🏐 "𝑺𝑼𝑮𝑼𝑹𝑼 𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑶," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw frat!geto x virgin!reader ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says reupload from toruzip ⁀ ˳ ⟡
Your friends were bad for you, especially when they teased you for being a virgin.
Being a virgin in university was not a crime, nor was it bad... but your friends made you feel like a baby for it. Always cooing at you, saying things like "Don't talk about your sex life! Y/N's here!" before covering your ear with playful gasps, as if you were some innocent 4 year old.
It annoyed you to no end, so you started decided to put plan "begin your sex life" into action. Scoping out the boys in your lecture halls, on campus, are cafe's... everywhere. You hadn't found anyone until you visited an infamous frat part hosted by a man everyone knew on campus.
Suguru Geto. Playboy, fuckboy, almost every other girl has heard of how ungodly of a dicking he gave... and his infamous labret lip piercing.
You actually had eyed up Nanami at first, ticking off your mental checklist. He had money, if you fell pregnant he would be responsible, he's nice to you in your criminal law lectures. He was perfect! Your innocent smile must have attracted the wolves in the dark, as just as you were about to approach the blond haired man, someone's arm slid around you shoulders.
Wide, confused eyes, meeting purple irises with a small glint in them. The man's hair was tied up into a short half up, half down, silky black locks resting on his shoulder. That infamous lip piercing, those soft lips, that sweet alluring voice speaking against your ear, separated from the rest of the loud party.
"Didn't think I'd ever see you at one of my parties," Suguru purred.
"Oh I'm just—"
"I heard whispers from the grapevine that you were looking for someone to take your virginity, is that right?" He cooed at you, taking the opportunity to twirl a lock of your hair in his hand, his other large hand holding onto a can of Pepsi. A small chuckle escaping his lips at the blush spreading across your cheeks when you darted your gaze away. So fucking adorable, he thought.
Frantic eyes darting away, you refused to look at him. It was so embarrassing for him to know. Not to mention, how did he even know?
Amidst the smell of sex, sweat and alcohol in the loud, raging party, all you could focus on was Suguru's piercing gaze on you. The way he licked his bottom lip, his piercing shifting slightly from the movement. "Uhm... how'd you know about that? I didn't tell anyone.." you muttered, seeing as you had only ever told the nerdy guy you sat next to at the anime club on Thursdays, Gojo— oh. oh.
His best friend. Of course Suguru would know, since Satoru wasn't able to keep his mouth shut about a single thing.
"How I know, is not important," Suguru hummed to you before giving some random guy passing by his half drunk Pepsi can, flashing a charming smile before turning his attention back to you. "What is important... is the guy you're choosing, and so far I'm not likin' the looks you're giving Kento."
"Yeah, but I sadly can’t choose Satoru since he's already dating suk—" you were speaking, before cutting yourself off with a frozen look. Suguru's soft lips pressing gently against your forehead.
"I'm not talking about Satoru. I'm talking about me."
...
You don't even know how you ended up here. In Suguru's bedroom. With a naked Suguru, and a naked you.
Your soft cheeks and the tips of your ears felt like they were on fire, the tip of your nose itching from the haze of being in bed with one of the hottest people on campus. Clammy hands, and spread legs as you were overthinking every minuscule detail. Small whines and whimpers slipping past your lips as you wished to keep those embarrassing noises inside.
Suguru grumbled, looking up from between your legs. His hair a mess, his mouth, lips and chin dripping from your slick. "Hey. Eyes on me, and stop hiding your moans..." he trailed off when lowering his head again and suckling on your clit, flicking kitten licks over the sensitive nub, "...you sound so good."
Needy whines and moans escaped your pursed lips, as you arched your back and dug your hands into his hair, "...S-sugu... mm-mh.."
"fuck yeah, moan for me," a muffled groan came out from between your thighs, drowned out by the lewd and loud suckling and slurping. His hands kneading your hips, keeping you close, while your thighs tightened, keeping his head trapped against your leaking, wet pussy. "More.." you moaned out for him, a little embarrassed.
He let out a wet chuckle from between his erotic groans. "Yeah? Want more?"
He slipped a finger inside your tight little hole, making your hips buck up, and you bite down on your bottom lip from the sensation. Curling it to rub up on your gummy walls, he licked around your folds and pussys lips, before doubling down on his licking at your clit.
A second finger soon slipped inside, making you moan in a loud, lewd tone. Your walls were beginning to quiver, a new sensation taking over your body. "w-wait–"
"shh, just let it happen doll.. fuck, just cum on my tongue.."
You drawled out a moan of his name, eyes squeezing shut and your back arching, pushing out your tits into the air. Nipples pebbled, and a warm, numbing feeling washing down your waist. Warm liquid trickling down your thighs, as Suguru groaned deeply and eagerly suckled up your cum, fingers digging into the plush of your hips.
He pulled away after about a minute, breathless with your cum dripping down his chin and completely coating the lower half of his face. He wiped it with the back of his hand before a lazy smirk took over his lip.
"Didn't know you were such a slut... cumming all over my tongue like that and moaning my name."
"it's embarrassing... don't talk about it," you muttered in the haze of bliss, heating up your face when Suguru shifted to be on top of you, your thighs spread and wet pussy rubbing against his navel. You could feel his erection, hard and striking brush against your ass when he damn near folded you in half.
"don't talk about it? Are you fucking serious? it's all I can think about right now..." he trailed off, eyes lustfully gazing over the naked you pinned beneath him.
“Do you even realise—” Suguru huffed before grabbing the length of his dick, pre cum dribbling down onto your wet pussy lips. He rubbed the head over your folds, before gently parting your folds to start pushing the thick head of his cock inside your tight, wet hole. “—just how much I’ve wanted you?”
You hiccuped softly, beginning to whine and claw down his back. Bringing him down closer down against you, “h-huh? Whatddya mean..?” You drawled, moaning when the thick head of his sock popped inside your hole. He let out a guttural groan, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “H-hurt… go slow,” you whined softly, feeling the initial pain. Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“Shh.. shh.. I’ll be gentle, baby just—just f-fuck.. don’t squeeze me like that..”
He started to thrust. He was… surprisingly gentle with his hips, knowing exactly how to touch you and tease you without making you burst into tears from the pain. “F-fuckfuckfuck… you’re gonna make me blow my load on the s-spot..!” He groaned before letting out a small needy whine against your neck.
“You s-seriously never noticed? I literally asked for your number on orientation week..!”
You whined against his shoulder, nails digging into his back as you were being fucked dumb, just a floor above one of the loudest parties you’d ever been to. His cock slipping in and out of your walls with ease, the lewd shlicks telling a story between the creaking on the bed. The stretch of having a cock inside you for the first time was… painful, you wouldn’t lie about it.
“W-whennn? I don’t remember—” you whined between moans and whimpers, before hitching your breath when realising what he was talking about.
His purple eyes, big dorky glasses, black silky hair in a messy bun, and pursed lips as he gave you his phone with trembling hands. Talking about wanting to get your number, and about to introduce himself… before feeling his phone quickly given back to him and seeing you run off into the distance.
You blushed at the memory, knowing why you had ran away.
“I— *hic* I was scareddd.. you were the first guy who asked for my number and I got s-scareddd..” you let out a small needy whine, tightening your arms around his neck and scratching, leaving red lines on his muscular, sweaty back. Moans escaping your lips without control.
His thrusts got faster, deeper, as he cooed and shushed you against your ear. His lips pressing kisses all over your neck, before sucking small purple hickeys. The thick head of his cock pressing against your gummy cervix, the squishy head prodding at it insistently.
Before you felt another orgasm wash through you. Moaning, “S-Sugu..” out against his shoulder with a lewd cry.
His thrusts got wetter, his balls now covered in your slick cum, slapping against your ass. His plunging cock slowly slowing down, even if he didn’t get to cum himself yet. A gentle kiss was pressed against your forehead again, before your eyes met his purple ones that seemed so soft under the moonlight that flickered through the blinds of his window. The room smelled of sex and sweat now, but Suguru wasn’t nearly done with your body.
“…you wanna get my number now, doll?”
You nodded to him, hiccuping softly with a pout when you felt emotions wash over you. The hottest guy in your university had asked you out—and you had run away scared when he did.
“And hey—those friends you told me about? Yeah. Not happening. You hang out with me now.”
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything! art by: @/hong_nock
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
The dam broke.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
Freaky by nature, feral by choice, and stupidly in love with each other.
baby daddy: series
→ series masterlist┊→ dad lore
Their version of ikigai! Not a perfect family, but it works.
the groaner, the moaner, and the gooner
A category so self explanatory you don’t have to think twice.
neighbors with your ex?
In which you find out your ex lives next door (yikes?)
˗ˏˋ RYOMEN SUKUNA ´ˎ˗
boyfriend ! sukuna
Sukuna is intimidating, but he gets really soft & over protective towards you.
the great war
To Sukuna, it feels as if the gods are having a feast while they play a drunken game of heads or tails. In the off chance the next coin lands poorly in his favor, he prays his death will at least be swift.
sweet talkin', sleep talkin'
Sukuna watches you sleep and smirks a little because apparently, even your subconscious knows how to keep him in line.
hot nerd bf
Sukuna is a nerd trapped in a hot football player’s body. You ask stupid questions, and he answers them factually. Sometimes, it’s an educated guess that turns out to be right.
˗ˏˋ NANAMI KENTO ´ˎ˗
nanami can multitask
Nanami fucks you while he's in a zoom call
˗ˏˋ HIGURUMA HIROMI ´ˎ˗
(marriages are) trial & error
The universe has a twisted sense of humor when your blind date happens to be your ex-husband, Hiromi Higuruma.
shibari ┈ requested ✩
Tying your boyfriend Hiromi to a chair because... well, reasons.
˗ˏˋ GOJO SATORU ´ˎ˗
fratboy ! gojo
The Gojo family is conservative by every moral metric imaginable, which makes it hilarious because Satoru is a frat president.
breaking no contact
Satoru is a little shit. Months of no contact, and suddenly he’s at your clinic, saying he needs his back cracked aligned. Sure.
˗ˏˋ GETO SUGURU ´ˎ˗
fwb with suguru
fwb with suguru but it takes a u-turn kinda.
alternatively: a frat house is not a home without you.
full nelson with suguru ┈ requested ✩
You know you fucked up when you let Suguru fuck you in full nelson.
bad religion
There are many reasons Suguru could find to hate you. But above all, he hates that you’re his favorite sin.
plaything
If mermaids aren't real, then what do you call the thing trapped inside Suguru's giant aquarium?
˗ˏˋ TOJI FUSHIGURO ´ˎ˗
older bf ! toji
Rare aesthetic: you’re Toji’s first younger girlfriend (he’s 10 years older than you)
˗ˏˋ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO ´ˎ˗
megumi on twitch
→ i: streamer ! megumi ┊ ii: megumi: is online ┈ requested ✩
So private, nobody knows what Megumi's girlfriend looks like.
Alternatively: You're currently watching a 10-minute video compilation of Megumi being a simp on live.
˗ˏˋ YUJI ITADORI ´ˎ˗
wet dreams
Fulfilling Yuji's dreams, one kink at a time.
fratboy ! yuji & his hockey player gf ┈ requested ✩
Yuji itadori's semi comprehensive guide on how to get through life when your athlete girlfriend puts you on sex ban.
imax or climax?
Yuji is a certified cinephile™ with a loaded letterboxd... except he doesn't really watch the movies he's reviewed.
corporate convenience ┈ requested ✩
Yuji is known around the office for two things: being a helper, and for being your work husband such a sweetheart.
꒰ rare pair ꒱
→ sashisu ┈ threeway
→ yuji + nobara ┈ infidelity
→ megumi + tsumiki ┈ when no one's home
So private, nobody knows what Megumi's girlfriend looks like.
Alternatively: You're currently watching a 10-minute video compilation of Megumi being a simp on live.
⤷ II: MEGUMI: IS ONLINE ┈ mdni. fluff / crack-ish / really short pwp / aged up ! megumi
Megumi enjoys all kinds of games but found RPGs the most interesting to play. What kickstarted his streaming was Yuji, who practically begged him to join his Call of Duty stream.
Everyone who tuned in thought Megumi was insane at landing clean headshots, then immediately urged him to start streaming on his own. He only gave in when you told him it wasn’t such a bad idea, and the rest is history.
In nearly every stream he was on, his viewers would always catch glimpses of you. The underrated perk of having a boyfriend who streams? The fans who edit his livestream clips:
megumi being a simp
01:10 ─●──────── -08:50
Megumi’s viewers were just as attentive as he was.
They noticed how Megumi visibly perked up the moment you entered his gaming room. They heard the tiny squeals you tried to suppress. It's almost always inaudible, but unmistakable.
“You got this,” you whisper, and Megumi smiles instantly.
Chat explodes.
