.
Neither of them knew exactly when these meetings became something they looked forward to. They simply did.
One evening, they met in a park just before sunset.
The sky glowed with shades of gold and pink. The pathways were bathed in warm light, and the air carried the gentle coolness of approaching night.
They sat together on a bench beneath a tree. For a while, they simply talked. Or at least, they attempted to.
She spoke in French.
Gojo spoke in Japanese.
Neither understood the other. Yet somehow the conversation flowed effortlessly. She found herself telling him about her childhood. About rainy afternoons spent reading by windows. About family dinners. About the little bakery near her apartment back home.
Gojo listened attentively. Then he responded with something in Japanese. His voice was warm. Comforting. She had no idea what he was saying.
Still, she smiled.
The sun slowly dipped lower. Golden light painted everything around them.
For once, Gojo seemed unusually quiet. She noticed him glancing at her several times.
Each time, he looked away when she caught him. It was strangely endearing. Eventually, he reached into his pocket.
She immediately laughed.
"Another lie?"
Gojo placed a hand over his heart as though wounded.
Then he pulled out his phone. The translation app.
She blinked.
That was new. He never pulled out a translation app, it was always her doing it. Gojo looked down at the screen for a moment. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed nervous. Actually nervous.
The realization startled her. He typed something. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted it again.
She watched quietly.
Finally, he took a breath and handed her the phone. The translated text glowed softly against the screen.
I know almost nothing about your language.
You know almost nothing about mine.
But every time I see you, my day becomes better.
She felt her heart skip. Gojo was watching her carefully now. No teasing. No jokes. Just sincerity.
She looked back down.
Another line appeared.
I think I started looking for excuses to meet you a long time ago.
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I knew it."
Gojo smiled sheepishly.
Then he typed one final sentence. This time, his fingers hesitated. When he handed the phone back, she felt her pulse quicken.
The screen read:
I like you very much.
Would you let me keep talking to you, even if neither of us understands anything?
For a moment, she simply stared. Then she laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so perfectly them. She took the phone from his hands and typed her response.
Gojo watched nervously. When she handed it back, he looked down.
The translated text read:
Only if you stop lying on the translation app.
Gojo groaned dramatically. She laughed. Then she quickly typed another sentence before she could lose her courage.
His eyes widened as he read it.
I like you too.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru looked completely speechless. The sunset painted the world gold around them.
She smiled.
Then she leaned her head against his shoulder. A second later, she felt him smile too. Neither of them spoke.
There was no need.
After all, they had never been particularly good at understanding each other's words.
Somehow, that had never stopped them from understanding everything else.
toge “we don’t argue, my girl tells me shut up and i do” inumaki ᝰ.ᐟ fluff, fem!reader
the confusion was only there for a moment when the group of guys you were talking to after lab suddenly straightened in posture, stiff as boards, turned on their heels and walked off like they’d been summoned by some chant. right in the middle of your conversation.
toge was making his way through the courtyard and to you, his ever gorgeous girlfriend, when he’d noticed one of the guys you were speaking with was eyeing you in a way that wasn’t friendly enough for his liking.
a man of little words he was, but he used his voice when he deemed necessary. and this was definitely neccesary.
jealous as ever with a petulant pout to match, he’d simply muttered two words that solved his little problem in an instant.
“walk away.”
and now you’re turned around to see your fluffy haired boyfriend inconspicuously zipping his collar back up over his tattooed mouth before he tilts his head at you in greeting, corners of his eyes crinkled in lieu of an innocent smile.
“kelp!” he chirps, a possessive hand coming to slide around your waist until you’re jabbing your finger into the apex of his chest, hard.
“did you just do what i think you did?”
he tilts his head. then quietly coughs and your jaw drops. fuck.
“that was you, wasn’t it?”
his eyebrows raise in question as if he has no idea what you could possibly be referring to.
“bonito flakes?”
he shrinks a bit when your eyes narrow at him knowingly.
“don’t lie to me, toge.”
his arms flail out instantly, stiff and straight as if they can help him in the defense of his actions. he tries his best to explain what the situation looked like from his perspective.
“tuna! caviar, salmon cod roe!”
your hand comes up to unzip his collar before you gently grab his jaw, his words muddled and lips mushed together as you hold his face.
you guys stare at each other like that for a few long seconds, his adams apple jumping when he swallows, lashes kissing his cheeks when he blinks rapidly because now he’s genuinely a little scared.
“toge.”
“salmon.” his answer is immediate.
“you cannot interrupt my conversations simply because you feel like it—“
“mustard leaf—“
“i’m not done talking.”
his mouth closes immediately. he looks like a puppy being scolded as you hold him in front of you, his shoulders drooping and pout forming the best it can between your fingers. he nods, begrudgingly, but it’s there and that’s enough for you to continue. he listens so well.
“i can handle myself, okay? we were only talking because i helped them with some homework answers. if someone’s openly flirting with me, i’ll tell them off. you know i will.”
his eyes drift to the side and you can tell he feels bad, hands stuffed in his pockets and nose crinkling like he’s smelled something he doesn’t like. you bring his gaze back with a little nudge.
“blink twice if you understand.”
he does as he’s told, and you soften because you can never be annoyed with him for very long. you know he hears the gossip, people talking about how you deserve someone better than him, as if they know anything about your relationship. as if you’d ever believe there’s anyone better than him. they just don’t understand the connection you two have and they don’t have to, because you don’t care.
“there’s no need to worry, okay? everyone knows you’re my boy, toge.”
his cheeks redden as you smile up at him, batting those pretty lashes in the way that always makes his heart float and his insecurities vanish. his heavy stare drops to your lips, violet eyes clinging to them because he really wants to kiss you right now and he wonders if you’ll let him. you hold his face with both hands now, thumbs dusting over his facial markings.
“my protective, strong, incredibly handsome sweet boy that i’m sooo lucky to have.” he’s like putty in your hands at this point, heart beating faster with each trait you add, demeanor melting into something sickeningly saccharine as he leans into your palm.
“salmon?” he asks.
you can’t help the roll of your eyes, giggling when you confirm, “yes, baby, really. i can never stop talking about you.”
he’s closer to you now, neck craning to reach your lips, eyes already half shut and head swimming with the thought of you. his voice is low and hopeful when he asks for permission.
“mustard leaf?”
you’re standing on your toes now, hands fisted at his collar to tug him closer. head tilted and lips brushing against his expectantly as you wait for him to kiss you.
' being loved by satoru gojo ' giggling squealing kicking my feet warnings : idfk fluff , gojo being head over heels for you
taking a break after a long day of training and instructing a bunch of stubborn teenagers, you and shoko were sitting in the staff room---discussing things that gojo has done for you that seemed totally normal.
to you.
"satoru left a mission halfway through one time because i said i missed him." you shrug.
shoko nearly choked on her coffee, "he did what?"
you didn't understand why shoko was reacting. i mean, that was totally normal. ...right?
she places her mug down, eyeing you suspiciously. "how often does he carry your bags?"
"all the time."
"open doors?"
"yeah?"
"buys you things?"
"well, obviously."
every one of your answers to her questions, shoko grew more and more confused. she knew that you two were dating, but she always assumed he didn't really get attached to people. well, not like that at least.
shoko clears her throat, "you know he doesn't do any of that for the rest of us, right?" she lowers her voice. "last week i asked him to pass me a pen and he threw it at my head."
"what?" you gasp---and that's when the flashbacks hit you.
gojo automatically ties your shoelaces even though he knows you're more than capable.
gojo carries you when you're tired.
gojo remembering your coffee order.
gojo giving you his jacket before you can even say that you're cold.
gojo dropping everything when you call.
each memory gets progressively more embarrassing because of your obliviousness. so, after the break with shoko, you went looking for gojo for confirmation.
finding him on the field, watching and instructing yuji and megumi while they train together, you approach him.
"do you really do all those things because you love me?"
gojo blinks, "well hello to you too," he chuckles deeply, turning to face you. "explain, sweetheart."
you huff, "like.. everything! you tie my shoelaces, you buy me things without asking, you carry me when i'm tired---"
"who else would i do it for?"
"...shoko says normal boyfriends don't carry spare hair ties." your lips purse together, turning your face away.
gojo tilts his head to the side, placing his index finger under your chin to guide your face back to his. "normal boyfriends are losers."
okay eat this up before i move onto my rin itoshi mini series
remember please do not copy, steal, rewrite, or put my works into ai. i work hard on all my fics.
