sukuna was tired of the bitchy girls he always had to deal with — wether they were from a one night stand or a girl that got hooked from his flirty antics, it always ends the same way — he rejects them and they run off to start rumors.
so yeah, he was done with girls. okay,maybe not completely, he still had some late night fucks after a party, but not without making clear that's where it ends. but other than that, he basically quit the game.
imagine his surprise when he fell in love with a stranger not even a week after that. yes, you heard that right, he the playboy himself fell in love. no less than with a girl he didn't even know before.
it wasn't an extraordinary day or night, just their usual frat parties where half the campus would come to drink or make out with someone. except this time, his eyes landed on a woman who couldn't look more out of place — even while being dressed up all pretty, a look on her face like she couldn't wait to get back home.
if someone told him that not even ten minutes after spotting you, he would have a conversation about how he had the perfect nipple atonomy for piercings, he would laugh or look at them like they were crazy. except this time, he's not laughing.
"i'm serious, have you never thought about it? they are like the perfect size and color." he's unsure how to respond — he's not even sure if he should answer at all.
"...no? i mean maybe? like one or two times." his usual confident, flirty voice falters, like it's the first time a girl talks to him without showering him in compliments. like he's expecting you to laugh it off and tell him you're joking.
well, you're not. "you probably should, dude. but don't let the same piercer as the one who did your eyebrow piercing do it. it's really off center." sukuna takes in second to replay your words in his head, and when they finally connect, he looks like he aged ten years.
"excuse me?"
you don't seem to notice his passive aggressive tone, or you just blatantly chose to ignore it. "yeah it should be way over here. yours almost looks like an centered one." you apparently also don't notice the way he genuinly flinches when you reach to point with your finger at the right placement.
he doesn't even try to look or understand where you're poking him — he's just looking at you with a dumbfounded expression. and god knows why, he felt fucking butterflies in his stomach, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.
there's just no way he, out of all people is feeling a spark because a girl is criticising his uneven piercing. he pushes the thoughts aside and a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know, that's not how i thought the conversation was gonna go."
and bless your heart, because you genuinly have no idea what's strange about this conversation. "oh, i'm sorry, did you want to talk about something else?" you sound extremly worried all of a sudden, like you didn't mean to hurt his feelings.
your strange personality doesn't seem to shy away the man infront of you — no, he's even more intrigued now. "how come i don't know the name of such a pretty girl?" it's supposed to be flirty, but sukuna should probaly have known better.
"that's probably because we never talked before. usually people tell you their name when you meet for the first time. otherwise people may think you're stalking them because that's kinda creepy knowing someone's name without asking y'know. but i know you're sukuna, not because im some weirdo who's stalking you it's just you're known as the community dick no offense intended."
the more you ramble on the more sukuna looks like any hope he had to take you to his room left his eyes. he probably should've known you wouldn't take the hint — definetly his fault. after a second of processing your speech his eyebrows shoot up in a mix of confusion and offense?
"...community dick?" his mouth open and closes like he wants to add something to his queestion but he has no idea what to say. the worried look on your face returns for the second time this evening, realising you're talking before thinking.
"no, yes, kind of? there's like nothing wrong if you like pleasuring women , actually that's like really nice of you, it's kinda empowering y'know like feminist and all."
any sign of seriousness leaves his expression and a rare sight for the fratking — a genuine laugh escaping him at your poor attempt of sweet talking yourslef out of calling him a slut.
there aren't many moments where sukuna actually really laughs when talking to girls — a charming smile being all it takes for most to drop their panties.however, it seemed like you had no interest in dropping anything at all.
except for your drink.
right on his bare chest.
it was an accident — truly, someone shoved you off balance and your drink spilled right on his abs, the sudden cold liquid making him hiss at the contact.
his eyes look down at his muscles seeing them drenched in a sticky substance, the alcohol making it's way down to wet his pants.
you gasp, hand covering your mouth. "oh my god — i'm so sorry. there are like no napkins anywhere near— wait i have an idea." he's about to tell you it's no big deal, he was shirtless after all — he could just jump into the pool or whatever but he stops dead in his tracks when you bend down.
right until you're face to face with his stomach.
he's about to ask you what you're doing — but freezes instead the moment your tongue darts out to lick the drink. "wh-what are you doing?" he sounds genuinely at a loss of words. you only answer after making sure no liquid would have time to go under his pants. "all good! your pants are totally save now no worries."
well he is worried — just not about his pants, but the boner he hopes you won't notice. he's unsure if this was supposed to be some kind of seducing tactic — but looking at your innocent expression he discards that idea. you really had just licked a man who you met ten minutes ago and looked like you had no idea how it looked to anyone watching.
there's a rare pink tint at the tips of his ears and he opens his mouth to say anything — but closes it once he realises he has no clue what to say. he also really doesn't know if he should feel as turned on as he is.