[m__ki] yo stop simping you're about to die HELLO
[p4nda] save the couple content for later pls end itadori first
[salmonroe] jealousy is a disease and i have it
“What the hell?” Yuji laughs, “your whole contribution tonight is just smiling?”
Megumi scrunches his nose as he chuckles, right as he kills Yuji on his own stream.
Yuji holds his head on his hands and yells, “BRO—”
“That’s on you,” Megumi sighs, leaning back. “Getting on my nerves is a personal choice.”
Yuji inhales sharply as he reads the chat. “Itadori's sleep deprived and bitchless – Fuck you?" He continues to scroll through the chats and finds a message that makes him grin, “Megumi, someone’s asking when the girlfriend reveal is.”
Megumi blinks. “Huh? Why would I— this isn’t even that kind of channel.”
The chat immediately spirals, urging Megumi they would love to see what his mystery girlfriend looks like.
"Yuji, don't you need to sleep?" Megumi
"But I–"
"Sleep?"
"Okay, okay." Yuji's already doubled over laughing. “Before we end, Megumi, do you have something heartfelt to say to the viewers?”
Megumi nods with a playful smirk. “Not really.”
megumi being a simp
02:37 ──●────── -07:23
Every so often, new subscribers would ask if he was single. Megumi always answered with that same shy smile and a short nod, the kind that already felt like an answer.
Just like now, in the middle of playing Elden Ring, another batch of new subscribers ask him the same question again.
[itadorislut] just one chance megumi
He doesn’t look away from the screen when he replies, “No. I have a very affectionate and caring girlfriend.”
Megumi stay silent for half a second before reading a new chat.
[today_is_todo] tf u gatekeeping your gf for?
Megumi chuckles. “I'm the jealous type.”
megumi being a simp
03:21 ───●────── -06:39
Lowkey, but never a secret.
Megumi never imagined his streaming career would take off the way it did. What grounded him, even with the sudden success, was knowing how to keep his personal life private.
Still, sometimes his fondness slips through.
Megumi usually plays loud, high-energy music to stay focused, but today’s stream is different. Cherry Wine plays softly in the background and chat notices immediately.
[bbmai] interesting song choice
“Oh,” Megumi says casually. “It’s my girlfriend's playlist.”
[bbmai] feels personal
He smiles to himself. “I like it, though.”
He hums under his breath while playing.
A moment later, the faint sound of the door shuffling makes him glance sideways. His lips curve instinctively as he reaches for mute. Megumi looks softer when he turns back to you.
“Hey, you said you didn’t like this song,” you whisper with an amused smile.
“I never said that,” he shrugs. “I just didn’t get it the first play.”
“And now?”
“I get it.”
You grin. “Wow. He's a playlist connoisseur overnight.”
He laughs softly. “Please don’t let chat hear that.”
You cup his face and squish his cheeks playfully. In response, he grabs your wrists gently, pressing quick kisses to your knuckles like it’s instinct. You fix his hair, nod reassuringly, then quietly slip out of the frame.
On-screen, the stream stays muted with barely any context, but chat goes feral anyway.
[mmmiwa] WHY DID HE SMILE LIKE THAT
[today_is_todo] this is emotional edging
[mxchmaroo] bro hit mute like it was muscle memory
[dastrongest] that man is IN LOVE your honor
“Okay, relax,” he mutters. When Megumi unmutes and refocuses, the chat is still screaming. “Huh?”
He glances at his other screen to find that his game's ended.
“Shit. I just died.”
megumi being a simp
04:05 ──────●─── -05:55
“Fuck,” he mutters, exhaling sharply as he blows the stray hairs out of his face.
He’s already thinking of ending the stream, except he’s only been live for an hour, when he usually goes for five.
What’s more off is his unusual silence. Megumi’s naturally reserved, but he usually tries to talk a little just to push himself. Today, though? Nothing’s landing, and probably the worst gameplay of his life.
[p4nda] nah megumi's NOT locked in today
[y-okkotsu] shut up let him cook
“We're cooked,” Yuji groans into his mic.
“I told you we should’ve joined with Nobara!” Megumi snaps with brows furrowed. “This stupid game suc—”
He cuts himself off mid-sentence the moment you peek in and press a finger to your lips. He tilts his head toward the door, and gives you an apologetic look.
“Sorry, love,” he softly says instantly with guilt flickering across his face.
You step in quietly, trying not to get picked up by the mic, but the LED lights betray you. Your shadow flashes across the wall, and it was too late for you notice it too.
You give up eventually, and proceed to walk behind him to tie his hair.
[kirarare] i just opened the stream why am i blushing and kicking my feet likeee
[heatkari] this is the kind of content that makes men shave their heads
And once again, chat loses its mind, not just because you’re there (well, that too), but because you’re wearing that white hoodie. The one Megumi wore on stream before. The sold-out one.
Megumi doesn’t even look away from the screen, so focused he lets you tie his hair into a neat little apple without question.
“There,” you whisper. “All done.”
“Woah, I needed that,” he grins, boyish. He ducks behind cover, glances back at you. “Thanks, love.”
He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck with a satisfied groan.
“Alright,” he snickers, competitiveness snapping back into place. “Time to annihilate these fuckers.”
[nkamo] suddenly considering growing my hair out again
[nkamo] nvm who am i kidding nobody’s tying mine
[itadorislut] oh he’s back BACK
“Chat, should I get a haircut?”
“Hey!” you clutch your chest dramatically. “Why would you do something so offensive to me?”
He chuckles at your over exaggeration, and does the chat.
[ozawasan] someone hide the scissors from him
[junpyosh] i agree with her even if she’s dramatic
Megumi reads the chat, amused. “They’re telling me to stay away from scissors.”
You grin. “See? Even chat’s on my side.”
You step out of frame, but his eyes follow you instinctively.
[rikascurse] DID YOU SEE THAT LOOK OML
[rikascurse] CUT THE CAMERA'S DEADASS
“Megumi, focus!” Yuji yells. “Stop oggling at—”
“Watch your mouth.” Megumi cuts in fast.
“Oh— uh— your girlfriend!” Yuji recovers.
You giggle softly before closing the door.
Megumi is smiling like an idiot now, landing headshot after headshot, and climbing ranks effortlessly. All because you tied his hair back so he could see better.
As soon as the video ends, Megumi snorts. "It was that obvious, huh?"
"What? It's cute," you tilt your head and smile at him. "You're cute."
Megumi smiles to himself and plants a soft kiss at the top of your head. "I'm actually surprised that didn't make it to the edit."
You furrow your brows. "What didn't?"
"The livestream?" He says with an arched brow. "From last year?"
"Oh. That stream."
⏸ DELETED CLIP — YUJI'S LIVESTREAM
Yuji’s stream is chaotic as usual with him yelling at chat, chat yelling back, and his gameplay hanging on by a thread. On the other hand, Megumi’s window sits in the corner of the screen. All black, no cam or audio.
[junpyosh] where's megumi?
[mxchmaroo] he said bathroom break bro
[heatkari] nah but why is it taking THIS long
Yuji reads the chat and says, "Probably shitting himself to death."
Chat laughs it off.
For some odd reason, Megumi's window flickers, but Yuji doesn’t notice at first because he’s too busy reading chat.
[p4nda] AYO
[p4nda] MEGUMI'S GLITCHING
Before anyone can process it, Megumi’s feed snaps back online.
The room comes into view at a bad and slightly tilted angle. Only his empty chair is on camera, but the whole chat can hear the static mic crackling, chopped up heavy breathing, and mumbling in the background.
“— squirt for me —"
The audio dips, then spikes again.
“…I’m—”
The feed stutters, pixels freezing for half a second before the sound punches back in.
“Cum—”
Chat is no longer typing, they are smashing their keyboards.
[y-okkotsu] ???????????????
[kirarare] WHY IS HE BACK
[m__ki] THIS FEELS ILLEGAL
[dastrongest] PAUSE– DID HE SAY SQUIRT
At that very moment, Yuji’s soul exits his body.
His eyes widen in shock and goes completely still. He's so shocked that he immediately ends the stream without any warning.
wia says: Ws in the chat for Megumi and his secret girlfriend!
[ SYNOPSIS ] — Haunted by past rejection, you deliberately allow yourself to get hurt on missions because Megumi’s gentle care during your recoveries is the only time you feel safe receiving physical affection, it goes on for a while before megumi eventually figures it out. w.c: 4.7k
[ PAIRING ] — bf!megumi fushiguro x touch starved!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant, lots of injuries (descriptions aren't too heavy), blood, hurt/comfort, lmk if I missed anything. art by: @/sa2men THIS FIC IS A REQUEST!
The fabric of Megumi’s uniform sleeve was just inches away, it was right there.
Walking side by side down the stone steps of Jujutsu High, the evening air carrying the distinct chill of late autumn, the distance between you felt both negligible and insurmountable. As you moved, the backs of your hands brushed. Once. Twice.
An old, familiar instinct surged up from your chest, traveling down your arm. Your fingers twitched, curling inward. You wanted to hook your pinky around his. You wanted to slide your arm through his, to lean your shoulder against his side and let yourself rest against him after a grueling three-hour debriefing so badly.
Your hand lifted. Your fingers brushed the dark fabric of his sleeve.
“Can you just sit on your own side of the couch? You’re always attached to me. Give me some space.”
The memory flared, sharp and sudden, accompanied by the phantom sting of a hand swatting yours away. The echo of a past sigh—the heavy, exasperated sound of someone entirely drained by your presence. Clingy. Smothering. Too much.
You yanked your hand back as if Megumi’s jacket had burned you, immediately stuffing both hands deep into your pockets. You shifted your weight, putting an extra few inches of distance between the two of you, and stared rigidly ahead at the gravel path.
Megumi paused mid-step. He glanced sideways, his dark eyes tracking the sudden, sharp movement of your retreat. He looked at your face, noting the rigid set of your jaw and the way your shoulders had hiked up to your ears. He lingered there for a moment, the quiet rustle of the wind through the trees filling the silence. He didn’t ask. He just adjusted the strap of his weapons bag and continued walking, though his pace had noticeably slowed to match yours.
This was how it always went.
You had spent the last three years systematically dismantling your own nature. You were someone who spoke in the language of touch. In your mind, love and care were communicated through pressed shoulders, tangled fingers, and casual proximity. But the world had loudly and repeatedly taught you that your language was a burden: After the third time a partner had looked at you with a mixture of pity and irritation because you had reached for their hand in public, you had sworn off the instinct entirely. You learned to sit on your hands. You learned to map out the exact dimensions of a room and ensure you were occupying the least amount of space possible.
With Megumi, trying to behave yourself was agonizing. He was entirely safe, he never yelled. He never made you feel small. But that only made the fear worse. If you let yourself slip—if you grabbed his arm, or buried your face in his shoulder after a bloody mission, or sat too close to him—he might realize how suffocating you truly were. You would see that familiar, devastating flash of annoyance in his eyes. He would pull away.
So, you always pulled away first.
When you sat together in the dining hall, you instinctively leaned toward his warmth, only to catch yourself mid-motion and jerk your spine straight, scooting your chair a fraction to the left.
Every single time he caught up to you in the hallways, your left arm would instinctively begin to lift, your hand forming a loose hook meant to loop around his elbow or grab a handful of his sleeve.
And every single time, your brain would catch the movement before it completed. Your hand would drop back to your side, your fingers brushing against your own thigh instead, pretending you had just been adjusting your uniform.
Once, after a long tactical brief with Gojo that left everyone thoroughly tired, you walked out into the courtyard together. The air was thick with the scent of upcoming rain. You were exhausted, your mind buzzing, and without thinking, you stepped closer to Megumi, your shoulder lightly bumping his.
He stopped walking immediately.
The sudden halt made you freeze. You looked at him, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "Sorry," you said quickly, the word dry and defensive before he could even speak. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was stepping."
Megumi looked at you, his expression unreadable. He looked at the distance between your shoulder and his—now a deliberate, forced six inches. "You don't need to apologize," he said softly. "The path is wide enough."
"Right. Yeah." You forced a small laugh, tucking your hands deep into your pockets where they couldn’t make any more mistakes. "Just lost in thought."
He didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't press. He never pressed. He just continued walking, his steps slightly slower now, as if waiting for you to close the gap again. But you didn't.
He observed the tension in your frame, the way you seemed to constantly hold your breath around him.
He didn't understand it. He thought, perhaps, he made you uncomfortable. He wondered if his cursed energy was too heavy, or if his natural quietness came off as unapproachable. Megumi was not prone to overstepping boundaries, so he gave you the space you seemed to be demanding, even as his brow furrowed every time you backed away.
The hesitation followed you on the field.
It was a standard search-and-destroy mission in a derelict hospital on the outskirts of town. The curse was a Grade 2, nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. But the structure of the building was compromised, the floors rotted through from years of water damage.
During the fight, the curse slammed a heavy, mutated appendage into the support pillar near you. The ceiling buckled. You managed to exorcise the curse with a concentrated blast of cursed energy, but you couldn't dodge the falling debris in time. A heavy slab of plaster and rebar caught your shoulder, knocking you hard to the ground and sending a sickening scrape of pain down your arm.