ᝰ.ᐟ studying anatomy is hard, but lucky you, your boyfriend satoru is jacked
the textbook was a weapon, and it was currently winning.
you stared blankly at a diagram of a human torso, the labels blurring into a dizzying soup of latin words. your upper body anatomy quiz was tomorrow morning, and true to form, you were cramming the night before. you hadn't even been at it for an hour, but your brain was already completely fried.
"okay, wait," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your temples. "does the bicep sit higher than the tricep? or is the tricep on top? no that's… wait, where is the brachialis again?"
it was hopeless. you'd look at a muscle, repeat its name five times, look away, and immediately erase it from your memory. with a dramatic groan, you collapsed backward onto your bed, letting the heavy textbook rest precariously on your stomach. you were officially doomed.
the mattress dipped.
a flash of white hair entered your peripheral vision as satoru crawled onto the bed, shifting smoothly until he was hovering over you like a giant, ridiculously attractive cat.
"look at you, absolutely suffering," satoru teased, a sharp, playful grin tugging at his lips. "i can practically hear your brain short-circuiting from over here, babe."
you opened your eyes to glare at him, but the retort died in your throat. because, of course, satoru had decided to wear that shirt tonight. it was a long-sleeved, black compression top that clung to every single line of his frame, highlighting a ridiculously broad chest and sculpted shoulders.
he was just a criminally handsome guy who clearly spent way too much time at the gym. it was completely unfair how he could look that good just from lifting weights while you were drowning in textbooks.
"go away," you wheezed, weakly lifting a hand to push at his face. "you’re a distraction. a highly illegal distraction."
"me? a distraction?" satoru gasped in mock offense. he shifted his weight, dropping down to lie on his stomach next to you. he propped his chin up with his hands, a movement that caused the fabric of his shirt to tauten over the heavy definition of his upper back and shoulders.
your eyes tracked the movement. you blinked once. twice.
wait.
you looked from the textbook diagram of the deltoids and pectorals, then right back to satoru’s very real, very defined body. a sudden, brilliant spark of desperation ignited in your fried brain.
"toru," you said, your tone suddenly dead serious. "take your shirt off."
satoru froze, his smirk faltering into a look of genuine, rare bewilderment. his beautiful blue eyes blinked in confusion. "wh—now? i mean, i love the enthusiasm, babe, but i thought you were failing a class?"
"just do it. for science. for my gpa."
muttering something about how you were terrifying when stressed, satoru crossed his arms and pulled the compression shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor. he sat cross-legged on the bed, presenting a perfect, shirtless canvas of lean muscle.
"alright, i'm naked—well, half-naked. what's the plan, professor?"
you didn’t answer. instead, you lunged off the bed, grabbed a neon green washable expo marker from your desk, and crawled back over to him with a manic look in your eye.
satoru eyed the marker warily. "uh, what is that for?"
"hold still," you commanded, uncapping the marker with your teeth.
you leaned in close, your left hand resting gently on his shoulder for balance while your right hand brought the marker to his skin. satoru tensed for a fraction of a second at the cool, damp touch of the felt tip, but quickly relaxed, watching you with an amused, fond expression as you began to draw.
"okay," you murmured, tracing a neat box right over his chest. "these are the pectoralis major. big chest muscles. easy." you wrote pec major in bold green letters right across his right pectoral.
"wow, using my body as a cheat sheet. i feel objectified. do it more," satoru chuckled, his chest vibrating under your hand.
"shh! i'm concentrating," you chided, moving your marker up to his shoulder. you traced the rounded muscle cap. "deltoid. anterior, lateral, posterior. it's like a shoulder pad." you carefully scribbled deltoid on his shoulder, giving it a little pat.
"and what about these?" satoru asked, flexing his arm slightly, a proud grin on his face.
you stared at his arm, the marker hovering. "ah! the age-old question. bicep is on the front, tricep is on the back. bicep pulls the arm in, tricep extends it." to cement it in your memory, you drew a giant arrow on his inner arm pointing up labeled bicep, and a matching one on the back labeled tricep.
for the next thirty minutes, satoru’s bedroom turned into a live-action, neon-green anatomy lab. you moved around him like a mad scientist, labeling his serratus anterior (the "rib muscles," as you initially called them), his trapezius, and even trying to map out his abs, though you kept getting distracted because his stomach kept twitching from being tickled by the marker.
"stop laughing, toru, i'm trying to find your external obliques!"
"i can't help it! your hands are cold and that marker is tickling the life out of me!" he gasped, squirming away from the green tip.
finally, you stepped back to admire your handiwork. satoru was covered from the waist up in bright green boxes, arrows, and messy anatomical terms. he looked absolutely ridiculous, completely contrasting his runway-model face.
satoru looked down at himself, then glanced in the vanity mirror across the room. he burst out laughing. "i look like a radioactive paint-by-numbers project."
"you look like an a-plus," you corrected proudly, capping the marker. "i actually remember them now. visual learning is a powerful tool."
satoru smiled, leaning forward and wrapping his green-labeled arms around your waist to pull you into his lap. "glad i could be of service to your education. but you know this stuff washes off, right? what are you going to do during the actual quiz tomorrow when you can't look at my chest?"
you hummed, resting your hands against his (now labeled) pectorals. "i'll just close my eyes and visualize my very hot, very heavily graffitied boyfriend."
"perfect," satoru beamed, kissing your forehead. "but if you get a hundred, you owe me a real date. one where you don't use me as school supplies."
After a tragic accident erased your memories, you no longer remember the man you married. Unfortunately for you, Ryomen Sukuna remembers everything. And he'll do whatever it takes to make you remember him too.
Everything was so much weird.
When you first opened your eyes, the world was a blur of harsh lights and a rhythmic, annoying beep that made your head throb. A crowd of people were hovering over your bed, their faces twisted into expressions of pure horror and desperation. It felt like they were looking at a ghost or maybe a god that had suddenly fallen from the sky. The moment you blinked and stared back at them with blank, unrecognizing eyes, the room dissolved into quiet, breathless weeping.
You were completely utterly lost. Who was the woman with the dark circles under her eyes calling herself Shoko? Why was she gripping your hand like her entire world was ending? You knew your own name y/n echoed clearly in the empty caverns of your mind, but beyond that single fact, there was only a vast, terrifying void. You understood the modern world. you knew what a smartphone was, you recognized the concept of Wi-Fi, and when you mumbled those details, the doctors in the room let out collective, gasping sighs of relief.
But the real shock came twenty minutes later.
The heavy door to the hospital room burst open with a violent slam. A man lunged inside like a madman, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. You had never seen anyone look like him. His hair was a soft, striking shade of pastel pink so pretty and unexpected that you wondered for a fleeting second if he had dyed it just to stand out. Dark, intricate tattoos mapped across his skin, curling around his sharp cheekbones and framing his eyes. And those eyes... they were a piercing, burning red, swirling with a volatile mixture of terrifying rage and profound, shattering sadness.
You just sat there in your oversized, faded blue hospital gown, looking small and fragile as your confused gaze met his. The man froze, roughly brushing a strand of pink hair out of his face. His clothes were covered in a layer of grey dust and dried grit, looking as though he had sprinted straight off a construction site the second he got the news.
"Fucking... God. Hey, princess... fuck, don't you ever scare me like that again" he breathed, his deep, gravelly voice cracking as he took two massive strides toward your bedside, staring down at you with a desperation that made the air feel heavy.
You shrank back into the pillows, your brow furrowing. Princess? Were you in some bizarre historical simulation? Did kings and horses still exist? No, the blinking medical monitors around you disproved that immediately.
"Mr. Sukuna, please. I need to speak with you in private for a moment" a woman in her mid forties interrupted, her expression incredibly grave as she stepped between you and the huge man. She glanced at the other people lingering by the door. There was a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, who had the exact same pink hair as the tattooed man, his face streaked with tears. Beside him stood another boy with unruly, spiky black hair and a dull, stoic expression that couldn't quite hide the anxiety in his eyes. At the doctor's quiet command, they all slowly filed out into the hallway.
Left alone for a moment, you stared at the stark white walls, the untouched glass of water on the bedside table, and the crushing, dull monotony of the room.