"thank you..?" it comes out like a question, like he's unsure if he should be thanking you. you're either ignoring his bewildered expression or you just don't even notice it at all.
"you're welcome. no prob." there's a moment of silence, neither of you knowing what to say until he breaks it.
"so is there a chance i can get your number?" to make sure you understand where he's going with this he adds, " romantically."
yeah he may have not thought the evening would turn out like this, but who is he to complain if his girl got a lil kick to her? after all — he still bagged the number.
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
hello ^^ can I request some blake/bestie fluff where they’re both relaxing and cuddling after a long day… or whatever u feel like writing for them I’ve been craving more blake content since that last audio came out ;;
(a/n: >:D. this isn't fluff...but it is nicer than what i had in mind originally. i hope you enjoy, blake nation. reqs open!)
Their life had always appeared to them as a series of befores and afters. Events large, small, and all the sizes in between read like billboards when they took the time to drive down the aptly named memory lane, though theirs seemed more like a highway. They could catch glimpses of birthdays, tests, interviews, losses, and revelations in big blocked letters paired with catchy quips, telling them when to pull over so that they could savor the simulacrum of remembered emotions.
They were no stranger to the rift between what had been and what was now.
But this...this still took some getting used to.
He had been sitting like this for an hour, the meek sunlight still leaking through the blinds dimming with every passing second. Completely still, body held with a rigidity that screamed inhuman. Muscles weren't supposed to crystallize like that. Chests were meant to inflate and decompress. Dermis itched and tendons twitched and lids nictitated when the sclera grew dry. But he stared off with unseeing, unfocused eyes at the wall, more marble than man.
They couldn't even see a dip in the mattress where his body rested. He didn't hover, but he didn't impress. He just was.
"Blake?" they tried hesitantly, stepping over scattered notebook pages torn at the edges and protein bar wrappers with their reflective insides crinkled and worn.
They placed a hand on his shoulder, and he didn't so much shiver as convulse, blinking rapidly and taking in a deep inhale, eyes rolling back for a nanosecond.
"What?" he gritted out, and their throat grew sore at the tenderness he rammed into his tone. He was fighting the entity screaming at his distraction, his loss of devotion to its cause. He was listening to them, looking at them, feeling for them.
"I just..." Their words lapsed, guilt gnawing at their ribs. "I was just worried. About you. You haven't moved in a while."
He took a moment to process their words, then lifted a shoulder in a shrug that should have been accompanied by a metallic creak for how unnatural it looked.
"Yeah." he murmured. "I seem to do that a lot."
Silence filled the space between them before he reached his arms up, stretching up toward the ceiling.
"Lay with me?" he asked, his voice bridging the rift between plea and invitation.
They nodded immediately, climbing up to join him, tucking their face into his shoulder and breathing him in. He still smelled like himself, if somehow both earthier and airier than usual. Like river-soaked soil tossed into a maelstrom. Grounded and destructive, bound and free.
Before and after.
"This won't change, will it?" they whispered, the fear of the idea terrifying in its novelty.
"No." he promised them swiftly, gathering them closer, close enough so that they could feel each breath he took. "This won't change. I'm still yours. I'll always come back for you."
"Back from what?"
"Anything."
The word brought tears to their eyes, and they wept. For all that had come before, what would surely happen after, and the impossible reality of the present.
"I know." he mumbled, caressing their arm. And he sounded so much older than he had any right to, as though he did indeed know, with a certainty borne of cyclical misery eternal. "I know."
Not in the dramatic way people in movies hated things either—where they complained for ten minutes before magically learning to love the fresh air and the scenery. No. You genuinely hated it—hated the heat that stuck to your skin like wet fabric, hated the dirt that somehow always found its way under your nails no matter how much you washed your hands, hated the smell of livestock drifting through the air every morning, hated how quiet it got at night, so quiet you could hear insects screaming in the grass outside your window.
And most of all—you hated that your father lived there because every summer visit meant labor.
Your dad believed in “hard work buildin’ character,” which was just another way of saying he’d drag you out into the fields until your body ached and your skin burned while he barked instructions at you from twenty feet away.
Meanwhile you’d spent the entire year enjoying city life—sleeping in, staying indoors, wasting hours on your phone, eating whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. Then suddenly you were expected to wake up before the sun and work until your muscles felt like they were splitting apart.
It was miserable.
Packing your bags had been easy enough. Just throw clothes into a suitcase and ignore your mother giving you sympathetic looks from the doorway. Leaving your actual life behind though? That part sucked. You practically mourned your bed before walking out the front door.