Megumi was there instantly. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you out from under the rubble before the dust had even settled.
“Can you walk?” His face was pale, his eyes scanning the tear in your sleeve and the blood welling from the gash on your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you groaned, letting him haul you to your feet. “I’m okay. Just a scrape.”
He didn’t let go of you. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around your waist, taking half your weight as he guided you out of the crumbling building. You expected him to drop his hold once you reached the fresh air, but he kept you close all the way to Ijichi’s waiting car.
Back at Jujutsu High, Shoko was out on an emergency call with Yaga. The infirmary was empty.
“Sit,” Megumi instructed, pointing to the edge of the examination bed. He walked over to the metal cabinets, pulling out a first-aid kit, antiseptic, and gauze.
You sat, gripping the edge of the mattress. Your shoulder throbbed, but the physical pain was entirely secondary to the proximity of your boyfriend.
He stepped between your knees. The air caught in your throat. He was so close you could smell the faint smell of his shampoo. He carefully peeled the ruined fabric of your shirt away from the wound. His knuckles brushed your collarbone, and you shivered.
“Cold?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
Megumi poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad. “This is going to sting.”
He was gentle. Impossibly gentle. His left hand rested on your uninjured shoulder, his thumb stroking a slow, absentminded line against your neck to keep you steady while he cleaned the blood away with his right hand. The touch was entirely casual, completely necessary, you thought, and it short-circuited every defensive wall in your brain.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to handle the overwhelming flood of warmth. You realized, with a startling clarity, that you were allowed to be touched right now. You were injured. You were a patient. He had a reason to have his hands on you.
Megumi tossed the ruined cotton pad into the bin and began taping gauze over the cut. When he finished, he didn’t step back. He stayed between your knees, his hands resting lightly on your waist. He looked at your face, his expression unreadable.
Without thinking, you leaned forward. You rested your forehead against the center of his chest.
Every muscle in your body tensed immediately after you did it, waiting for the reprimand. You waited for the shift in his stance, the awkward clearing of the throat, the subtle step backward that signaled you had crossed the line.
Instead, Megumi sighed. Not of annoyance, but just a way to release tension. He lifted a hand and rested it on the back of your head. His fingers tangled loosely in your hair. He just stood there, letting you lean your entire weight against him, his heartbeat steady against your forehead.
“You did good today,” he murmured into the quiet room.
You gripped the fabric of his shirt, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You stayed like that for a long time. For the first time in months, you didn't pull away.
That was the mistake. That was the moment the wire tripped in your mind.
Your shoulder healed within a week, thanks to a belated visit from Shoko. And with the healed skin came the return of your good old ways. The next time you sat beside Megumi on the couch, the invisible barrier was back. He was reading, you were hyper-aware of your own limbs, and the quiet domesticity felt miles out of your reach.
You missed the weight of his hand in your hair. You missed the way he looked at you when he was making sure you were okay.
The subconscious mind is a dangerous, desperate thing. It bypasses logic to find the quickest route to survival, and your mind had equated Megumi’s touch with survival.
Two weeks later, on a mission in Kyoto, you were fighting a cursed spirit that moved entirely in straight, predictable lines. You had its pattern figured out in three minutes. You stepped to the left, raising your weapon to strike. You saw the curse's tail swinging around for a wide arc. You had plenty of time to duck.
You didn't.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second. You let your guard drop just an inch. The tail clipped your side, sending you tumbling across the grass. You finished the curse off from the ground, breathing heavily.
Megumi ran over, dropping to his knees beside you. He pulled you into a sitting position, his hands checking your ribs, his fingers pressing into your sides. “Where did it hit you? Are you bleeding?”
“I’m fine, just bruised,” you gasped, looking up at his face. The worry in his eyes was obvious. He kept his hands on you. He helped you walk back. On the train ride home, he let you sleep with your head on his shoulder, his arm resting securely across your back.
The guilt tasted like ash in your mouth, but the comfort was a drug.
It became a pattern. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't malicious. In the heat of battle, your instincts as a sorcerer would war with the deep, hollow starvation in your chest. When a hit was fatal, you dodged. But when a hit was survivable? When it meant a cut, a bruise, a sprained ankle? Your body simply stopped trying to avoid it.
Shoko was beginning to look at you with a strange squint every time you were brought into her office, but she didn't say anything—she just handed Megumi the supplies whenever he showed up to take care of you.
And Megumi always took care of you.
A grazed cheek meant Megumi cupping your face in the bathroom, carefully applying a bandage, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
A deep cut on your forearm meant sitting on the edge of his bed while he wrapped it, his head bowed, his dark hair brushing your arm.
A twisted knee meant Megumi carrying you on his back, his hands firm beneath your thighs, while you buried your face in his shoulder inhaling the scent of him, ignoring the shameful, desperate sense of gratitude for the injured bone.
You hated yourself for it. You lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, disgusted by your own manipulation.
You knew it was sick. You knew it was pathetic But the loneliness that had accumulated over years of being pushed away, of being told your love was too heavy to carry, had turned into a starvation so deep you would gladly bleed for a handful of crumbs.
When you were healthy, you were the perfect distant partner. You kept your hands in your pockets. You sat two feet away. You smiled and said you were fine.
But when you were bleeding, you got to hold his hand. You got to feel his fingers in your hair. You got to be held.
The thought of going back to the vast, empty spaces between you and Megumi, the terror of initiating touch and being rejected, paralyzed you.
You decided you would rather bleed than be alone.
And tonight, it was supposed to be a long, jagged scratch across your abdomen, so you could have the chance to feel his fingertips against you.
It was a cluster of Grade 3 curses. They were weak, disorganized, and pathetic. You and Megumi were clearing them out methodically. You were taking care of the eastern wall, your cursed energy humming smoothly through your body.
The last curse was backed into a corner. It lunged forward in a desperate, telegraphed attack. Its claws were aimed directly for your torso.
Megumi was standing twenty feet away, his Divine Dog at his side. He watched you. He watched your eyes track the attack. He watched your feet stay planted. He watched you brace your core to take the impact instead of shifting your weight to evade.
The claws tore through your jacket and sliced into your abdomen. You grunted, stumbling back, and exorcised the curse with a swift strike to its head. The curse dissolved into ash.
You dropped to your knees, pressing a hand to your stomach. Blood welled up between your fingers. It wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but it hurt. You closed your eyes, waiting for the familiar sound of his footsteps, the rush of his presence, the protective heat of his hands.
The footsteps came, but they were slow. Heavy.
You opened your eyes. Megumi was standing over you. His face was a mask of cold fury. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He wasn't reaching for you.
“Megumi?” you asked, your voice trembling.
“Get up,” he said. The tone was absolute ice.
A spike of pure terror shot through your chest. You scrambled to your feet, keeping your hand pressed to your bleeding stomach. “I... I’m sorry, I didn’t see it coming.”
“Do not lie to me.” His voice echoed in the empty concrete garage. He stepped closer, and you instinctively flinched back. He noticed the flinch, and a muscle in his jaw feathered, but his anger didn't waver. “I watched you. You tracked the movement. You braced for it. You let it hit you.”
“No, I—”
“Why?” he demanded, cutting you off. “What are you doing? For the last month, you’ve been taking hits like a novice. You’re letting yourself get torn apart. Why?”
You couldn't speak. Your throat tightened so severely you thought you might choke. The shame was absolute. He knew. He saw right through your pathetic and desperate wishes. You dropped your gaze to the blood on your shoes, unable to look at him.
“Answer me.”
“Let’s just go back,” you whispered, tears spilling over your lashes. “Please, Megumi. Let’s just go back.”
He stared at you. The fury in his eyes began to fracture, replaced by unsettled confusion. He saw the tears. He saw the way you were folding in on yourself, trembling violently. He didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and walked toward the exit. He didn't offer his arm. He didn't touch you.
The ride back was torturous. The silence in the back seat was suffocating. You stared out the window, pressing a wad of gauze against your stomach, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You had ruined it. You had finally pushed him away, not by being clingy, but by being insane.
When you arrived at Jujutsu High, Shoko was waiting. She took one look at the tension between you and Megumi and wisely kept her comments to herself. She healed your stomach in five minutes, leaving only smooth skin behind.
You’re good to go,” Shoko said, wiping her hands. She gave Megumi a pointed look. “I'll leave you to it.” She walked out, shutting the door behind her.
You sat on the edge of the examination bed, your feet dangling. Megumi stood by the window, staring out at the dark campus. The distance between you felt like an ocean.
“Megumi,” you started, your voice barely a rasp.
He turned around. The anger was gone, but the intensity remained. “Explain it to me. Make me understand why you are letting curses mutilate you.”
"Megumi, I just misjud-"
He stepped closer to the bed, looking down at you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I’ve been watching you for months. You think I don't know the difference between a misjudgement and a choice? Are you fucking with me?”
You looked away, staring at the white blanket, your heart beginning to race with a familiar, sickening dread. He knows. He thinks you're crazy, and it's entirely your fault.
“You shifted your weight into the acid,” Megumi continued, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. “Two weeks ago, you didn't parry that curse's blade when your guard was perfectly set. A month ago, you stepped into a collapsing wall. You’re throwing yourself into attacks.”
He leaned down, his hands slamming onto the mattress on either side of your hips, forcing you to look at him. His face was twisted in a mixture of profound anger and deep, agonizing pain.
“Why?” he demanded, his voice trembling. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? If you want to leave Jujutsu High, if you’re tired of fighting, just tell me. But don't do this. Don't make me watch you kill yourself.”
The sheer anguish in his voice broke something inside you.
“I wasn't trying to die,” you sobbed, a hot tear spilling over your cheek, cutting through the lingering numbness of the medication.
“Then why?” Megumi pleaded, his forehead dropping down to rest against the edge of your mattress, just inches from your hand. “Tell me. Please.”
"Let it go, Megumi. Please"
"No." His left hand turning into a fist, slightly trembling "I'm not it letting go. You're going to tell me what's happening. Because if you don't, I'm going to tell Gojo-sensei to pull you from active duty tomorrow."
"Don't do that!" You grabbed his wrists, your fingers digging into his skin, intending to push him away—but the feel of his solid, warm bones beneath your hands triggered that old, desperate hunger. Instead of pushing, your fingers curled tight, clinging to him like a drowning person. "Please don't do that. I just... I just wanted..."
"What?" he pressed, his eyes looking directly into yours now. "What do you want that's worth letting yourself get torn apart for?"
The shame was rising up your throat, choking you, burning your eyes. You wanted the floor to open and swallow you whole. You had been caught. The pathetic, needy, suffocating core of you was laid bare under his intense gaze.
You looked down at your hands, holding his wrists and pressing crescents onto him. A tear broke free, then another, until you openly sobbed in the infirmary.
"I just wanted you to hold me," you whispered.
Megumi went entirely still.
You couldn't stop the words once the dam cracked. The years of suppression, the locked-away fears, spilled out into the space between you.
"Before I came to here... before all of this. The people I cared about... they couldn't stand me." You kept your eyes low, unable to bear looking at him. "I always wanted to be close. I wanted to hold hands, I wanted to lean on them, I wanted to be touched. And they hated it. They told me I was suffocating. They told me I was annoying, that I was too needy. That I couldn't survive on my own."
You swallowed hard, dragging in a shaking breath. "I learned how to stop. I learned how to keep my hands to myself. But with you..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "With you, it's so hard. I want to touch you all the time. I want to hold onto your sleeve when we walk. I want to hug you when we get back from a mission. I didn’t... I didn’t mean for it to become a habit. I just...”
You gasped for air, the words tumbling over each other. “When... when the building collapsed. And you held me. You touched my hair, and you let me lean on you, and you didn't pull away. You touched me because I was injures. So I... I just wanted to feel that again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
You sobbed into your hands, bracing for the sound of his footsteps walking out the door. You braced for the disgust.
Instead, you heard the rustle of fabric.
Suddenly, hands were on your wrists. Gentle, firm hands pulling your fingers away from your tear-soaked face. You opened your eyes. Megumi was kneeling on the floor between your legs, looking up at you.
His expression wrecked you. His eyes were wide, glassy, and filled with a sorrow so profound it stole the breath from your lungs.
“Did you...” His voice cracked. He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Did you seriously think you had to harm yourself to be touched?”
You gave a jerky, pathetic nod, fresh tears falling down your cheeks.
Megumi let out a sound that was half-breath, half-sob. He let go of your wrists and moved his hands to your waist, gripping you tight. He pulled himself up, pressing his face into your uninjured shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your back, crushing you against his chest.
“What the fuck,” he whispered fiercely into your neck. “What the actual fuck.”
You froze, your hands hovering uselessly in the air. “Megumi—”
“Put your arms around me,” he commanded, his voice muffled by your shirt.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, the old fears rearing their heads.
“Do it.”