When the door clicked open again, the female physician returned, holding a thick medical chart. The tattooed man followed closely behind her. He tried to offer you a small, reassuring smile, but it looked incredibly strained on his rugged face. His crimson eyes locked onto you, tracking every breath you took as if you might literally vanish into thin air if he dared to look away for a single second.
"Hello, y/n. I am Dr. Jennifer" the woman said kindly, stepping up to the mattress. "Do you know why you were brought here today?"
You frowned, looking between her and the towering man. "No."
The syllable was short and hollow. Beside the doctor, Sukuna’s entire frame stiffened. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently beneath his tattoos, his knuckles turning white as he balled his hands into fists.
"Right. But you do remember your name?" she pressed gently.
"Yes... y/n I am Y/N." you answered firmly. You knew the name belonged to you, even if the history attached to it was completely gone.
"And do you know where you are right now?"
"A hospital?"
"Correct" Dr. Jennifer nodded, opening the document in her hands. "Look, I am going to explain exactly what happened, and I need you to listen very carefully, alright?" You gave a small, hesitant nod. "You were in a severe accident yesterday evening. You were walking home from the local market when a car veered off the road and hit you. It is a miracle you walked away with minor physical injuries, but the trauma to your head has caused a severe case of retrograde amnesia. Honestly, it's a surprise you even remember your name right now."
You let out a quiet hum, your eyes drifting down to your own hands resting on the thin blanket. That was when you noticed it a slender, platinum band set with a brilliant, flawlessly cut diamond resting securely on your left ring finger. It looked incredibly expensive, classy, and entirely foreign
So you were married.
"Y/n" Dr. Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You snapped your head up to look at her. "This man standing beside me... he is your husband."
The doctor tilted her head toward the giant. He was massive easily over six feet of raw, intimidating muscle, his tattooed face giving him a terrifying, dangerous aura. Your very first instinctual thought was that this man looked incredibly scary.
Sukuna didn't say a word. He just stood there, letting you analyze him, before he offered you a tiny, incredibly vulnerable nod. You tilted your head, staring into his intense red eyes, desperately searching for a single spark of familiarity. Did I really marry this giant?
"His name is Ryomen Sukuna, and he is going to take care of you" the doctor continued, closing her chart. "For the next few weeks, you need to let your brain rest, but you also need to gently stimulate it to try and regain those lost memories. Spending time in a familiar environment, in your own home with your husband, is going to be the best medicine for you."
You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly have a choice. You were being handed over to a complete stranger who happened to hold a legal claim to your entire life.
"Alright then. I wish you a safe and speedy recovery" Dr. Jennifer said with a final, empathetic smile before slipping out of the room.
The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. Sukuna cleared his throat roughly, taking a few slow, tentative steps toward the edge of your bed. He moved with an immense amount of caution, as if he genuinely believed a sudden movement might break you into pieces. He pulled up the small plastic chair, sinking into it.
"Hey" he said softly. Even in a whisper, his voice was incredibly manly, deep, and rough.
"Hello" you replied shortly, your eyes tracking his hands.
To your surprise, his large, scarred fingers were trembling slightly as he fidgeted with them, refusing to meet your eyes. When he finally looked up, you realized the piercing red of his irises was completely glossy, swimming with unshed tears.
"Yo... you're getting discharged today" he choked out, taking a deep, ragged breath as if the mere act of speaking was causing him physical pain. "I'm going to go sign the paperwork, and then I'm taking you to... our house. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it takes to help you remember, princess."
You stared at his rugged, tattooed face for a long moment before letting out a soft, distant hum.
An hour later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of a sleek, black Jeep, The man Sukuna kept his left hand firmly on the steering wheel while his eyes flicked toward you every sixty seconds, his intense gaze making a nervous flutter erupt in your stomach.
You stared out the window, watching the city buildings, sprawling neighborhoods, and vibrant green trees blur past. Intrigued by the warm breeze, you raised your hand, pressing your palm gently against the glass as if you wanted to touch the passing leaves. Instantly, the window smoothly rolled down. Startled, you turned your head to find Sukuna adjusting the master controls, his eyes locked onto you with an unreadable warmth.
"Can I ask you something-" you murmured softly.
"Yes." The answer came incredibly fast, almost desperate. He was hanging on your every word, practically begging for you to speak to him.
"How... how did we meet?" you asked, leaning your elbow on the door frame as the wind whipped through your hair.
"We met in high school" he answered quickly, navigating a sharp turn onto a quiet, "We've been married for seven years."
"High school?" You tilted your head, a faint smile touching your lips as you extended your hand just slightly out into the rushing air. "Were we friends back then?"
"Careful" he commanded firmly, though there was no real heat in his voice. You obediently pulled your hand back inside. A faint, nostalgic softness crept into his red eyes as he looked ahead. "Friends? no. You could say we didn't liked eachother each other when we first met. You thought I was a loud, arrogant mannerless jerk and I thought you were a stubborn, bossy brat."
He smoothly pulled the Jeep into a long brick driveway, coming to a stop in front of a breathtaking, modern two story house. It was painted a crisp, elegant white with sleek charcoal-grey accents, boasting massive, floor to ceiling windows that caught the afternoon sun.
"This is...our house" Sukuna murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "We've been living here for about four years."
He killed the engine, threw his door open, and practically sprinted around the hood of the car to open your door before you could even reach for the handle. He extended a massive, tattooed hand toward you, his palm open and waiting. You stared at his hand, your eyes traveling up the thick muscles of his forearm, before you deliberately stepped down onto the driveway without taking it.
Sukuna’s hand froze in mid-air. You watched his fingers slowly curl back into a fist before he pulled his arm away, a flash of pure, agonizing heartbreak crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a stoic expression.
As your feet hit the pavement, you looked up at the towering structure, desperately begging your brain to spark even a single ounce of familiarity. Nothing came. But as you turned around, you caught a glimpse of the man standing beside you. He was on the absolute verge of tears. His chest was tight, his jaw locked as he stared at you. You were his entire world, his beautiful wife, and yet you were looking at him like he was a total stranger. He suddenly felt a wave of profound hatred for every single time he had ever been mean or stubborn with you in the past, even in jest. He just wanted his girl back. His sweet innocent girl.
"The house is beautiful" you murmured gently, walking toward the porch.
'The house.' Not our house. The detached wording made Sukuna’s jaw clench painfully.
"Of course it is. I built the damn thing" he muttered, following closely behind you.
It was your exact dream house. Years ago, back when you were just broke college students dating in a cramped apartment, you had traced a clumsy design on a napkin, telling him you wanted a modern white house with endless windows, three bedrooms, and a kitchen large enough for the two of you to bake and slow-dance together while listening to old jazz records. Sukuna had kept that napkin. The moment he made his fortune, he hired a crew but did the vast majority of the heavy structural work with his own two hands. He had gifted you the keys on your third wedding anniversary, and he could still vividly remember the way you had wept tears of joy, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him until you were both breathless. He wanted that smile back. He would give anything just to have you look at him the way you used to.
You stepped inside, ignoring the heavy emotion rolling off him. Sukuna quickly gathered your small hospital bags and followed you into the foyer, shutting the door behind him.
Your eyes immediately gravitated toward the kitchen. It was vast, open, and undeniably stunning, featuring a massive quartz island and a huge sliding glass door that opened directly into a manicured backyard garden. The entire layout felt strangely perfect.
"Let me show you... around" Sukuna offered quietly.
He spent the next half hour guiding you through the corridors of what was supposed to be your life. But as he showed you the grand master bedroompointing out the side of the bed where you used to curl into his chest every single night your face remained entirely blank. You felt a twinge of heavy guilt pooling in your stomach. He showed you the living room, drawing your attention to a collection of large, breathtaking canvas paintings hanging on the walls.
"You painted those" Sukuna noted, a faint trace of pride in his rough voice. "You're a brilliant artist, princess."
You blinked in genuine surprise, looking down at your hands. "I drew these?" You were suprised, you don't even remember touching a brush in your life. But this is your new life. New start.
"Yeah." Sukuna stopped at the edge of the hallway, looking down at you with completely bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept a single second since the hospital called him about your accident. All he wanted to do was wrap his massive arms around your waist, pull you flush against his chest, and bury his face in your hair until the nightmare ended. But he couldn't. "Look... you can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall, or you can take our bedroom and I'll stay in the guest room. Whatever makes you feel comfortable. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable you."
"Okay" you hummed softly.