The drive felt too long.
Every mile farther from the city made you more irritated. Buildings disappeared. Stores disappeared. Signal disappeared. Eventually all that remained were endless stretches of land, fences, patches of wheat, old tractors rusting in grass, and skies so open it almost felt uncomfortable.
When your father’s truck finally pulled into the gravel driveway, you stared at the old farmhouse with immediate dread.
Same chipped paint.
Same creaky porch.
Same stupid windmill off in the distance.
You let out a long sigh while dragging your suitcase out of the car—and the heat hit immediately.
Dry. Heavy. Brutal.
Your father clapped a rough hand onto your shoulder with enough force to nearly shove you forward. “Quit sulkin’. Ain’t gonna kill ya to spend a lil’ time outside.”
Easy for him to say.
The first day passed surprisingly fast though. Maybe because your father was oddly softer after not seeing you for months. Dinner had been decent. You talked a little, laughed once or twice.
And thankfully, he didn’t force you into the fields immediately. You spent the evening sitting on the porch while cicadas screamed in the trees, pretending the entire trip might not be completely terrible.
Then morning came—violently in fact.
You woke up to your father pounding on your bedroom door at seven in the morning, and groaned.
“Up.”
You nearly choked yourself in the pillow to death.
The room was already warm from the sun leaking through the curtains. You dragged yourself out of bed looking half-dead while your father tossed clothes at you.
“Wear somethin’ light. Gonna be hot today.”
No kidding.
You reluctantly changed into shorts and a thin shirt, already annoyed by how exposed you felt. The countryside somehow made everything feel more embarrassing. Maybe because everyone stared too long here, maybe because there was nothing else to look at except each other.
You barely had time to wake up properly before your father marched you outside.
The fields stretched endlessly under the burning sun, golden and green blending together beneath the bright sky. Workers were already moving through rows of crops in the distance. You hated how alive everyone looked this early.
Then your father introduced you to him.
“Axilen!” your father called.
You turned lazily—and immediately regretted it.
The man walking toward you was huge, not just tall but built like a damn fridge.
Muscular arms strained beneath the sleeves of his worn shirt, sun-bronzed skin glistening slightly from sweat already gathered across his neck and collarbone. His jeans were dusty, boots caked with dirt, and his hands looked rough enough to split wood barehanded.
And his eyes—
His eyes landed on you and didn’t leave, not for a second.
It was immediate, and shameless—shameless in the way his gaze dragged down your body slowly before returning to your face with a grin that looked far too pleased.
“Well now,” he drawled.
His accent was thick—deep countryside. Words slow and honeyed, vowels stretching lazily off his tongue. “Ain’t ya just beautiful.”
You blinked awkwardly.
Your father didn’t seem bothered at all.
Axilen stepped closer, still staring openly. “Lord above… ain’t got a flaw on ya either.”
His eyes moved again—up, down— slow like he was savoring the sight.
You shifted uncomfortably, offering an awkward nod purely because your father stood beside you and you didn’t want to start problems immediately.
Unfortunately, that tiny reaction seemed to completely charm him.
Axilen grinned wider, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Cute too.”
You hated him already.
The work started immediately after introductions, and somehow Axilen made everything worse.
Everywhere you went—he followed.
Every row you worked on suddenly became his row too. Every basket you carried mysteriously got taken from your hands before you could finish. Every task turned into an excuse for him to hover beside you talking endlessly while you sweated yourself half to death beneath the blazing sun.
“You city folk always this delicate?” he teased while effortlessly lifting something you struggled carrying earlier.
You wiped sweat from your forehead irritably. “No. I just don’t enjoy manual labor.”
He laughed at that, adams apple bobbing, his chuckle deep and loud. “Aw, don’t worry. I’ll take care’a the hard stuff.”
You almost rolled your eyes hard enough to collapse.
And the worst part was how persistent he was—most people backed off when you acted uninterested, axilen didn’t.
If anything, it encouraged him more.
You’d ignore him and he’d simply move closer. You’d answer with one-word replies and he’d grin like you’d flirted with him. Every dismissive look you gave him only made his expression soften into something dangerously fond.
It was irritating and weird, especially because he stared at you constantly. And it wasn't like it was subtle either.
Every time you glanced up, he was already looking like he physically could not stop himself.
You bent down to pull weeds from the soil, sweat sticking your shirt against your back while the sun roasted your skin alive. A shadow fell over you seconds later.
Of course it did.
Axilen crouched beside you easily, broad shoulders blocking some of the sunlight.
“Y’know,” he started casually, “never seen someone look so pretty workin’ in dirt before.”
You exhaled sharply.
“get lost,” you muttered.
He grinned instantly, that grin was becoming a problem.