You slowly lowered your arms, wrapping them around his shoulders. You buried your fingers in the dark, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. The moment your weight settled against him, Megumi pulled you even tighter, lifting you slightly off the mattress to eliminate any remaining space between your bodies.
“My boundaries do not apply to you,” Megumi said, his voice rough.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. He brought a hand up, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. His touch was deliberate, grounding. “I thought you didn’t want me crowding you. You always pulled away. On the couch, in the halls. You flinched when I got too close. I thought I was making you uncomfortable.”
The realization hit you like a physical blow. The tragedy of your mutual misunderstanding was so absurd it almost made you laugh through the tears. “I pulled away because I thought I was bothering you.”
Megumi rested his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale. “Who told you that you were suffocating?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me,” he said quietly. “Because they broke you so badly you decided a curse tearing your stomach open was better than asking me for a hug. That stops today. Do you hear me?”
You nodded, your throat tight.
“If you want to hold my hand, take it. If you want to lean on me, lean on me. If you wake up in the middle of the night and just want to know I’m there, wake me up.” Megumi pulled back and looked at your face, his eyes searching yours for any lingering doubt. “I want you right here. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
He didn’t let go of you for a long time. He stayed in the infirmary, holding your hands, running his thumbs over your knuckles until your breathing evened out and the exhaustion of the adrenaline crash set in.
Adjusting to change is not instantaneous, and trauma does not vanish with a single conversation.
The instinct to suppress your affection was deeply ingrained, a reflex honed over years of rejection. But the environment had changed. Megumi actively waged war on your hesitation.
The next day, as you were walking to class, you felt the familiar urge to reach for his sleeve. You stopped yourself, your fingers curling inward. Before you could even drop your hand, Megumi reached out and took it completely, weaving his fingers through yours and pulling your palm flush against his. He didn’t say a word. He just kept walking, his grip firm and warm.
When you sat in the lounge later that week, you intentionally sat a foot away from him. Megumi looked at you, sighed, put his book down, and slid across the leather couch until his thigh was pressed against yours. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulled you flush against his side, picked up his book, and went back to reading.
You sat rigidly for five minutes. Slowly, inch by inch, your muscles relaxed. You let your head drop onto his shoulder. You let out a quiet sigh.
Megumi shifted, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the top of your head before turning the page.
Weeks turned into months. The injuries stopped. Your agility in combat returned to peak performance, no longer hindered by a subconscious death wish. You fought with a clear mind, knowing that the comfort waiting for you at home was unconditional, the only condition was you coming home alive.
It was a rainy Tuesday evening in late September. The rain lashed against the windows of Megumi’s dorm room in heavy sheets. The room was dark, lit only by the warm glow of a small desk lamp.
Megumi was lying on his back on his bed, staring at his phone, scrolling through mission reports.
You walked into the room, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. You stopped at the edge of the bed. You looked at him. The urge to touch him flared in your chest. The ghost of the anxiety whispered in the back of your mind—he's busy, you're bothering him.
You took a breath. You remembered the look in his eyes in the infirmary.
You climbed onto the bed. You crawled over his legs, shifting your weight until you were straddling his hips. You lay forward, resting your chest directly against his. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms securely around his torso.
Megumi didn’t flinch. He didn’t push you off. He let out a soft huff of amusement. He locked his phone, tossed it onto the nightstand, and wrapped both of his arms around you. One hand settled flat against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The other hand buried itself in your hair, his fingers gently massaging your scalp.
“Tired?” he murmured, his voice rumbling pleasantly in his chest.
“Yeah,” you whispered against his collarbone. “Cold.”
Megumi shifted, pulling the thick comforter up over both of you. He kissed the side of your head, settling his cheek against your hair. He held you with an effortless familiarity, a complete acceptance of your weight, your presence, and your need.
“Go to sleep, I've got you,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow line up your spine. “You're doing so well, I'm really proud of you, you know?”
You let out a shaky breath, burrowing your face deeper into the warm, grounding scent of him, and weakly curled your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt in silent gratitude. He didn't press you for a response, simply continuing that soothing, rhythmic motion against your spine while his heartbeat drummed a steady lullaby beneath your cheek. Surrounded by the absolute safety of his embrace, the weight of the world finally faded into the background, pulling you gently down into a deep slumber.
Pairing: Volleyball player!Sakusa Kiyoomi x Artist!F!Reader
angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, FWB to lovers, angst with a happy ending
WC: 9.7k
Synopsis: Falling in love with the pretty volleyball player in your first year of University wasn’t something you intended to happen; it just did. And then, two years later, the line between lust and love blurs. You want him beyond his body, but does he want every side of you? A part of you liked to think so, but Sakusa Kiyoomi is known for crushing hearts, and make no mistake, you were no exception.
Content/Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, FWB relationship, graphic descriptions of blood/knives/wounds/organs (nothing actually happens), subtle hints of depression/anxiety, jealousy, curse words, one scene with a creep but its vague, pls lmk if I missed anything!
two August’s ago, you fell in love.
you remember laughing till tears cascaded down your rosy cheeks, face hurting from smiling so much. you remember soft touches; on your hand as you reached for the same item, on your waist when you squeezed by, on the corner of your mouth when you don’t seem to notice the crumbs that coat your lips. you remember a gentle smile, eyes crinkling the slightest bit as your heart stutters in your chest. you remember dark curly hair, mole kissed skin and eyes brimming with affection.
you remember everything.
bright, giddy, and curious, you entered university with dreams larger than the sun. your passion for art made you yearn. you wanted to draw everything beautiful. you’d sit by the tree near your campus library and draw for hours, music blaring through your headphones as you sketched pretty items, pretty scenery, and pretty people in your book.
it was under the tree you found your muse.
you recall forgetting to bring something to tie your hair with, leaving it to fall in your face when the the wind hit a little too hard. you squinted, frowning as you moved the strands out of your sight.
and then, as if entranced, you see the prettiest student walk towards the library. it’s like everything is suddenly moving slower. he’s clad in a- sports jacket? with your school logo, and black shorts to match. he has a gym bag hung on his right shoulder, but you find yourself more focused on the thick locks on his head and soft slope of his nose. his lips are full, pretty and pink. the slight chill from the air must be the reason why his cheeks are tinted as well, and your hands itch with the urge to draw this mythical being.
(first-year you was a little dramatic, but present you still understands her.)
you draw a rough sketch of him the moment he leaves, but you know had you had more time to look, you would’ve done a much better job.
✾
the second time you see him is at a party.
you had forgotten about the pretty boy as the days went on, more focused with school and handing in assignments. exams arrived, and then you were on break. your friends had begged you to show up, with promises of it being a fun experience even if all you wanted to do was curl up under the covers and sleep all day.
you end up wearing a cute outfit, somewhat revealing yet covering the parts you wanted to. your hair is styled with shiny clips that match your makeup. you feel pretty, and even though you initially did not want to go out, you think this might be a good idea.
“Y/n, let me know if you want to leave early, okay? And don’t drink anything random people offer you.” Kuroo grabs your arm, tone serious. you want to laugh at the usually silly guy being so protective of you.
you smile, “I know, father. No need to worry about me, it’s just my first party.”
Akaashi beside you ruffles your hair, “He has a reason to be worried, you’re a little too sweet for your own good.”
you scrunch up your nose, mentally disagreeing. you could certainly be mean. but they had yet to see you at your worst, so this made sense. you decide to let them keep this image of you.
Bokuto barrels forward, knocking into your back as you stumble into Kuroo’s arms. he catches you with ease, sending a glare towards his friend.
“Watch it, are you drunk already?”
Bokuto grins, “Pre-gamed a little too hard! My bad, bro.” he pauses, looking at you, “And the lady-bro.”
you stifle a giggle at his words, focusing on the warmth that emits from Kuroo. you suddenly regret wearing something that showed more skin, knowing you got cold easily.
“Tetsu, can we get drinks?” you grab his bicep gently as he looks down.
“Yeah, yeah. Let me just say hi to some of the guys and we’ll go.” he waits for Akaashi to come to your other side before walking, with you squashed between them.
you roll your eyes, what was up with them? it was your first time attending a university party, not your first time at a club.
you greet people mindlessly, and they all seem nice enough. you get restless after twenty minutes though, really wanting a drink. you tug Kuroo’s shirt gently, waiting for him to turn to you.
“I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?”
he frowns, “I’ll come, give me a sec.” he doesn’t wait for a response before excusing himself from his friends. they all wave him off as he guides you to another room in the house, which is more secluded.
you find the table, filled with all sorts of stuff you were unfamiliar with. one of Kuroo’s friends stands by, and you assume he’s keeping an eye on the beverages to ensure nobody spikes them with anything.
Kuroo gives him a quick nod before reaching for a bottle. he must know what he’s doing, however, as he pours you a mixture of two drinks before handing it to you. you take it with narrowed eyes, lifting it to your nose and oh, it smells fruity enough.
you down it in one go, looking back at Kuroo’s slackened jaw. you bark out a loud laugh, before covering it with your hand. “What?”
he shakes his head, “Nothing, nothing. Didn’t know you were so thirsty.”
you shrug in response, mindlessly scanning the room as Kuroo pours himself a drink.
despite the room being half empty, it is still fairly large. you can see a group playing beer pong on the left side, while the ones on the right are laughing loudly as they seemingly discuss something funny.
and then, your eyes land on him.
he’s standing with who you assume is his friend, with their back towards you. he’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and the position allows his navy blue shirt to stretch with the muscle. you swallow when your eyes trail down to his slim waist.
broad shoulders and a small waist? surely that had to be illegal.
his black pants are loose, but fit his thighs nicely.
when your eyes go back to his face, you’re once again filled with the urge to pick up your pencil and draw. he’s not smiling, and you have a feeling he doesn’t smile very often, but it doesn’t take away from his beauty. his cheekbones are pretty and prominent, and you wonder how they would feel beneath your palms.
you bite on your bottom lip at the thought, feeling foolish for thinking about a stranger like that.
“Oh? Does my little Y/n have a crush?” a voice croons next to your ear.
you whip your head back with a glare, “Tetsu, no.”
he laughs loudly, head throwing back as he cackles. you frown, scrunching your nose at him even if he’s too busy laughing to see.
“Oh, c’mon cutie, I’m just teasing. Nothing wrong with a little crush, I would just recommend someone a little… nicer.” he says, out of breath as a grin stretches on his face.
you tilt your head, “Huh? You know him?“
Kuroo ruffles your hair gently, with you moving to fix it immediately.
“We aren’t close, but I do know him since he’s on the same team as me,” Kuroo smiles at the wide eyed look you give him. “i’d say i’m closer with his friend over there.”
when you glance back to the pair, you find that the pretty boy has his eyes on you.
your heart jumps, your body shivering as you snap your eyes back to Kuroo.
what the fuck? maybe you hallucinated that.
“Oh, your man is looking here.”
maybe not.
“Hey, want me to introduce you? Who knows, you might be able to defrost his heart.” he smirks, with you shaking your head to disagree. “No, thank you. I’m not going to defrost his heart like he’s some piece of frozen raw meat.”
he huffs out a laugh, turning into a cough when his eyes partially widen. “Well, you should prepare yourself, they’re both coming here right now.”
you look at Kuroo with an incredulous expression, “You’re fucking lying.”
“Such a foul mouth, cutie.” he lifts his hand up and looks beside you, “Hey, man.” he waves. he nods at the pretty boy next, who you assume nods back.
you finally allow yourself to look away from Kuroo and at the two new men in front of you. they’re both tall, but thankfully you’re used to being surrounded by tall men due to your friends.
you smile at the friend and glance at the pretty boy for a second, “Hi, I’m Y/n.” you’re thankful you manage to sound stable.
“I’m Adriah.” his friend says with a half grin. it’s boyish and charming, but you’re more concerned with the curly-haired guy beside him. your eyes dart to his next, anticipating an introduction.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
his voice is deep, it’s almost alluring. it reminds you of the dark chocolate you often pick up from the convenience store beside your dorm; bitter but comforting.
you always loved dark chocolate.
the thought makes your heart do a funny thing and your chest seize up.
✾
a year and a half later, you kiss Sakusa Kiyoomi for the first time.
you’re close friends by now, perhaps even best friends. you know him like the back of your hand; no, you know better than you know yourself.
you know his arms are covered in beauty marks, ones you’d like to trace with your lips. you know how his hair looks when he first awakens, eyes swollen and lips puffed out in a pout. you know his favorite food, and how he likes his coffee in the morning. you know he sighs through his nose when he’s feeling overstimulated, you know his lips press together when he’s about to say something mean. you know he crosses his arms when he feels like he needs to protect himself, you even know the brand of disinfecting wipes he prefers to buy.
you know he has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles, you know how his lips stretch out all pretty when he’s caught off guard. you know the low timbre in his chest when he laughs, his thick steel walls suddenly nowhere to be seen as he allows himself to relax.