His heart broke a little more at the compliant, distant tone. "I'll go start on some dinner, and then I'll get your medication ready. If you need a single damn thing, you just call out for me, alright? Your clothes are all in the dresser, undergarments in the top drawer, pajamas in the second..."
You nodded, offering him a polite murmur of thanks before retreating into the guest room. You changed into a simple, comfortable t-shirt and sweats. A little while later, his deep voice echoed up the stairs, announcing that dinner was ready. You walked down to the dining room, sitting at the large table like a polite houseguest waiting to be served.
"Do you need help?" Sukuna asked, carefully sliding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup and a large spoon toward you. You shook your head, grasping the utensil and taking a quiet sip. He sat across from you, his own bowl entirely untouched as he just stared at your face. "Y/n... you really don't remember a single damn thing about me?"
His voice cracked completely on the last word, the raw vulnerability of a ruthless man exposed right in front of you. You looked up, meeting his glossy red eyes.
"No... I don't. I'm really sorry" you whispered genuinely.
He let out a slow nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he forced himself to look away. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"Do I... do I have parents? Or friends?" you asked, a sudden curiosity about your own forgotten life bubbling up.
"Yeah. You have parents. Your father—"
"Where are they?" you interrupted quickly, leaning forward. "Do they know I was in an accident? Why aren't they here?"
"They haven't spoken to you in over seven years. Not since the day you married me" Sukuna said, his tone dropping into something cold and bitter.
"Why?"
"Your family is rich as fuck. Extremely strict, arrogant aristocrats" Sukuna explained, his red eyes locking back onto yours. "They completely forbade you from seeing me because I was just a rough, tattooed bastard from the wrong side of the tracks with a criminal record and a unstable future. They told you that if you walked out that door with me, you’d be cut off permanently."
You stared at him, a sudden spark of heat flaring in your chest. "Well, that's so stupid of them. It sounds like a good thing we don't talk to them then."
The sheer, unyielding loyalty in your voice made Sukuna’s lips twitch, a genuine, heartbreaking smile threatening to break through his stoic mask. Even with a wiped memory, his sweet wife still possessed that exact same fiery, protective spirit.
"Yeah" he chuckled hoarsely, letting out a long sigh. "You have an incredible best friend named Shoko. You two are both doctors. you work in the exact same surgical unit at the city hospital. We have a ton of mutual friends we met back in our high school days. And those kids at the hospital? The pink-haired teenager is my nephew, Yuji, and the dark-haired one is Megumi, our friend's kid. They practically worship the ground you walk on, princess. You love those brats to death."
"Can I see them?" you asked, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.
"Of course. Whenever you want." he promised, his eyes tracking the way your lips curved.
Sukuna let out a sudden, rough snort, a wicked glint flashing in his eyes. "Old or not, woman... you're still completely breathtaking."
A deep, violent blush instantly stained your cheeks. You hadn't been around an attractive man or any man, for that matter in your conscious memory, and having this giant, dangerously handsome individual throw such a raw compliment at you made your heart do a chaotic somersault. You quickly looked down at your soup, missing the way his eyes softened at your reaction.
Over the next three weeks, the fragments of a life began to surround you, even if the puzzle pieces wouldn't quite lock into place.
Yuji and Megumi came over to the house constantly. Yuji spent hours enthusiastically teaching you how to make his signature protein shakes and weird jello molds, his loud laughter filling the quiet house, while Megumi sat nearby with his usual serious expression. But the moment you offered Megumi a soft, encouraging smile, his sharp features would instantly melt into something deeply tender. Yet, beneath their smiles, you could see the underlying sadness in their eyes every time you failed to remember a shared inside joke.
When Shoko finally visited, she broke down completely, throwing her arms around your neck and sobbing into your shoulder. It was a bizarre maybe stupid too, overwhelming feeling being fiercely loved by people you couldn't even remember and a heavy weight of guilt began to settle deep in your chest. You even met Toji, Megumi's father, a tall, stoic man who didn't say much but looked at you with a quiet, profound pity that made you realize just how broken your situation truly was.
And then, there was Sukuna.
Your husband spent every single day patiently guiding you through your routines, driving you past your old university, cooking your favorite meals, and trying every gentle trigger possible. But your mind remained a stubborn, locked vault. Sukuna was growing desperate furious and completely fucked up by the stagnation.
To make matters worse, just one week before the accident, you had playfully taken down every single one of your framed marriage photographs to rearrange the living room gallery wall, hiding them away in a "genius spot" that Sukuna had completely forgotten more like you didn't even told him. He had spent hours frantically tearing the house apart while you were out, searching for a single modern photo of the two of you together.
He was completely unraveling. He couldn't sleep. The woman he loved was sleeping in the room next to him, yet she looked at him with the polite, distant eyes of a stranger. He felt like a ghost haunting his own home. One evening, he sat alone in the dark kitchen and wept the third time he had ever cried in his entire life. The first had been tears of pure joy on your wedding day when he saw you walking the aisle. the second had been out of terror when the ER doctor told him a car had struck you. and now, he was crying simply because he missed his wife so damn much
His phone offered no help either. his gallery was filled entirely with candid photos he had taken of you you stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head, you laughing in a department store dressing room, or a hilarious picture of you biting into a raw lemon and making a completely disgusted face. He had no photos of the two of you together on his device, you had always been the one insisted on keeping the physical, printed albums. The only joint photos he could find were a few faded, wrinkled prints from your high school days, showing a younger, wilder version of himself wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laughed into the camera. When he showed them to you, you just stared at them blankly. It was killing him.
At the end of the third week, Sukuna was sitting heavily on the living room sofa, completely exhausted after another failed search through the house. He was mindlessly scrolling through the candid photos of you on his phone, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips. His fingers traced your face on the photo, your bright smile. your bubbly laughter at his most unfunniset jokes, now all of that are vanished.
The heavy front door clicked open. Shoko had taken you out for an afternoon of shopping to get you out of the house, and she had just dropped you off at the curb. You stepped into the foyer, balancing several shopping bags in your arms.
Sukuna instantly locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket as he stood up, his red eyes drinking in the sight of you. "Had fun, princess?"
"Yes, I did. And thank you... for letting me use your credit card" you said softly, walking over to the coffee table and gently sliding the black card back toward him.
"You bought dresses?" he asked, pointing toward the bags. Honestly, he didn't give a single fuck about the money. you could have emptied his entire bank account and he would have gladly signed it away just to see you happy.
"I bought a few things..." You cleared your throat nervously, your fingers twisting together. "But... I actually bought something for you, too."
The words hit his chest like a physical blow. Even with her mind completely wiped, your beautiful, kind soul was still looking out for him. "Really?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Can I see it?"
You gave a small nod, walking over to the couch and tentatively sitting down right next to him. The close proximity made his heart start to hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I don't know if it's really your style, or if you'll even like it..." you mumbled bashfully, reaching into a small velvet pouch and pulling out a heavy, intricately braided silver bracelet studded with raw, brilliant red stones. "The color... it just immediately reminded me of you. Of your eyes."
You gently reached out, grasping his massive, calloused wrist to drape the metal over his skin. Oh God, if you only knew how fast his heart was racing beneath his chest. Your soft, warm fingers lingering against his pulse point was pure, exquisite torture.
"It looks incredible, Y/n. Thank you." he whispered, a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile spreading across his tattooed face as he looked down at the crimson stones.
"Thank you... for being so incredibly patient with me" you said quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Sukuna let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand hovering over yours for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. "I will always be patient with you, princess. Always."
You looked directly into his burning red eyes, and for the first time in three weeks, a warm, genuine smile broke across your face. Sukuna felt his breath hitch. he was entirely certain he was about to pass out from the sheer weight of his love for you.
"Can you stay right here for a bit? I need to go jump in the shower real quick. I'll be fast" he muttered hoarsely, his hand instinctively reaching out to gently ruffle your hair a comforting, domestic habit he had carefully maintained. You let out a soft chuckle at the gesture.
The moment his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs and the sound of running water echoed through the pipes, you stood up, wandering aimlessly around the quiet main floor. Your feet pulled you toward the small, cozy library nestled just off the living room. The walls were lined with hundreds of books some ancient leather volumes, others modern art textbooks. You pulled one off the shelf, flipping through the pages before sliding it back into place.