“Kiyo, please? I really want to go, and nobody else wants to come!” you beg, voice sad as you sit on the edge of his bed.
it’s 12:00PM, and Kiyoomi is still laying in bed. you understand, it is a Saturday, but you wanted to go out and visit the cat cafe with supposedly amazing tiramisu.
the lump on the bed barley moves, “Oh great, so I’m your last choice. I’ll pass.”
you smile, giggling. “No, you were my first choice, but you said no so I asked other people and they also refused, so now I came back to you!”
he lifts the covers, sitting up. he’s shirtless, and the sight of his bare body covered in pretty beauty marks makes your brain short-circuit. you turn away, huffing. “Put on a shirt you… perv.”
you hear a pretty laugh then, your head immediately turning back to catch the rare sight. he shakes his head, small grin still on his face, “I’m the perv? Not the one who’s red in the face and can’t even look me in the eye?”
you blink harshly, “I can look at you! I’m just… respecting your boundaries.”
you turn away again, crossing your arms. you hear the covers on the bed shuffle, and when you slowly turn around, you find yourself much closer to Kiyoomi than you thought.
you blink, moving to give him space and tumbling off the bed in the process with a yelp. he grabs you with wide eyes, moving so he takes the brunt of the fall.
you land on top of him, watching as he groans in pain below you. your hands are resting on his broad shoulders, and they feel smooth beneath your hands.
he sighs, laying his head on the floor. he looks up at you through lidded eyes. “So what now, genius? You made us fall.”
you shoot him a dirty look, “Well nobody told you to fall with me.”
“This is the ‘thank you’ I get? Next time I’ll let you get hurt, brat.” he rolls his eyes with a scoff.
you pout, bottom lip pushing out. “You’d let me fall and get hurt?”
he stares at you intently, not answering. you take the time to observe his face, wanting to burn the memory into your brain. you like the small bump on his nose. you like the way his bottom lip is slightly bigger than the top. you like the way his skin turns red easily, his cheeks often sporting a pretty blush even from the slightest chilly air. you like his thick curly hair, wondering how it would feel in your hands. you like his eyes too, dark and swirling with emotions you’ve yet to unravel and discover.
suddenly realizing your proximity, your eyes dart to his lips. plush and full, they look so inviting. you subconsciously lick your bottom lip, glancing up to find his eyes are also on your mouth. and when he finally looks you in the eye, you know if you don’t make a move now, you never will.
you lean in, slowly, and with a gentle exhale, you press your lips to his.
✾
a month later, you have sex with Kiyoomi.
it comes naturally, you think. soft kisses shared with hushed whispers were no longer enough. it led to heated touches and lust-filled eyes.
so when the two of you end up going further, you have no complaints.
he treats you exactly how you’d like, gentle in some ways and rough in others. you like the feel of his calloused hands caressing your skin, the rough bumps making him more attractive than you already thought he was.
and then you’re laying in bed, sweaty and covered in fluid. but his mattress is so comfortable, and your eyelids feel heavy.
“Y/n, we need to shower.”
“One minute.” you mumble quietly.
you feel a hand gently move hair out of your face, subconsciously leaning into the warmth of his palm. it’s gone before you can speak, and you have to force the whine down your throat.
you hear a sigh, and then feel a strong arm slide underneath your knees with the other behind your back as you are lifted into the air.
you squeak, hands scrambling to latch onto his neck. you look up at Kiyoomi with wide eyes, “Seriously, Kiyo? I can still walk, you jackass.”
he shakes his head with a small grin, and your hands itch to grab his face and kiss him senseless. “Are you sure you can walk? I’m not sure you can after all that.”
you change your mind, you want to slap him senseless.
“Ha-ha. So. Funny.” you deadpan, unable to help yourself and breaking into a smile when you feel his shoulders shake as he chuckles.
when the two of you are in bed, freshly washed and ready to sleep, Kiyoomi breaks your heart for the first time.
you’re laying your head on his chest, heartbeat steady and comforting as it almost lulls you to sleep.
his voice pulls you back, “Y/n,”
you hum in response.
“I don’t want you to misunderstand, I care about you, but I’m not looking for anything serious right now.” the words are spoken softly, but they cut through your heart nonetheless.
your body freezes, and you have to force yourself to relax when you realize he can feel it.
so what if Kiyoomi isn’t ready to date? you’re okay with kissing him, going out with him, and sleeping with him. you’re okay with that and not having a label. you’re okay with not being exclusive.
you’re okay with having him to this extent.
you’re okay.
“I understand. Don’t worry, Kiyoomi.”
✾
five months later, everything is the same.
and yet, nothing is the same.
“I don’t like this, Y/n. I think you should break things off with him.” Kuroo frowns, leaning into Akaashi’s side as he hogs the blanket to himself in the freezing cold apartment.
you pull your own fluffy throw closer, “There’s nothing to break off, Tetsu. There’s no label.”
Bokuto walks in, clad in a black tank top and volleyball shorts. “You can break off this unlabeled arrangement you have, Y/n! Just call it exactly that!” he smiles, hands on his hips standing proudly.
Akaashi coughs, “Bo, please put your air conditioning lower. We’re all going to get sick at this rate.”
Bokuto frowns, hands dropping to his sides. he walks to the thermostat, “Seriously? I think the temperature is fine.”
“That’s because you’re not human, you beast.” Kuroo snorts.
Bokuto turns around, looking scandalized. “I’m not a beast! You two are just weenies!”
you giggle, “Thank you for not including me with them, Kou.”
he salutes you with a cute little grin.
so maybe your friends were against your… situation with Kiyoomi. but you knew what you were doing, and while he might not want a relationship right now, you’re sure you can change his mind over time.
naive, perhaps, but you’ve always been a romantic at heart.
✾
everything comes to a head at one of their volleyball games.
you’re invited, of course. being friends with a few of the boys had allowed you to show up earlier and get seats in the front row.
it’s not your first game, but you’re excited nonetheless.
until you see Kiyoomi with someone unfamiliar.
she’s pretty, almost unearthly pretty. her hair is long, and cascades down her back like those magical waterfalls one would find deep in the forest. her smile is perfect, not crooked in the slightest. and when she greets him, her dainty hand smoothes over the skin of his arm; you walk faster.
Kuroo greets you first, with Akaashi and Bokuto coming behind him. you give them all your best wishes, but you can’t stop the uneasy feeling in your stomach at the sight of Sakusa with that girl.
when Akaashi sees your line of sight, he grimaces sympathetically. “Ah, that’s one of his friends from high school.”
your eyes shoot to his, and you wonder what expression you’re showing, because he comes closer and wraps you in a hug. you release a breath at the touch, letting yourself relax as he pats your back.
when you go to greet Sakusa, the girl is still there.
she’s sticking to him like a leech.
you try to get rid of the rude thoughts as you approach. she didn’t deserve your jealousy, nobody did. because you did this to yourself.
“Hi, Kiyo.” you smile.
he smiles back at you, and though it is small, it’s there. something in you settles when you think about how far the two of you have gotten.
the girl beside him is looking at the two of you curiously, but all you do is give her an awkward grin and turn back to Kiyoomi.
“Um, I just wanted to say good luck. I have a surprise for you, i’ll give it to you after the game.”
he raises a brow, intrigued. “You can’t give it to me now?”
you huff out a laugh. “No, silly. It’s a reward for you playing today. I know you’ll do well regardless of the outcome.”
his face smoothes out as he nods, “Okay, I’ll be waiting then.”
without another word you wave and turn around, walking to the seats and taking one in the front. you feel odd being the first to leave, but it was clear that the girl was not going to her seat until the game started. and while you’d like to talk to Kiyoomi more, you know you have to control yourself before you do something stupid like show him your jealousy.
the game goes by quickly, with your university winning the match. you cheer loudly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. it’s times like these that you truly cherish the joy in life. even though you hadn’t played in the game yourself, you can practically feel the positive energy radiating off of the players, and it fills you with excitement.
you run down and across the court, moving to hug your friends as you congratulate them.
“Y/n are you going to come with us to get dinner? Please say yes!” Bokuto widens his eyes, bottom lip curling into a pout.
you smile, happy to be included but knowing you have to decline. “Sorry, Kou. I already have plans with Kiyoomi. Can we raincheck?”
he nods sadly, and Akaashi pats him on the back in consolation.
“Have fun at dinner! I’m going to find Kiyoomi.” you wait till they exit the gymnasium before turning around and looking for the tall dark-haired man you were enamored with.
you can’t seem to find him through the crowd and the thought has you frowning anxiously. you stumble inside the group of people, breathing out when you finally see the end of the mob. with another exhale, you look up.
you see red.
because there is Kiyoomi, with the small pretty girl in his arms as she wraps her own around his neck. their faces lean in together, and if you didn’t know any better you’d assume they were about to kiss.
without even knowing what you’re doing, you march right up and grab his arm, tugging him into you with as much force as you can muster.
he looks down at you with wide eyes, and even though his hair is damp with sweat and his shirt is sticking to his skin, you find him to be the prettiest in the room.
suddenly realizing how this looked, you let go of his arm and step back. “What were you two doing?” you ask, voice soft yet loud enough for him to hear. the crowd has begun to disperse, leaving only the team and their friends in the gymnasium.
the girl looks awkward, glancing between you and Kiyoomi before taking a step back. “Uh, I’m gonna get going now. I’ll text you later, ‘Omi.”
your eye twitches at the nickname, and when Kiyoomi simply nods at her, you feel like you’re losing your mind.
he says nothing to you as he moves to pack his things, stuffing his towel in his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. he doesn’t even glance at you as he walks out, with you trailing after him like a lost puppy.
the walk to his apartment is short, but because of the silence it feels much longer; much more painful, like every step is with your bare foot onto glass.
when you finally arrive at his place, he shuts the door and tosses his gym bag to the side before turning to you.
“Want to explain what that was?” his face is cold, and the uncaring way he speaks to you makes you nervous.
you swallow, “Shouldn’t you explain? Why were her arms… Why did it look like you two were dating, or something? Why did you let her touch you like that?”
he chuckles, though it has none of the sweetness that it is normally laced with. “Why the fuck does it matter? You’re not my girlfriend.”
surprisingly, the words don’t hurt as much as you thought they would. no, you knew that already. what really makes your skin burn is the way he looks at you.
you feel dread creep up on you, goosebumps arising on your skin as you shiver. the look in his eyes is unforgiving, a stark contrast to the normally fond gaze you are granted with.
maybe that’s why it twists the metaphorical knife that is lodged in your stomach, scarlet blood seeping out as the squelch rings in your ears. it feels far too real, you can almost see him holding the knife as it digs deeper into your flesh.
“I never liked that about you.”
it's vague, but you feel like you understand what he means regardless. you ask him to clarify despite yourself. “Never liked what?” you whisper. your hands are shaking; you hold them behind your back to conceal it.
“The way you act around me. Like we’re in a loving relationship when really, we’re just friends who sleep together sometimes.” the words spoken are firm, leaving no room for you to even question whether he means them or not.
“I’m sorry?” you sound breathless, asking him to confirm what he had already said.
his eyes darken further, and you swallow harshly at the sight.
“You need me to say more to get it through your thick skull?” he scoffs, furious, and the sound cuts into your already wounded heart.
“I don’t like the way you coddle me. I don’t appreciate when you give me your opinions on things you know nothing about.” he pauses. you wait with bated breath, wondering how much more your heart could take.
“And, god, I really fucking hate when you show up at my games and smother me in front of everyone. It’s uncomfortable, and then you put me on the spot and act like you’re my fucking girlfriend.”
it feels like someone has plunged their hand through your chest, tearing you apart as they grasp onto your beating heart; you can almost picture it, the way the mangled organ thumps erratically as crimson liquid seeps out between their fingers.
you inhale shakily, “I just… I love you, I’m sorry.”
you look up, to see who’s holding your heart hostage.
“I don’t love you. I never have, and I never will.”
it’s him.
and fuck, it’s always him.
✾
two summers from now, Sakusa knows he’ll be playing volleyball professionally, for the first time.
he’ll have finished his fourth year of university, and he will be happy.
happiness.
Sakusa doesn’t exactly understand the emotion. sure, he’s felt anxiety, rage, and satisfaction, but happiness? what did that even entail?
he sits silently, trying to drone out the professors talks of another essay, and suddenly regrets taking a psychology class. because the amount of writing it required was a bit too much, even for him.
and then his thoughts go back to happiness.
oftentimes, Sakusa is told he looks mean; grouchy. and yet, he remembers an old conversation with Atsumu.
“So… you and Y/n?” Atsumu drawled.
Sakusa sighs, moving to pack up his things in the locker room. “It’s not like that, don’t go spreading anything.”
the blond raises his hands in mock surrender, wet hair sticking to his forehead. “Hey! I would never!”
and then he grins, though not as obnoxious as usual. it’s more kind, if anything, and Sakusa doesn’t know what to make of it.
“I’m just saying, ya seem a lot less grumpy these days. Happier.”
Sakusa pauses, staring at the chipped paint on the wall.
Atsumu sighs, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he moves to exit. “She’s good for ya, ‘Omi.” he pats his shoulder twice on his way out. “Don’t fuck it up, man.”
Sakusa stiffens; not at the action, but at his words. he quickly places everything in his bag before zipping it up and heading home.
if he’s a bit dazed at practice the next day, no one says anything.
when Sakusa lays in bed, he recounts the last time he spoke to you.
it’s been two weeks, and even though time has passed, it feels like just yesterday you were standing in his kitchen with your heart on your sleeve, letting him use it however he wished.
he remembers feeling furious at you, for so obviously disrespecting one of his good high school friends. and then you hadn’t even apologized, you’d instead pushed at him even more.
and then… he ruined everything.
he remembers the look on your face, the pure heartbreak in your irises as he carelessly spewed words he knew would hurt you.
it was not surprising when he walked into practice two days later to see glares of contempt by some of his teammates, who he knew were your friends. even Atsumu had looked at him and shook his head, and some part of him burned with shame. his mistakes were on display for everyone to see, and although he wanted to pull his walls even higher, he felt too distraught at the potential loss of you to bother.
he remembers laying in bed that night, finally deciding to break the silence between the two of you. but with a simple, ‘I’m sorry. Can we talk?’ he was able to find out that he was blocked.
he felt ice run through his veins, pausing at the vibrant red letters, spelling Not Delivered. he quickly opened Instagram and Twitter and found you had him removed and blocked there as well.
fuck.
he had really done it now, hadn’t he? he so naively believed that you simply needed space, and once he gave you a sincere apology the two of you could go back to the way things were; that you two could explore whatever non-platonic feelings he was beginning to develop for you.
but once he realizes the gravity of the situation, he wonders what the point is of experiencing love for the first time if it ends here.
it can’t end here.
he makes it his mission to try to meet you.
first he showed up to your Thursday class, knowing it ended at noon and you had a two-hour gap between your next one. he has a coffee in one hand and a freshly baked donut in the other. he drove across town to grab it, knowing it was your favourite. he knows a mere donut cannot make up for what he said to you, but it felt wrong coming empty handed to reconcile with you. not when you deserved everything and more.
except when you see him, you immediately turn and walk in the opposite direction.
the action stings, and he sighs once you are out of view. the bag with the donut in his hand feels heavy, his hand tingling with the rejection. he knew you wouldn’t forgive him so easily, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
I deserve this, he acknowledges.
I deserve this and worse.
it’s the next week when he has the chance to see you again; he knows you’re working, often meeting you at the cafe to pick you up and take you to his place home.
so with a deep breath, he walks in. the door bell chimes loudly, and he curses mentally when he realizes how deserted the place is at the moment. there’s only a few people inside; a man sitting in the corner as he types furiously on his laptop. a woman and two others sitting on the side as they sip on what he assumes is coffee or tea.
and then he looks to the front, where you stand, and your eyes are on him.
the moment he takes a step forward, you stumble back, as if burned. he stops, unsure if he should keep walking or simply say something as he stands ten feet away from you.
unfortunately for him, you seem to come back to reality and swiftly open the door where it explicitly states STAFF. a moment later, one of your coworkers walks out with their customer service smile, and he deflates.
third time’s a charm, he says to comfort himself. but even he knows it won’t be that easy.
it’s friday, and even though he had no idea if you’d be home, he figured it was worth a shot. so that’s how he finds himself at your door, with a bouquet of white Tulips in his arms.
“Hi! Is there anything I can help you with?”
he jumps slightly when he hears a high-pitched voice coming from behind him, turning around and smoothing out his face.
“I’m not sure.” he states quietly.
“That’s okay! Is there anything in specific you’re looking for? A colour, or a meaning, perhaps?”
he frowns; it feels like all he’s been doing is frowning lately. “Uh, maybe something bright? Or… something that symbolizes forgiveness?”
she smiles sympathetically, and he wonders what expression he must be showing to warrant such a response from a stranger.
and that’s how he finds himself here. he shuffles on his feet, clutching the flowers to his chest protectively. with a soft inhale, he raises his fist and knocks.
silence.
he rings the doorbell this time, and still nothing.
he exhales quietly, his head dropping as he stares at the old carpet that covered the hallways in your apartment building. he’s been here so many times with you, but now he sees nothing but the back of your door and he has nobody but himself to blame.
he stands in front of your place for an hour, mindlessly staring at the wall as he recalls his words to you. how you’d handed your heart to him with your bare hands, only for him to treat it as though it meant nothing to him.
so on Sunday, he lays in bed and recounts the last two weeks.
he wants to wallow in self-pity, but then he hears banging on his door and wonders which unlucky soul will encounter his wrath.
he swings the door open, face emotionless and mouth ready to open and hurl insults at the other, until he sees his one and only cousin, Komori.
“Hey man!” his cousin smiles, innocent and happy.
Sakusa hates it.
his shoulders slump as all anger vanishes, exhaustion left in its wake. “What are you doing here, Moyota,”
he walks back to his room as Komori closes the door. “because if you can’t tell, i’m busy.”
Komori snorts, “Busy doing what? Moping?”
Sakusa glares at him, but in his disheveled state he merely looks like a feral wounded puppy. he crawls back under his covers, face smushed inside his pillow as he feels the other side of the bed dip.
“Get your outside clothes off my bed, Moyota.”
he hears a huff before the pressure is gone, and wills himself to sleep.
“Listen, I know you’re upset about what happened with Y/n, but sitting in your sadness won’t get you anywhere.”
Sakusa continues to lay there. “Mhm.”
Komori ignores the dry response, “There’s a party on Friday. You should go.”
“Why should I go to a party? You want me to drink my sorrows away?” his voice comes out muffled but he’s sure Komori can hear him regardless.
“Y/n will be there.”
that gets his attention. he sits up, the covers pooling at his waist as he crosses his arms. “How do you know?” his eyes narrow.
Komori rolls his eyes, “Because, I overheard Kuroo asking her to come on the phone. Something about him finding her someone new to replace you.”
he clenches his fists, feeling the burn of jealousy take over. replace him? he knew you were well-liked in your program, often waving at people whenever the two of you walked together on campus. he was not ignorant of the stares you’d get from fellow students. but it didn’t matter then because he knew his eyes were on you, and yours were on him.
but now everything’s different.
now, your eyes are not solely on him. the thought has his chest hurting in a way that he can only describe as a stabbing pain.
“I’ll go.”
✾
the week passes by too slow for Sakusa, but he knows it’s only because he’s missing you. when friday arrives, he’s feeling somewhat optimistic about meeting you and hopefully reconciling.
he scrunches the products in his hair, freshly washed from the shower. he’s wearing black slacks and a matching button-up. he places a few rings on his hands and moves to dry his hair with a cotton t-shirt once more before exiting his room.
“About time, dude. Why is your hair routine so complicated?” his cousin complains from his place on the couch, looking at him expectantly.
Sakusa grabs his keys on the counter, “My hair isn’t pin-straight, that’s why. Why are you still sitting down, let’s go.”
Komori rises with a shake of his head as he walks to the front door and slips on his shoes. Sakusa waits for him to leave before locking the door and following him to his car.
the drive seems unreasonably fast, and his palms feel sweaty as he wipes them on his pants. he’s suddenly thankful he chose to wear black bottoms.
when he walks inside the house, he’s immediately hit with the smell of alcohol and sweat. it’s absolutely disgusting, and he has to remind himself why he’s there as he takes another step forward.
“Let’s go to the back! It’ll be less busy there!” Komori raises his voice, but Sakusa can just barely hear his words. he nods and follows his cousin to another room, breathing out in relief when he notices there are fewer people.
Sakusa subtly shuffles towards an empty corner, knowing Komori is following him. he turns around, leaning on the wall, “These people are revolting. When is Y/n getting here?”
Komori scratches his head, tapping at his phone with one hand. “Not sure, let me check with my friends. I’ll ask where Kuroo is.”
he scowls, “Why would that matter?”
“Because he wouldn’t leave her alone at a party.” Komori shrugs. “They’re real close.”
something in his chest feels tight at his cousins words. you and Sakusa were once close; and if you forgave him, he’d let you be even closer. he just has to apologize and hopefully smooth everything over.
a part of him itches to go and search for you himself. he feels on edge, knowing you are so close yet so far away. it unsettles him, the thought that if you don’t forgive him he’ll have to watch you from afar, and accept that someone will love and care for you all the ways he didn’t.
but - does he love you? he cares for you, immensely at that. but does he love you?
he thinks about your pretty eyes, always filled with affection. he thinks about your ability to make people feel comfortable around you within minutes. he thinks about your small hands, your shy smile, the feeling of your hair when he twirls a lock around his finger as you lay in his bed. he thinks about how you look with the sun seeping through the crack in the curtains, skin glowing and lips slightly parted as you exhale softly.
his heart beat echos in his ears. he feels a flush take over his face and places the back of his hand on his forehead. he suddenly feels hot.
maybe he has a fever? but so suddenly? he swallows, the sound echoing in his head.
and then he finally sees you, drink in hand as you throw your head back and laugh.
his heart beats loudly in his chest.
he places a hand above it, feeling the erratic thumps beneath his palm.
ah.
so he loves you.
-
Sakusa waits.
he waits in the corner, a drink in his hand, courtesy of Komori as he subtly stares at you from across the room.
it’s been about an hour, and you’ve yet to notice him. he cherishes the time, observing you from afar. he watches you giggle and wrap your arms around your friends, the gaping hole you’d left in his heart the moment you walked out of his life grows by the minute.
he’s contemplating what to do when you finally lock eyes with him.
he watches the smile slowly slip off your face, something akin to agony colouring your eyes.
he begins to walk towards you, not breaking eye contact for a second. it's like he's entranced. and when he’s right in front of you, he feels breathless; like your existence has left him at a loss for words.
“Hey.”
his voice comes out rough, and he clears his throat when your lips tug downwards.
your friends are looking at him with distaste, even Bokuto who normally sports a happy grin seems fairly upset. it makes him realize what a huge fuck-up he is.
he shifts on his feet, “Can we talk?”
Kuroo answers for you. “No, you can’t. You’ve said enough to her.” he steps in front of you, shoulders pushed back.
Sakusa feels irritation bubble in his chest, but pushes it down, knowing that Kuroo has a reason to be protective over you.
“I just want to apologize. And, confess something.” his voice comes out more desperate than he thought it would. it sounds fragile, even to his own ears.
Kuroo deflates, if only slightly. “It’s still a no. Find someone else to mess around with.”
“I'm not messing around. I just, I need to talk to her. Please.” the cup in his hand is beginning to bend, the cheap plastic cracking as the drink sloshes around.
Kuroo opens his mouth to what he assumes refuse him again, until a small hand grabs onto his arm and steps in front of him.
he watches as you let go of Kuroo, looking more composed than you had been before.
“It’s okay, Tetsu. I can handle this.” your voice makes his skin tingle. he realizes how much he’s missed it.
Sakusa’s shoulders drop in relief. he feels so happy that you decided to talk to him, he doesn’t even care that your friends are glaring him down.
“But-”
you cut Kuroo off, “Really, it’s fine. I’ll text you if I need anything.”
Kuroo looks like he wants to argue, but you give him a look that has him backing down.
he huffs, “Fine. Just be careful. Call me if he does anything.”
Sakusa stops himself from scoffing, annoyed with Kuroo’s words. what would he do at this point? what could he possibly do to make things worse than they already are?
you pat Kuroo on the arm and walk past Sakusa, turning back. “Let’s go.” you don’t wait for a response before continuing, and he follows you without a glance at your friends.
he tries to control his breathing, attempting to keep it steady as you enter the backyard. it’s empty, the chilly night air keeping everyone inside.
you turn around, crossing your arms. “So? You wanted to talk?”
he licks his lips, rubbing his forearm with his hand. he’s thankful that he threw his drink out at the garbage can near the back door. he can feel his hands shaking, and hopes you don’t notice.
“Yeah.” he exhales, “How have you been?”
you shrug, expression guarded. “Fine.”
he nods, expecting the dry answer but still feeling a bit dejected.
“I miss you.”
the words come out so abruptly. the two of you stare at each other in shock, and he almost raises a hand to cover his mouth.
god, why did he just say that?
you laugh, but it comes out less genuine than he’s ever seen. “You should be happy you don’t have someone pretending to be your girlfriend, right?”
his face drops, and he knows whatever expression he’s showing is not as stoic as he thought. because with one glance at his face you look like you almost regret your words.
“I was.. I was so fucking stupid that night. I know you have no obligation to forgive me, but please let me apologize.”
you stare at him silently, before nodding.