As you stepped back, your eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden on the absolute highest shelf, shoved far back into the shadows near the ceiling. It looked like a massive, heavy frame leaning flat against the back wall, obscured by a decorative ceramic vase. Intrigued, you stood on your tiptoes, stretching your arms up as high as they could go, blindly reaching for the top edge of the wooden frame.
Your fingers caught the molding, but as you pulled, the heavy ceramic vase shifted, losing its balance.
Crash!
The vase shattered against the hardwood floor with a deafening, echoing smash. Startled, you let out a sharp cry, stumbling backward as the massive hidden frame came tumbling down from the top shelf, striking the edge of the desk before landing flat on the rug. The backing of the frame split completely open upon impact, and a massive cascade of loose, glossy photographs erupted across the floor hundreds of them, scattering like playing cards across the room.
You gasped, placing a hand over your racing heart as you looked away from the broken pottery, your eyes drifting down to the sea of images covering the floor.
You froze.
Right at your feet lay a massive, professionally printed portrait. In the photograph, you were sitting securely on Sukuna's lap. You were wearing a breathtaking, flowing white lace wedding dress, holding a vibrant bouquet of sunflowers, and laughing so brightly your eyes were crinkled shut. Sukuna was clad in a sharp, tailored black tuxedo, his massive arms wrapped fiercely around your waist from behind, an absolutely massive, unbothered, triumphant grin plastered across his face.
Your breath hitched violently. You stumbled forward, falling to your knees as your hands frantically snatched up another photo from the pile. In this one, you were hoisted high up on Sukuna's broad shoulders at a crowded, flashing outdoor music festival; your mouth was wide open in a breathless scream of laughter, while his large hands were clamped firmly around your thighs to keep you safe, both of your faces painted with pure, unadulterated euphoria.
You grabbed a third photo, and the entire world stopped spinning. It was a quiet, intimate shot taken right in the backyard garden outside. You were sitting cross-legged on the green grass, wearing a simple summer dress with a soft, shy smile, while Sukuna’s heavy head was resting completely in your lap. He was looking up at you with an expression of such pure, unconditional adoration it made your soul ache, while your fingers were woven gently through his soft pink hair.
Pink hair.
The backyard.
The jazz music.
The napkin.
A sudden, violent explosion of memories ripped through the barriers of your mind. It wasn't a trickle; it was a catastrophic, roaring tidal wave. Seven years of laughter, fierce arguments, passionate late-night apologies, the smell of his skin, the exact weight of his body pressing you into the master mattress, the sound of his deep voice whispering "I've got you, princess" into the dark. It all hit your brain at once with the force of a freight train.
The sheer, overwhelming velocity of the memories made the room spin violently. Your vision blurred into a vortex of white light and crimson eyes. You let out a choked gasp, your strength entirely giving out as your body collapsed sideways onto the hardwood floor with a loud, heavy thud, the scattered photographs of your life pooling around your unconscious form.
When you finally opened your eyes again, the harsh glare of the ceiling lights was gone, replaced by the warm, dim ambiance of the living room. You were laying flat on the soft fabric of the sofa.
"She's waking up! Sukuna, look, her eyes are moving!" Yuji’s panicked, loud voice cut through the quiet room.
You blinked heavily, your vision slowly focusing. Megumi was standing right beside his cousin, his dark eyes wide and completely swimming with anxiety. Shoko was hovering over you, a small medical flashlight in her hand, her face pale as she checked your vitals.
But your heart didn't care about any of them. Your eyes frantically scanned the tight circle of people, instantly landing on the massive, tattooed man standing frozen at the foot of the couch. His pastel pink hair was damp from the shower, his chest heaving under a plain black t-shirt, and his face was a mask of pure, absolute terror.
As your eyes met his, a single, heavy tear spilled over your eyelid, tracing a hot path down your cheek. The vast, terrifying void in your mind was completely gone, replaced by the roaring, beautiful fire of your reality.
"Ryo..." you choked out, your voice a broken, breathless sob.
Sukuna froze, his entire frame visibly violently shuddering at the sound of the nickname the private, intimate name only you were ever allowed to call him.
Before anyone else could even blink, you threw yourself forward off the sofa cushions, completely ignoring the dull ache in your muscles. You lunged straight into his space, your arms wrapping fiercely around his massive neck. You buried your face in the crook of his collarbone, gripping the fabric of his shirt with a desperate, white-knuckled intensity as you pressed a hard, crying kiss directly against his tattooed jaw.
"I remember... us" you sobbed violently into his skin, your entire body trembling as the tears flowed freely. "I remember everything, Ryo... I remember you."
Sukuna’s mind completely blanked. For a single, breathless second, he couldn't even process the words. And then, a raw, ragged sound escaped his throat a mixture of a sob and a laugh. His massive, powerful arms came crashing down around your frame, pulling you so close against his chest you could barely breathe, lifting your knees entirely off the floor as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
And there, in the middle of his living room, surrounded by his family and the scattered photographs of your love, Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes and wept for the fourth time in his life.
"I fucking love you" he whispers
(not me me writing all night just for 36 like and one reblog😣🙏🏾)
streamer!jo is mid-stream, leaning back in his chair, one hand on his mouse, the other lazily resting on the desk. when the door opens, he doesn’t even look but instead plays.
“chat, if I clutch this, you all have to donate at least—”
you walk in and he immediately looks back. “hey,” he says, already smiling, voice softening without him realizing. “what’re you doing?” you’re holding something carefully in both hands, eyes bright. “I made something.”
gojo swivels his chair toward you, completely abandoning whatever he was doing. “lemme see.” you step closer and lift it proudly.
a full lego set. clean, detailed, and clearly not easy.
“I built it,” you say, a little proud, a little shy. gojo blinks then grins. “no way you did that by yourself.”
you gasp, offended. “i did! don’t start.”
the chat as usual, explodes.
pinkglossbaby: SHE DID THAT???
itadori.exe: nah that’s actually impressive
domainexpansionTHIS: gojo doubting already 💀
you turn toward the stream, holding it up carefully so the camera can see.
“do you guys like it?,” you question, reading some comments, “this was my first time and i had to follow the instructions exactly or it wouldn't align.”
gojo leans back, watching you instead of the screen, elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand, completely dazed
you keep going.
“and people think you can just skip steps—no. you cannot skip steps. because then the top layer won’t connect properly and everything collapses.”
cursedenergyLOL: SHE’S TEACHING US 😭
nanamisworkwife33: the tone shift is crazy
gojosblindfold: she said STRUCTURAL
satoru snorts softly, eyes flicking to chat, then back to you. “you hear yourself right now?”
you ignore him.
“and this part—” you point at the set, “this took the longest because the pieces are similar but not the same, so i had to pay extra attention.” you lean in a little closer to the camera, completely focused.
satorus hand comes to your waist automatically, just resting there, holding you in place. “guys,” he says lazily, “she didn’t let me help, by the way.” you turn your head, frowning. “because you would’ve messed it up.”
he gasps, offended. “i would not—”
“you would’ve skipped steps.”
limitlesscrybaby: CLOCKEDDD
sukunaIRL: yeah toru man ur cooked
tojiZenin: sounds like a skill issue
satoru narrows his eyes at the screen then he looks back at you, lips twitching into a grin. “it does look good though,” he admits, quieter and you brighten instantly.
“i know,” you say proudly.
he laughs under his breath, pulling you a little closer into his lap again like it’s second nature.
“yeah,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “you’re cute when you explain stuff.”
you blink, shying away behind the lego piece.
KingZenin_Naoya: down bad, could never be me.
cursedenergyLOL: don’t worry we know
gojoswifeREAL: THANK GOD
frankoceansgf: did this guy really make a new acc😭
tojisleftballsack: mute him already...
LimitlessGojo muted KingZenin_Naoya
LimitlessGojo banned KingZenin_Naoya
Sukuna watches you sleep and smirks a little because apparently, even your subconscious knows how to keep him in line.
CW. art by @akuratsuna-00 ┈ established relationship / soft, apologetic sukiboo
Sukuna nuzzles into your hair, breathing you in, and wraps an arm tight around your waist. You’re warm, soft, and dead asleep against his chest.
A quiet smile pulls at his lips when you mumble, “Sukuna…”
“Mhm?” he hums, half-asleep.
“…you fucking piece of shit.”
His eyes snap open and his smile falters into a puzzled frown. He's staring blankly at the wall in pure disbelief.
Sukuna looks at you and blinks. "Me?"
He can’t believe it.