Sakusa breathes out, “I’m sorry. Nothing I said was true. I was just… angry. Not at you, at myself. I had been denying how I felt for so long and when you asked me who that girl was, I just lost it.”
he stares at the grass rather than your face, not wanting to know if you look at him with an unforgiving gaze. “I realized that I had unintentionally entered a sort of- relationship with you. I was scared. I still am.”
he lifts his gaze finding your wide eyes. “It was an unintentional relationship, but I wouldn’t have done anything different.”
he pauses, “Of course, except when I ruined everything. I’ve stayed up every night since it happened thinking about how I could have responded differently.” his lips tug up, the expression bitter.
“Because it was after that I realized my feelings for you.”
your brows furrow, your eyes darting around his face in pure confusion. “What are you saying, Sakusa?”
he ignores the ache of you using his last name, “That I have feelings for you.”
the silence is deafening as crickets chirp in the silent night.
“I love you, Y/n.”
you stagger back, as if wounded. you shake your head, “No, no. You don’t love me, Sakusa.”
he doesn’t understand your response. sure, you wouldn’t be elated. he knew you were still upset. but you look like you genuinely don’t believe him, like you refuse to believe him. he feels like he’s going to collapse if you walk away without acknowledging his feelings.
“What? I’m serious, Y/n. I love you.” he reaches a hand out, drawing back when you flinch.
“I’m in love with you.” he whispers.
you look at him, as though he has caused you immense pain, before turning away and running back into the house.
Sakusa stands there, alone in the dark.
he wonders if love is supposed to be so painful; if he will always be the one to inflict the pain, cause the heartache, and leave everything in ruins.
✾
"Shit." you curse as you stare at the empty fridge in front of you. an old bar of havarti cheese and two stale apples stare mockingly at you.
so perhaps you haven't gone grocery shopping in quite a while, but you've been busy! with assignments, your friends, and... Sakusa, you have had too much on your head to worry about things like restocking your fridge.
but now it's nearly midnight, and you have yet to eat dinner. your stomach rumbles at you, and you press a hand to it in annoyance.
you can skip a meal, it's not the end of the world.
but then your stomach rumbles again, and it's starting to feel extremely uncomfortable.
you check your phone, just to see if you can order in. but with one glance at the delivery price, you click your phone off. you stare at the sad-looking apples and cheese once more, making up your mind.
the convenience store is about a ten-minute walk, five if you run.
without another thought, you grab a hoodie from the coat rack and put it on. you pick up your apartment keys and slip into your shoes, bracing yourself for the cold air.
the walk ends up being somewhat soothing, the normally lively city is quieter. you use the time to think about your relationship - or lack thereof, with Sakusa. you still remember when he professed his love for you two weeks ago.
you remember rushing back into the party and telling your friends you had to leave. Kuroo drove you home, and you spent the night eating leftover icecream and binging Jujutsu Kaisen.
why couldn't you date someone like Gojo?
but then you think someone calmer, more steady would suit your personality well. someone who you could rely on and with a bit of sarcasm perhaps. someone who has dark hair; you always liked curly hair on men.
someone like him.
Sakusa Kiyoomi.
your thoughts are cut off when you finally get to the store. the lights are bright underneath the dark sky, the bell chiming when you open the door. you quickly grab a few rice balls, and walk to the cashier. it takes you a total of three minutes to get what you want, before you're walking back out with a plastic bag in hand.
you look up as you walk, the stars twinkling prettily. they remind you of his eyes.
you really wish you could stop thinking about him.
Sakusa makes you feel like you've caught a never-ending sickness. like you will wake up each day with your chest in pain, with your eyes swollen from crying paired with your unstable emotions.
its exhausting, you think; caring about people to a point where they cannot understand or reciprocrate your feelings. and then you always end up like this. alone. you wonder how long it will take for the other people you cherish to leave you too.
your thoughts come to a halt when you hear footsteps behind you.
its dark outside, the streetlights only providing a dim yellow glow as you walk. when you turn your head, you notice a man in a hood. your heart immediately plummets.
fuck, what had you been thinking? you should have ordered delivery, screw the price! the money wasn't worth your life.
you walk faster, noticing the person speeding up their steps. your breathing is becoming heavier, and you can feel your legs trembling as you continue to walk. you know you can't go home, otherwise he will know where you live.
you make a detour to head to a park you've been to many times. it was about a five-minute walk from your place, and the thought has you walking faster anxiously.
when you hear his footsteps draw closer, you turn your head and see he is much closer than before.
your breath hitches, and you find yourself tearing up in fear.
you are about to resort to an offensive stance, prepared to swing your bag of riceballs at his head when you bump into something.
you gasp loudly, flinching so harshly at the suddenness of the situation. you look up, finding familiar dark eyes. they look at you with bewilderment, but all you can think about is the pure relief that pools in your stomach, the tears building up in your eyes finally falling.
you rush forward and wrap your arms around him, breathing in the familiar scent. your shoulders are trembling, but they calm slightly when you feel an arm wrap around your waist and the other smooth over your upper back.
he looks over your shoulder, and you are unsure what expression he is showing. "Did you need something?" his voice comes out deep and - angry. you wonder if you are hallucinating the protectiveness that coats his tone. his arms tighten around you further, causing you to relax in his embrace.
you wait, body stuck to his. you hear footsteps retreating, and breathe out shakily.
"He's gone." he says, voice low.
you nod, but you stay in your position for a few minutes, content to bury yourself in his embrace after such a terrifying situation.
"Kiyoomi?" you look up, placing your hands on his chest.
he tilts his head downwards, "Are you okay? He didn't do anything, did he?" his brows are furrowed, lips pursed. he looks extremely concerned, and you feel surprised that he seems to care about you so much.
you shake your head slowly, "No, he didn't do anything. I'm - i'm fine." you lick your lips, trying to convince yourself to believe your own words.
Sakusa doesn't answer you, but he does turn his head and glance back before looking down at you. "I'll walk you home. Are you okay to walk? I can carry you."
you don't have much energy left, but you manage to laugh anyway. "I can walk, thank you."
you gently push at his chest, even though you want to continue to stay in his arms. you don't have that privilege any longer, and you shouldn't have assumed you had it in the first place.
you nod, however, and accept his offer to walk you home. you'll let yourself be selfish just this once, and then you'll let him go.
the walk back is silent, but Sakusa sticks close to you. you feel safe with him next to you, regardless of the fact that he hurt you so deeply.
he seems to protect you from others, but never from himself and his words. you sigh tiredly at the thought.
when you get to your apartment, he insists on walking you up. once at your door, you look at him and shuffle on your feet awkwardly.
"Uh, thanks for helping me back there and walking me home. I'll go inside now." you reach for your doorknob but he grabs your hand, pulling you closer. his head dips down, and he closes his eyes with a sigh.
"Please, just talk to me. I can't handle this." his voice makes you shiver, and you curse your body for reacting that way to him.
you lick your lips, "Can't handle what?"
he opens his eyes, tilting his head further down to catch your gaze. "You being mad at me. You ignoring me. Please, tell me what I need to do to fix this."
the two of you are standing so close, your cheeks heat up at the proximity. he still makes you so nervous after two years of knowing him, and the thought has you annoyed with your weak heart.
a shaky breath escapes your lips. "I don't know. You really hurt me, Sakusa."
he looks at you, face pained. like you being upset is causing him pain, and your chest aches to make him feel better.
"I'm sorry, I love you."
the words bring you back to that night, where you bared your heart to him and he trampled on it without a thought. you feel the urge to let more tears slip out, but you are tired of crying over people that do not care for you. you are tired of being the one that loves more.
but he looks different now. his eyes are filled with remorse, and you want to kiss his frown away. maybe, just maybe, this time you wouldn't be the one who loved too much for their own good.
he wipes a thumb underneath your eye, swiping over your cheek. you hadn't even realized you were crying until the concern in his face grew. it makes you feel embarrassed and angry at yourself, but you can’t find it in you to refuse his comfort.
"You don't mean that, Kiyoomi." your voice cracks involuntarily.
he shakes his head pushing your foreheads closer to one another. "I do, I mean it. I'll say it a million times until you believe me."
you huff out a shaky breath. "A million times is a bit dramatic."
"I'd do it for you." he moves his head to the side, pressing a kiss to your temple. the action has butterflies erupting in your stomach, unused to something so innocently romantic.
"You realize we have a lot to talk about? It won't be easy. I can't forgive you so quickly." you lean closer, tilting your head up.
he leans his head downwards. "I know. I'm sorry, just give me a chance and we can talk about it. I'll work hard to make you forgive me." the words are whispered close to your lips, his breath hitting your face. the minty scent is so Kiyoomi, it has your heart fluttering.
you know you have a lot to talk about. you can't just gloss over the month you spent apart, and you would have to talk to your friends about your choice to give him another chance. it would be difficult, and a risk. you were tired of pouring love into people who could not understand its substance.
but perhaps you can hope; you can hope that this time things will be different. that you'll love someone who will love you back all the same.
"Okay." you say softly.
he smiles, and you wonder if you are imagining the glassy look in his eyes. "Okay?"
you nod, whispering once more. "Yeah, okay."
he tilts his head down and captures your lips with his own, one arm sliding around your waist and the other in your hair, tugging you impossibly close.
you gasp into it, not expecting the desperation that leaks from his lips. he pushes you against the wall, with you wrapping your arms around his neck.
tomorrow, you'd have a lot to think about. you'll have to talk to him and figure out what's in store for the two of you. you will also have to face people who will surely disagree with your decision.
but that was a problem for the future.
for now, you're content to focus on the warm lips on your own.
EXTRA:
"So, what happened with that girl anyway?" your cheek is smushed on Kiyoomi's chest as the two of you lay in bed. you had come over to his place after his practice, and you were enjoying the skinship and cuddles.
he shifts underneath you, "Which girl?" his voice is drowsy, and you know he's falling asleep. you can't help yourself though, you've been curious.
you lift your head, smiling at his tired eyes. "The one from the game. She kept touching you."
you watch recognition fill his eyes as he hums, "She asked me to grab a coffee a few days after the game. Haven't responded though."
you nod, satisfied. "Are you going to? Respond, that is."
he turns, large arm wrapping around you. "Why would I do that when I have you? I'd rather the both of us get coffee sometime."
you laugh, "Are you asking me out on a date, Sakusa Kiyoomi?"
he smiles sleepily, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Yes. Let's get coffee soon."
you giggle, snuggling closer. "Okay, sounds good to me."
the surprise you had wanted to give to him after the game sits on his wall, framed and beside his bed. the drawing is one of your best, filled with the overwhelming love you know you could only ever offer to Kiyoomi.
love has always been something daunting for you. to love so wholeheartedly meant the likelihood of someone hurting you was greater. but you don't regret anything, not the slightest bit.
because you know how much love you have to offer, and as long as its to the right person, you know he'll keep your heart safe.
you love him, and you're not sorry.
a/n: 9.7k words later i refuse to read this again:’)
pakiramdam, oh, kay gaan ‘pag nariyan ka
tila lahat ng pagod ay naglaho na
kahit sa anong bagyo, sa yakap mo ay sisilong
sa piling mo, ako’y sigurado
— oh, flamingo!
pairing. collegebf!tsukishima kei/fem!reader
✦ content! 2.3k wc, light angst in the beginning, academic burnout, soft! and clingy!kei i will die on this hill, shit-talk about valentines but proceeds to be romantic in the most disgusting pathetic yearning way, getting half-drenched in the rain, non-sexual intimacy (showering tgt), kissing and cuddling and healing altogether
✦ a late valentine fic written by yours truly, one of my favorite works ever, this holds a special place in my heart and to anyone who reads this, i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i wrote it. all hearts be filled with love!
➽──────────────❥
days before valentines, you thought you wouldn’t be able to survive the week. several tender spots bruised you; deadlines, workloads, wallet devoid of any help in your daily necessities, and the drive to maintain to your impossibly high standards in academics. you’ve lost sleep, but not for burning the midnight oil, no— you just had to waste your time doomscrolling and avoiding reality entirely. which really only produced mediocre results as anticipated.
you wonder how tsukishima kei does it, all while being able to stand atop of everyone else; your number one boyfriend of the century. it’s admirable, but almost makes you feel like you can’t stand on the same podium with him, shrinking yourself to his shadow as if to seek refuge.
and with all the pressure pushing you past your limit, you fail to realize just how callous you’ve gotten, until he starts to mirror you.
the night before valentines, you give him a call.
“what’s wrong? you’ve been in a dry spell with me since this morning.” you notice his messages are just barely a sentence, his tone lack the usual warmth he brings, you think maybe he’s just tired — but then you already asked him a couple of times and denied it. your phone goes silent as you plunge yourself to your mattress, your clothes and bag and even your desk all left unattended, your letter unfinished with the pen still uncapped.
a beat lingered, stretched with a quiet tension in your gut, he says, “nothing.”
“what are you up to?”
“just finished my workout, i’m fine.”
you check the time, close to a late evening. you rub your eyes from the weary, trying and failing to understand how far gravity can pull you in this moment, how long will you wire it gently until you’re poised to snap. you’re tired, you should be sleeping by now, he should be sleeping by now.
maybe it’s best to disengage, it doesn’t seem like he’s willing to have this conversation anyway, “okay then, i’m gonna head to bed-”
“i don’t know—” abrupt, you feel the hesitation pressing around his throat, the breath of someone who’s been holding in for too long, “you just keep disappearing right after you text me.”
”…what?”
“just tell me you’re busy.”
“i- i am busy, kei. you know that.” fuck. you don’t mean to raise your voice. you’ve been crawling your way out of this hellhole for days, sure you’re not big into valentines, the grandness of gifts overflowing is all a sickening part of capitalism— but god, you just want to be wrapped in his arms so badly already. “i still text you though?”
“i usually ask first. you don’t even send photos anymore.” his voice cuts through the line, snappy. “and you just keep leaving me on read before you could reply an hour after, don’t you ever think that’s rude?”
“don’t you ever think that i never blamed you when you do that?!”
“hey.”
“you didn’t even ask me if i was okay this morning.”
“i didn’t know if we were good.”
“how the hell can we be good now?”
“i’m not— i’m not trying to pick a fight with you.”
your head spins and splits, a sharp inhale sears your chest without meaning to. guilt and regret mixed in your mouth, a hint of something bitter coated on the tongue.
you swallow nonetheless. expelling your thoughts through a soft, slow exhale from your nose. a murmur comes like a ghost to soothe. “sure, kei.”
“i’m not asking you to be available all the time. just. give me a heads up if you can’t update.” you hear him shift through the phone, every word brings a pause, voice heavy with hurt, “i really miss you, i keep…waiting for you to tell me about your day, even though the first thing on your mind when you get home is rest.” he heaves a sigh, you can imagine him shaking his head, purse his lips instead of frowning, graze the free edge of his nails between fingertips. “and i’m sorry if—”
“no.” you know what he’s sorry for, “don’t apologize for asking. it’s not too much.”
you tell him you’ll do better. ask him if he could remind you tomorrow so you can share your week with him. you know this doesn’t suffice, but you’re doing the best that you can. and he tells you just as much.
“i want to let you know that i’m proud of you, you deserve the rest,” he says your name like it could whisk away the bruise, a very calm, comforting balm draping your skin. “sweet dreams, i’ll see you soon.”
if you dream long enough about it, he could be here with you, sleeping soundly. his voice is as quiet as the soft, pitter patter of rain outside. you hope to be with him very soon, indeed.
➽──────────────❥
how can you love someone without being selfless? or better yet, how can you love someone without being selfish?
tsukishima kei is no poet, but he thinks that selfishness and selflessness are just two sides of the same coin, minted from the desperate need to matter. and if he isn’t a poet, he’s definitely a thief, for he takes away the fairness in flipping that coin, he can’t allow blind faith to determine its landing; today, he chooses selfishness, and he dares fate to try and pry his knuckles open.
he justifies it—he spent six long and tired days without seeing you, much less have you in a space where time could feel irrelevant. no, he’s not really into valentines either, but if it meant he’d have the chance to soak himself in your very presence today without feeling cringe of himself to come up with an excuse, then he’ll take it without a scoff.
even if the universe plans on thrusting the blame on him, even if fate makes it a point to make this special day his problem.
he’s not sure if he’s awaken by your notification (which is personalized so that he’s free to ignore everyone else) or the drizzling rain, or maybe the way his feet’s grown numbly cold because he’s still using a blanket too small for his size, he kicks it aside and tries to reach for his glasses, the chill of the room pooling around his ankles, reminding him of your absence.
he immediately replies to your good morning and— suddenly your chat bubble pops up, you sent a picture of yourself without makeup, and he doesn’t miss the puffiness around your eyes. did you cry on call?
you look beautiful.
thank you kei, i’ll be heading out soon. just have to get this PE done and over
GOD i hate curl ups
warm up first okay? i’ll go to the gym while i wait for you
o-kei
i love you.
i love you too, kei <3
he knows you and the molded lines on your face, he thinks this one text of yours could look like your warm smile he’s aching to see.
he gets up right as you locked your door and head to your university.
➽──────────────❥
an hour and a half later, in the haze of fluorescent lights and squeaky sneakers on school gym floors, you’re drenched in sweat and the physical manifestation of the week’s weight, your core strained. you had to manipulate some trials and write down a number fitting enough for your professor to not suspect. plus, you feel dirty, you might need a shower after this.
you kind of hoped for the sun to appear, but the sky cries louder, fields of murky gray greet you as you finally exit from the campus. you smell the petrichor through the air, february expanding itself as time slows. you fish out your phone while holding your umbrella, hoping to meet your solitude and tell him you’re here—
look up, idiot
“huh?”
across the street, there he stands in one of the awnings, tall and looking half-unbothered but mostly keeping his stare fixed at you. he’s a terrible eyesore even from afar— too calm and well composed and everything you’ve been missing—and when you check before crossing and duck under the awning to join him, he catches your wrist first before sliding it down to your hand. your heart stutters at the sight of him, you say, out of breath. “hi.”
“you look like you’re about to collapse." he suppresses a chuckle, voice low but enough to hear him while the crowd of students disperse. his free hand rummages through his small duffel bag as he hands you his water bottle.
he brushes your hair behind your ear, some passerby spared him a glance before turning to their friend, whispering. and you have to admit that maybe he’s been admiring for however long he was standing here from faces you don’t want to acknowledge. it makes you a little bit insane, and jealous.
he interlaces his fingers with yours, watches you finish drinking before you tuck it in his bag yourself. a smirk hovers your lips, “is that a way to greet your girlfriend?”
“i’m not here to be polite,” he says, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in such a conscious way, fair skin and soft to touch, you feel your palms start to sweat, “i’m here to take you home, and i’m staying.”
he doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time. your shoes are soon drenched from the amassing puddles, and you find yourself laughing at him as he mumbles a steady stream of curses—stupid rain and fuck valentines and god, i hate traffic. he directs sharp glares at passing cars with enough venom that you’re almost ready to find him a brick to throw.
the tension of last night’s call still hums in the back of your mind, but it softens every time you look at him. on the subway, the city blurs outside the window, and you feel his shoulders finally drop their guard the moment you lean your head against him. waiting for the next stop, you look up at him. beneath the reflection on his thick-lensed glasses, he wears a face of exhaustion he hides so well.
you remain quiet with the revelation, despite how he stands in the high podium, his tired bones match yours perfectly. you like to think, at this moment, that you’re not shrinking into his shadow anymore — you’re just two people leaning on each other, and that neither of you has to fall.
and when you’re finally fumbling with your keys, the heat of his palm found on your lower back grounds you, invites you once the door clicks shut. the silence of your apartment feels more of a sanctuary than a void.
you drop both your bags, “i’m gonna shower, the gym floors were disgusting.”
he sheds his damp jacket, removes his glasses and let it rest on your table, and without any judgement he glances at the way your shoulders droop, “go. i’m coming with you.”
oh.
you’re…a little dumbfounded, and maybe it shows on your face because kei blinks in realization and his ears go red and he clarifies, “only if you want to—”
”i do.” you shy away your gaze, “i want to.”
“are you sure?”
”yeah.” you’ve always wanted to. to understand what’s it like to be inexplicably close, what it means to be taken care of, how your hands will learn every place he can’t reach.
at this point, you’re just finding reasons to be close to him, and if he realizes this, you hope he doesn’t mind.
the bathroom fills with steam, you sigh in relief at the warm droplets meeting your skin, the sound of water hitting the tiles bounces through the walls in a muffled rhythm, less harsh than the cool unrelenting rain. he follows suit, and you have to quell your racing heart at the sight of him. here, you feel vulnerable—so intimately bare. here, possibly, nothing else matters.
he takes the soap from your hand, large palms slick with foam. “turn around baby,” he whispers, like the air feels fragile— fingers careful around the slope of your shoulder, travels down to the curve of your spine, circle motions around your stomach and a delicate slide to your chest.
“wash my hair too?” you ask, looking at the floor than at him.
you hear him hum behind you, “okay, let me finish lathering you first.”
there is something profoundly selfish about the way he handles you, intent in his gentleness, like he knows already how rough you are with yourself. knows a lot about you, actually. but it feels more selfless than anything, he scrubs away your tender spots off of you until you feel lighter, without question, without hesitation.
he uses your favorite shampoo, gives your head a massage you never knew you needed.
you feel like crying.
when it’s your turn, your hands tremble, you trace all the familiar, sharp lines of his back, feeling the way he bows his head to let you reach. he’s so tall he has to hunch under the spray, and a chuckle escapes you before you could stop. he side glances, a soft smile playing his lips, pale yellow lashes fluttering around droplets that look like jewels. he gives you a look, a tease, bangs sticking to his forehead.
you say, “stop that.” (don’t, though.)
“stop what?”
you both hold each other’s gazes like a mini staring contest, his cheeks blooming. he gives up eventually with a sigh, shaking his head, and bare his neck to you—wants you to keep going.
you continue to wash him in silence, humming a tune that echoes. he seems so firm as a whole, but under your touch, he is anything but. you find it remarkable how unguarded he is with you, how soft he is with you— makes you love him a whole lot more.
“i love you.” you do.
he turns around at that, breaching the small space by pressing his lips against yours as if he could translate the words in your mouth. one hand cradles your face, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone with a reverence that makes your knees unbearably weak, while the other hooks you by the waist, pulling you flush against the lean, warm length of him.
between the infinitesimal gap he mutters, “i love you too.” he stays there for a moment, forehead on to yours. “we’re good now, right?”
“yeah?”
“good.” he nods, as if to confirm it.
later, when you’re wrapped up in oversized towels, he suggests getting takeout while you find clothes that would fit him. hand out your electric blanket so he feels warmer. you end up wearing his old and worn out highschool jersey for…nostalgic reasons. and he pretends it doesn’t affect him but pulls you in with him on the bed a little rougher than he should, making you melt with him as he asks if you could recount your week.
he ignores the dampness of your hair and plants a kiss to your scalp, plants another and let it grow into thousands— when you’re done finally sharing your part, he takes you in selfishly, capturing your lips with a sort of wholeness, and a lifetime to spare.
☼ fem! na’vi reader, dad! neteyam, sfw, slice of life vibes, so much fluff, humor, ft. unc lo’ak.
⟡ anyone else need a little dad! neteyam in their life? just me?
⟡ m.list
In the kelutral, Lo’ak holds up his six month old nephew, Siay.
He tilts his head and squints like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Wide eyes flicker toward you, studying your face— then dart to Neteyam, scanning his facial features. Neither of you notice his staring, and his attention eventually returns to his nephew.
Lo’ak presses his lips together, smothering a laugh with a cough as he cuddles a dozing Siay close to his chest. He lets out a low whistle.
“Wow,” he says, reclining against a wall.
Your hands pause where they’d been re-tightening the knot on your hammock, looking to Lo’ak in alarm. “What is it?” The task is abandoned as you stride over. “Is the baby alright?”
“He’s fine,” Lo’ak insists. He turns Siay around until his back is supported on his chest, forearm propping up his bottom. “See?”
You place your hands on your hips, tail swishing in annoyance. “Then why did you say that?”
Neteyam wanders over, confusion splayed across his face. He stands close enough that your arms touch.
Lo’ak giggles, squishing Siay’s cheeks between his fingers. “Bad news, tsmuke. Siay truly is an exact copy of my skxawng brother.” He strains his neck slightly to see the baby’s face, who has opened his bright eyes and is looking around. “He is less ugly, though.”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam chides, ears flattening. He frowns when you laugh and glares at his brother. “My son is not ugly.”
“He isn’t. You are.”
“Take a look at yourself, baby brother. If I am ugly, you are ugly.”
You grab Neteyam’s elbow. Amusement colors your voice as you say, “Enough, ma Neteyam.” Smiling down at Lo’ak, you hold out your arms. “Give me my son, skxawng.”
He grins and rises to his feet, handing over the squirming baby. “I feel bad you have to live with my brother. At least Siay is cute.”
Neteyam chases Lo’ak out of sight, their playful fighting and laughter warming your heart. You cradle Siay in your arms, that same rush of affection filling your chest and popping like an overfilled water balloon as you run a gentle finger down the length of your son’s nose.
Neteyam’s nose.
He giggles and coos, four chubby fingers reaching for your hair. Adorable yellow eyes watching you in awe. You give Siay your finger to play with and lock eyes with Neteyam as he returns. His braids are messy, but he looks happy.
“It is a shame, ma Neteyam.”
Neteyam stops in front of you, ears twitching. “What is a shame, ma sevin?” His face lights up when Siay reaches for him. Neteyam accepts his son with ease, kissing his forehead and mimicking the position Lo’ak held him in earlier— back to chest.
Eywa, Lo’ak was right. You can barely tell them apart.
It means everything.
You cross your arms, heart beating with a love so strong it threatens to knock you off your feet. “It is quite a shame that I carried our son in my womb for so many moons only for him to resemble you exactly.”