You, the soft and timid girlfriend who avoids conflict at all costs, are sleep talking your pent up frustration. The same girlfriend who has never sworn around him just cursed him the hell out like you've been holding it in for years.
Beside him, you sigh in your sleep and keep going.
“Can’t even… pick up after yourself,” you mumble while your brows twitch faintly. “Always expectin’… me to do unpaid labor.”
His mouth parts. “Baby, that’s—”
“Never had a messy house,” you murmur, snuggling closer to him. “Until you. Feels like… a thankless job.”
His lips press into a thin line. That heavy, unfamiliar feeling settles in his chest. Sukuna slowly rolls onto his back, one arm tucked under his head, and blankly stares up at the dark ceiling.
He doesn’t sleep after that. Not even a minute. Instead, he lies there wide awake, replaying every habit, every mess, and every time he said: "I’ll clean it later."
When you wake up the next morning, the house is spotless, and a warm cup of coffee waits for you on the table. Your gaze shifts to your boyfriend, who is busy doom scrolling on his phone, while his other hand's wrapped around his own mug.
When he notices you, he glances up and mutters a short greeting, “Hey.”
His tone makes you frown. “Uh… hi?”
You walk up behind him, arms slipping around his neck as you kiss the top of his head. “You don’t sound okay.”
He exhales slowly, then sets his phone down. After a pause, he asks quietly, “You’d tell me if things weren’t okay with us, right?”
You blink. “Of course..?”
He turns fully toward you, resting his forehead against your stomach. "And we promise we'd sort things out right away."
Sukuna's hands slide gently up and down your bare thighs, almost unsure if it's the right thing to do in the moment.
“So... I'll start by saying I'm sorry, and I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he says softly.
You gently smooth his hair, utterly confused with what he meant. “Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“…You called me a fucking—” your eyes slowly grow wide. “Piece of—” you swallow hard, already guessing the next word in your head. “Shit.” Your mouth falls open in shock.
When he looks up, you notice the dark circles under his eyes.
“Creative swear combo, I’ll give you that,” he says with a bitter laugh. "But holy fuck did that sting.”
You stare at him intently with furrowed brows. “I would never say that to you.”
“You did,” he replies quietly. “In your sleep.”
Your jaw drops in shock that you immediately crouch down in front of him, meeting his eye level as you cup his face and start apologizing over and over.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I don’t even know why I said that. I swear I never meant—”
He studies you for a moment, then grabs your hands and press soft kisses into them.
“You weren’t wrong though,” he admits. “I was being a slob.”
You blink, then glance around the spotless house. “…Did I say something about the house?”
“Mhm,” he hums while absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t do my part with the chores.” Then he hesitates with a frowning. “I understand if you wanna leave m–"
“Leave you?!” you gasp in shock. “I would never leave you!”
Sukuna’s head snaps up, just as stunned. “But you said living with me feels like a thankless job.”
“I said that?!” Horror flashes across your face. "No way... did I grow balls overnight?"
You both pause, staring at each other in silence. After a moment, you start chuckling together.
“You got me fucked up,” he mutters as he pulls you in closer. “Got me losing sleep and shit.”
You giggle as you plant kisses all over his face. "I'm sorry my sleep talking kept you up."
Sukuna even clicks his tongue as he shakes his head with a grin, "You like that, don't you? Having me wrapped around your little finger."
Days and weeks passed, and the house stays clean. Sukuna did stay true to his word: the house is always spotless, he picks up after himself, and most of all, he keeps you stress-free and well-fucked.
And sometimes, when he watches you sleep, he smirks a little because apparently, even your subconscious knows how to keep him in line.
Now, he disabled the extension and wandered into the “hualian” hashtag on Twitter, which was trending. Mostly he saw the picture Cameron had taken and captions with sentiments along the lines of, This is what true love looks like.
Digging for Orchids by @bettsfic
My favorite hualian fic so far. I’m hooked!! The way everything is written is just so… *chef’s kiss* Go read if you have the time!
୨୧ ― The playground falls silent when Sukuna’s shadow darkens the entrance.
Six foot four of raw muscle and barely contained violence, his black fitted shirt strained against broad shoulders. Scarred knuckles told stories of shattered jaws and walls alike. The tattoos that snake up his arms and across his face, ancient markings that ward away anyone foolish enough to cross him. Three prison stints. Fourteen confirmed hospitalizations of those who dared cross his path. And whispers… dark, unsettling rumors, of bodies that were never found.
But, cradled against his chest -those same hands that have crushed windpipes- holds his little girl, five years old with eyes just like his. She clutches her plastic watering can painted with daisies, her other hand firmly gripping Sukuna’s shirt like she’s taming a beast.
"Down Papa! My flowers are thirsty!!" she demands, completely unfazed by her father whose mere presence makes grown men piss themselves…
"Tch. Such a brat, just like your mother." Sukuna growls, the same tone that makes other parents clutch their kids a little tighter when he walks by, but the girl laughs and squeals with delight as he swings her around and sets her down.
The other parents keep their distance, their fear of Sukuna quite palpable, fueled by the whispers that cling to his name like a curse. But they watch- oh how they watch. Their eyes following him, as if expecting him to do something to prove the rumors true. Sukuna notices, a cruel smile splitting his face, revealing teeth, "What're you looking at?" he snarls at a gawking teenager, who stumbles backward in terror.
Their fear amuses him, but their opinions? Worthless.
He doesn’t care what they think, doesn’t care what they say.
He isn’t here for them anyway. He’s here for one reason, to make sure no one’s foolish enough to lay a hand on his little girl. If anyone dares, if anyone is stupid enough to try, they’ll see it firsthand. They’ll realize the stories don’t even scratch the surface. He’ll show them exactly why they should fear him- why calling him a monster is an insult to what he truly is.
"Papa! Look!" his little girl holds up a tiny daisy, "This one's for you! It's a gift, from me to you." She smiles at him, her eyes sparkling and full of love, as if he doesn’t scare the shit out of everyone else.
His face, usually frozen in a permanent scowl, softens imperceptibly, "Put it back in the ground, kid. Flowers need to grow..."
"Nooo," she pouts, "Mama gave me more seeds to plant and this one told me it wants to be with you!" She reaches up, impossibly small hand extended.
"Stubborn little-," he mutters as he crouches down, allowing her to tuck the flower behind his ear.
"See, now you're pretty just like the garden and mama!" She beams at him, her arms spread wide in a dramatic gesture of pride.
For a split second his eyes widen, surprised at the words coming out of her mouth. Pretty? Him? "I'm not pretty…" he growls, but doesn't remove the flower.
"You are to me," she says softly before wrapping her little arms around his neck, squeezing him tight and kissing him on his tatted cheek, "I love you, Papa."
Sukuna feels his heart skip a beat, then two, his throat tightening as the words leave his little brats lips. He can't bring himself to say it back- not here… He can't form the words he desperately wants to say…
Instead, his rough hands wrap around her, one hand on the back of her head, the other pressing her into his shoulder, "Yeah yeah…" His grip is gentle, almost tentative, like she might disappear if he squeezes too hard, "Me too…"
He feels her lips curl into a smile against him, and it's the only answer he needs. She understands, just like you do, the way he shows his love instead of saying it.
"C'mon," he ruffles her hair, "your mother will have my ass if I don't get us home." He takes her hand, fingers engulfing hers.
"Don't worry, Papa, the flowers will protect us!!"
As they walk home, her tiny hand disappearing in his massive one, Sukuna still wears the bloom behind his ear. A passing man stares a bit too long for Sukuna’s liking and receives a glare promising slow, creative violence if he doesn't look away immediately.
But his daughter just swings their joined hands, chattering about which seeds she'll plant next, completely unafraid of the monster whose reputation makes hardened criminals wake in cold sweats.
She is his one weakness, though he'd gut anyone who suggested it.
And he is her guardian- her hero, and she reminds him daily.
The fearsome Sukuna, brought to his knees by a little girl who talks to flowers.
Toji Zen'in, who doesn't get down on one knee or has a ring hidden in his pocket waiting for the perfect moment.
Instead, he's lying on your bed with you, the sheets still tangled around your legs, his calloused fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hip- gentler now than the bruising grip they'd held just moments ago.
Toji Zen'in, who's never planned a damn thing in his life, living by pure instinct and impulse. Whose love language is leaving bruised fingerprints on your skin and possessive bite marks. The same man who makes decisions in the spaces between heartbeats.
When he pulls you back against his chest you feel his chin rest atop your head. His breathing deep and even.
“Marry me.”
Toji Zen'in, whose “marry me” isn’t a question at all- just say two quiet, unguarded words slipping from his lips, like a confession he’s carried for far too long. The words falling so softly you almost miss them.
You turn in his embrace so that you can face him, the sheet sliding off your shoulder, and what you see makes your breath catch. He isn't smiling when your eyes meet- his expression stripped bare of its usual sharp edges and smirk.
Toji Zen'in, whose eyes tell stories of a man who's never had anything permanent, never wanted anything to last.
Until you.
Who traces your cheek with calloused fingers like you're something precious, something that could slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.
Toji Zen'in doesn't smile nor whoops in triumph or pull you into a passionate kiss. He simply pulls you closer to him after you whisper "yes," tucking you under his chin where you've always fit perfectly.
Whose heartbeat is steady against your cheek- the rhythm of home, of belonging, of a man who has finally found his harbor after a lifetime at sea. No grand gestures needed, no flowery declarations.
This is all Toji Zen'in needed- his arms around you, his breath in your hair, and the absolute certainty that he has finally found something worth keeping... Worth staying with forever.
୨୧ — Imagine Nanami cradling his newborn daughter tenderly. His blonde locks that were once neatly slicked back now messily frame his face- serving as playthings for tiny, curious hands. The infant giggles, gripping and curling her fingers, attempting to grab at her father's hair with pure delight. Nanami's heart swelled, a genuine smile appearing across his face.
"Ya know... Fatherhood really suits you, you know that?" You murmured, resting your head against his arm.
Nanami looked down at you, his eyes- always so tired from the cruelties of the world and working far too much, were now soft with affection, "I never thought I would have a life like this... I always felt it was far out of my reach..."
"Kento..."
He brought his daughter up to his face, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead. His voice was a low whisper, yet you still managed to hear his words, "I love you. Both of you. More than anything in the world."
You could see it, not only in his smile, but his eyes as well... they held some fear. Afraid of the life he led, afraid of it coming to take the family he had so lovingly built away from him. Nanami had seen much in his time as a sorcerer. The loss of people dear to him- their deaths never failing to haunt him... He was scared... Scared of leaving you both behind, scared of the what-ifs...
"Kento, you worry far too much. I promise we'll be here, right by your side. Always and forever, okay? You're always going to awaken to me in your strong arms." You give his bicep a soft squeeze, "no way anyone could get past these bad boys."
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, holding his baby girl in one arm, he used the one you squeezed to bring you into a loving embrace, drawing you even closer to his body. Drawing you closer into his world, a world he once thought would be forever in solitude. This was all a simple moment, but Nanami felt the full weight of this newfound joy- the joy of being a father and a loving husband to you. No could've prepared him for this profound privilege.
You were his home. And for the first time, he allowed himself to relax and trust in your words... that everything would be alright...
୨୧ — When his daughter brings home her first potential boyfriend at fifteen, Sukuna doesn't say a word. He simply sits across from the terrified boy at the kitchen table, his fork clinking against the plate, the sound sharp in the tense air. The entire time, he maintains unblinking eye contact while you attempt to salvage the rest of the dinner conversation with meaningless small talk.
After about twenty minutes, Sukuna finally speaks, "You touch her wrong, they won't find enough of you to bury. Got it, boy?" The boy is out the door just as you bring out the dessert, and your daughter doesn't speak to her father for three days. But when rumors start to circulate that the same boy pressured another girl into something she didn't want, his daughter quietly finds him outside sipping on his favorite whiskey.
Sitting next to him -her shoulder pressed against his-, she whispers, "How did you know?" Sukuna just shrugs, but there's understanding in the silence between them. After that, she doesn't fight his "inspections" quite so hard. He's always been her protector after all.
︵︵︵ ๑❤︎๑ ︵︵︵
୨୧ — During a parent teaching conference, his daughter’s literature teacher suggests she might be "troubled"… due to her persistent interest in writing dark, violent stories… The teachers eyes flicker towards Sukuna’s tattoos and scars, suggesting it might be due to the home environment.
Wrong choice of words.
Before you can intervene, Sukuna leans forward and asks with a deadly calm, "You ever read Dostoyevsky? The fucking Bible?"
The teacher nods, shrinking back in his seat…
"All full of violence. All considered genius. My daughter’s writing isn’t the problem." His voice never rises, but the temperature in the room seems to drop a whole ten degrees as he continues. "Your small mind is."
Two weeks later, your daughter rushes home holding her regional writing trophy. Sukuna has her piece professionally framed and hung in the living room next day.
Because at the end of the day, that’s still his little girl.
hi baby if you feel up for it i'd love to request some fluffy fluff with sirius. maybe he's usually so reserved and stoic (because, cmon) and they're out with his friends and they're all making fun of him for being so lovey and doting on r
love u sm!
love you!! ♡ fem, 1k
"This is really lovely," Sirius says, your face turned to the light in his hand. "It's bright without looking out of place. Blue is your colour."
"Thanks, bug," you murmur back, holding still as he cleans the smudged mascara from your lower lash line.
"Every colour is your colour," he amends. "It goes nice with your top."
You rub your lips together slowly, sticky with gloss. His noticing makes all your make up efforts worth it.
Sirius wipes his thumb into the tissue you'd given him and tucks it away, stroking your cheek one last time with his other hand before stealing yours to twine your fingers. Your friends have carried on into the pub, but it doesn't take long to catch them. Remus was kind enough to wait at the entrance, eyebrows raised.
"What?" Sirius asks.
"Nothing." It's clearly something. "At all."
You figure it's between them and skirt past Remus with a smile, eager to hide away in the warm wooded walls of The Firestroke. The boys filter in behind you, following you through the entryway and past the bar to the table James has commandeered with Emmeline.
He's fiddling with her hair, readjusting a bobby pin, another held between his lips. "It looks nice, Emme, you should have it out of your face more often."
"Marl says that all the time. Hey!" She beams at you. "Come and sit by me."
You laugh happily and slide onto the seat next to her. You, Emme, and James sit on the booth side while Sirius and Remus set themselves down opposite. A waitress arrives and Sirius doesn't wait for the others, ordering a round of drinks for the entire group, wherever they may be. They'll filter in soon enough.
"And extra cherries for my girl, please," Sirius says, nodding to you as he does. "Thanks."
"Ooh, for his girl," James croons.
"Remember when he'd order stuff for me like that?" Remus asks.
Sirius rolls his eyes, offering his hands to you from across the table. Honestly, you're slightly surprised at his behaviour today, but you won't look a gift horse in the mouth. You lay your hands in his obligingly and relax as he begins to draw shapes into the fronts of your fingers, tiny stroking lines that feel ridiculously good, even under the eyes of your friends. "He's lying. I'd purposefully get his food wrong when we were teenagers so he'd have to go up to the counter and correct it."
"Like exposure therapy I never signed up for," Remus sighs. "It worked, too."
Sirius laughs. He's handsome to begin with, the last burst of a tan from summer's end on his skin, his hair dark and lush in the shimmering light, and when he laughs it's a tenfold effect, the grey of his eyes suddenly mesmerising, the wicked curve of his smile softened into a sweeter thing that begs to be kissed, or admired at the very least. You let him keep one hand but turn the other inward to give him similar treatment, rubbing your fingertips up and down his palm in a ticklish wave.
"Do that to me, mate, there's a good lad," James says, offering his hand. Emmeline bats it away.
"Awfully jealous today, aren't they?" Sirius asks you, ignoring their teasing to curl your fingers in and cover them.
"I…" You're not sure what to say. Does he not realise how sweet he's being? Publicly? He's not usually this open.
"You okay?"
"Fine, just…" Words fail you twice. You cringe at your lack of explanation, but Sirius doesn't falter in his nice touches. It shouldn't shock you when he slides his chair tight against the table and pulls your hands ever closer, his top lip scratchy with hair as he leans down to kiss your knuckles. "Siri."
"Yes, darling?"
"Jesus," Marl says, announcing her presence with a faked gag. "What's your problem, Black?"
"I'm deeply in love, McKinnon. Not that you'd know what that feels like."
You melt in your chair as he kisses a short path to your wrist. You could write Marlene a ten thousand word essay on love if she needed it, that's how adored he's got you feeling.
"Absolutely vile."
"So sweet!" Mary denies, plopping herself down in the chair beside Sirius', all pink tulle and flowery smells. Any other day you'd be jealous of her in a good-natured but undeniably insecure manner, terrified that Sirius was gonna turn to her and see her in all her dewy beauty, but he doesn't so much as look up, your hands now rubbed against his cheek.
"He's had a bit of catnip or something," Remus says.
"It's the eyeshadow," you try to explain.
Sirius lifts his head severely. "It looks perfect, but it's definitely not the eyeshadow. I'd feel just as mad about you if you were covered in soot."
"Good to know," you say breathlessly.
"Oh, so you're feeling pathetic today?" Marl asks.
Sirius sighs as though he's been greatly inconvenienced and sits up properly, casting his gaze around the group for a lick of sense between them, if his slack eyebrows are anything to go off of. "You're all wrong. I'm this pathetic for her every day of the week."
"Then what's with the PDA?" James asks incredulously.
"Mate, first of all, look at her. And if you must know, it's our anniversary."
You flinch, your gaze jumping to his. The group erupts with well wishes and 'why didn't you say so's, and James slaps his card on the table, insisting that the round is on him to celebrate. Your heart races as you make the calculations in your head, calming as you realise that nothing falls on today's date, not a half month nor a first date.
"Sirius?" you ask while everyone's distracted.
He takes your hand again and begins kissing your knuckles once more. "I'm lying," he says, as you'd figured, scratching your fingers with his stubble. "That's what he gets for prying… You really do look lovely tonight."
You nearly swallow your tongue. "Thank you. You look lovely, too."
He smiles, twining your fingers together to rest his face against the back of your hand. "Thanks, angel."
I LOVE YOUR WRITING IT'S SO ASDFJKFTICDHBDIGDGXSJOHCBCFG
so I wanted to request Sirius x reader where the reader is on veritaserum and has a banter/ tongue in cheek sorta relationship with Sirius. And then when she's on the truth serum she has to hold back witty comebacks because when she opens her mouth all she keeps saying is how disgustingly cute Sirius looks when he smiles, and how she just wants to snog his face off PLEASE IF YOU CAN 👉👈 🥺
REMINDER: YOU'RE AMAZING AND I'M HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOUR SERVICE TO THE FANFIC COMMUNITY
thank you ♡ —you can't hide the truth from sirius, and he doesn't want to try. 1.3k
cw spiked drink
"Why would someone put veritaserum in the pimms?" you ask James meekly.
"Shortcake, I'm really not sure. Don't get upset about it, alright? Remus is going to tear them all a new one." He squeezes you by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Jamie's here."
"You're very handsome, but I don't fancy you. Much."
James smiles. "Good to know, lovely. I don't fancy you much either. I'll assume you're saving yourself for our mutual dark-haired friend and I shan't be offended."
You slap a hand over your mouth and shake your head, but the truth comes out muffled into your palm anyways. "I really like him," you say, eyes wide with terror, "I don't want anyone else. Oh, James! You're such a dick!"
"Do you mean that, or are you just angry with me?" James asks, helping you out into the garden away from the party and your peers, who can't be trusted to leave you alone when you're set to tell them any secret they want.
"Both!"
"What's wrong?" Sirius asks.
Your neck almost snaps as you look up. James swears, trying to save it as your body instinctively answers. "Someone's spiked our girl," James says extremely loudly to mask your more honest confession, "I'm worried I'm going to tell you I like you," you say.
Sirius, sitting on a low garden wall with a packet of cigarettes in his hand, is puzzled. "What?"
"Someone's put veritaserum in her drink. Maybe in the pitcher. I've brought her outside so she doesn't accidentally tell everyone she's in love with me."
Sirius grins. "Don't be daft, Prongs, she's clearly team Black. Aren't you, sweetheart?"
"You're the prettiest of your trio," you say, sincerity like a blade at the back of your throat, aching, "I'm definitely on your team."
James squeezes your shoulder and helps you into a garden chair, the metal cool against your back. "I'll forgive you because I know you can't help it, and because I know you're dying of embarrassment," he murmurs.
"Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too, shortcake," James says easily, kicking out a chair for Sirius and flopping into his beside you. "Aren't feeling ill, are you?"
"Just terrified I'll say something too honest," you say, holding your breath between words.
Sirius sits in the chair that's been kicked out for him with a cigarette held between his lips, unlit. He lift a his hips to pull a lighter from his back pocket and you flush with heat at the motion, wondering if you're a pervert for looking, for thinking, but lately your flirty banter has your heart doing front flips, and every time you see him you're zoning in on his hands, his arms, the slip of skin at his navel when he stretches, the low sound he makes when something pops.
"Stop ogling me," he says without looking from his cigarette, the end glowing orange in the flame of his clipper.
"I don't mean to," you say.
James shifts uncomfortably. Everyone knows you like Sirius, maybe even Sirius, but he hasn't said a thing about it and you've stopped yourself (so far) from telling him. Any truth has been said under the guise of a joke.
Sirius takes a short drag and holds the cigarette out and away from you, smoke curling in the cold autumnal night. "Shall I go help defend your honour? I assume that's where Remus is. Being spiked isn't funny."
"I'd like it if you stayed here," you say.
James laughs. Sirius leans forward a touch. "Then I'll stay here. Do you need something to drink?"
"My mouth is really dry," you say.
Sirius sends a saccharine smile James' way. It's the look of an older brother used to getting his way, to which James sighs and grumbles, standing from his chair, "Don't ask her anything cruel," he says severely, kissing the top of your head quickly. "I'm serious."
"I won't. I quite like her, in case you forgot. I've no interest in torturing her."
You believe him. James departs with a pat, leaving you and Sirius alone at the garden table, still but for the little motion he does every now and then to fleck ash onto the floor.
"You sure you're okay?" Sirius asks.
"I feel fine. Warm, but that's probably because you're smiling at me."
He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe we should talk about something else. I really don't want to ask you anything too personal while you can't keep a secret. James gave me veritaserum once, when we were kids."
"He did?" you ask.
"Too much of it. I was sick, and I couldn't stop telling him how much I wished we were real brothers. Which he knows now, but at the time it was, you know, very sincere."
"You and James are real brothers," you say.
"I'm glad you can say that. It must be true," he says. "I'm lucky, even if he has tried to poison me."
"James is lucky too. We all are."
"Yeah?" he asks. He's about to continue, but your mouth does the choosing for you, and you cut him off.
"I love knowing you, Sirius, I feel lucky to be your friend, and I–" You bite your tongue hard enough for tears to catch in your eyes immediately.
Sirius' blasé fades, falls away slowly, like a moving cloud unveiling a slice of light, "Don't hurt yourself," he says, alarmed at your wincing. He drops his cigarette and smashes it with his heel, shuffling his chair closer to yours.
"I just don't want to tell you something," you say, shaking your head.
Sirius touches your hand. "Okay, I won't ask you any more questions. I'm sorry. Everyone's allowed their secrets, lovely, I didn't mean to make you answer me. I thought it would be easier to skirt around the issue."
But it's a big feeling, and it's in everything you do. You really, really like him. If you can't be honest about that, maybe you can be honest about something else..
There's no shame in finding a handsome man handsome. And maybe you can convince him that that's all it is. "I just want to kiss you stupid, Black," you say, "like, kiss you until I can't feel my mouth anymore. You look like you know how to really kiss someone."
Sirius laughs suddenly, startled. "I want to kiss you stupid, doll. You're a fucking dime piece," he says through laughter, "and that's the truth."
"You look really nice when you laugh," you further, wondering if this is the wrong thing to do.
"You look beautiful when you laugh," he says.
"Joking with you about stuff is the best part of my week."
"It's the best part of mine. I wish we saw each other more often," he says.
"Did you drink the pimms, too?" you ask.
"No. I'm stone cold sober, sweetheart." Sirius looks behind you and you follow his gaze to the patio doors, where James and Remus are arguing good-naturedly, a tall pint glass filled literally to the rim with water in James' hand.
"Has he left you alone?" Remus asks, quick down the short step to defend you. "I love you, Sirius, but I don't trust you to not ask her embarrassing questions."
"I'm starting to get offended. No, she hasn't told me anything embarrassing. Only that she wants to snog my lips off, but I knew that already." Sirius smiles at you dopily while his friends seize up. "And that's hardly embarrassing, because I want to do it to her first."
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