“Careful there, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice dropping lower. “Might get the wrong message.”
You frowned up at him. “What message?”
“That yer playin’ hard t’ get.”
You stared at him flatly.
He just looked amused.
But Axilen genuinely didn’t understand why you weren’t warming up to him yet. In his mind, this was practically fate.
The second he saw you standing there beside your father, suitcase in hand and irritation written all over your face, something inside him had latched onto you instantly.
He’d grown up in this town his entire life—seen the same people, same women, same routines, nothing ever changed.
Then suddenly you arrived looking all soft and pretty and completely out of place beneath the country sun, and Axilen felt like someone had slammed a hook straight through his ribs.
He couldn’t stop looking at you, didn’t want to.
The way your face twisted whenever you got annoyed was adorable to him. The way you clearly hated the heat made him weirdly affectionate, even your attitude charmed him.
Especially your attitude.
Axilen always got pissed off when city people always looked down on countryside folk. Yet there you were in shorts that showed off your legs while glaring at him like he was a mosquito buzzing around your head, and he just bit his bottom lip to keep from groaning.
You were cute—so damn cute.
And you smelled good, not like dirt or hay or sweat, you smelled clean and sweet—wrong for this place.
Axilen liked that too.
He watched you more than he worked honestly. He watched the way you wiped sweat from your neck, watched your irritated expressions. He watched your fingers struggle with simple tasks, watched the way you sighed dramatically every five minutes.
And by lunchtime, Axilen had already decided he was gonna keep you.
Not literally, of course.
…Well, actually..
“Yer burnin’ up,” he said later when he noticed your face flushed from heat.
“No shit.”
He laughed again. “Language.”
You glared.
He loved when you glared.
Axilen stepped behind you suddenly, making you tense when his large hand brushed your shoulder lightly before tugging your hat lower over your face to shield your eyes from the sun.
"there." He murmured, and your stomach twisted in annoyance.
“Stop touching me.”
He blinked once, then smiled softly. “Can’t really help it.”
That answer made your skin crawl slightly—not because he sounded threatening, but because he sounded sincere, entirely too sincere like touching you had become instinct already.
The day dragged on endlessly.
At one point your father sent the two of you to repair fencing farther from the main fields, which really meant trapping you alone with Axilen for nearly an hour.
You nearly died internally.
Axilen, unfortunately, seemed thrilled, and the walk there was torture because he refused to stop talking.
“Told yer daddy I’d help out with ya personally.”
“Why?”
“Wanted t’ spend time with ya.”
You exhaled quietly.
He smiled at the sound.
“You always this grumpy?”
“When I’m overheating, yes.”
“Ain’t overheating. Yer just dramatic.”
You shot him a look.
He grinned immediately. “There’s that face again.”
You seriously considered shoving him into a ditch.
When you reached the fencing area, Axilen got to work quickly while you awkwardly attempted helping. Except every few minutes he’d interrupt to hover over you.
“No, no—hold it like this.”
His hands covered yours from behind, warm and huge—rough palms against your skin.
You immediately stiffened.
Axilen noticed, and his expression softened instantly.
“You nervous ‘round me?”
“No.”
“You lyin’?”
“Yes.”
That actually made him laugh hard enough to bend forward slightly.
“Cute little thing.”
You hated how often he called you cute.
Or sweetheart.
Or pretty.
Or darlin’.
Every sentence out of his mouth sounded flirtatious somehow.
Even when he was talking normally his voice carried this low lazy warmth that made everything sound way too intimate.
At some point you sat beneath a tree for shade while drinking water, completely exhausted.
Axilen watched you openly while leaning against the fence.
“You know,” he said eventually, “ain’t never seen someone lookin’ so miserable.”
“Glad I could entertain you.”
“Oh, ya do.”
You frowned slightly.
Something about his tone changed, still warm, and still playful but heavier now.
His eyes lingered on your face too long.
“You got no idea what ya do t’ me.”
You stared at him cautiously.
Axilen smiled again, but this one was quieter, softer.
It should not have looked that intense after one day.
And by evening, everybody noticed Axilen hovering around you constantly. The older workers teased him relentlessly for it.
“Boy’s gone stupid already.”
“Ain’t seen him this lovestruck ever.”
“Careful, kid. He’ll follow ya home.”
They laughed.
Axilen didn’t deny it.
That was the concerning part.
Even during dinner at your father’s house, Axilen somehow ended up there too. Apparently helping neighbors often ate together around here. Unfortunately for you, that meant enduring his attention for another two hours.
He sat across from you staring constantly.
Your father found it hilarious.
Axilen found it mesmerizing whenever you got irritated enough to snap at him.
“You gonna keep starin’ all night?”
“Probably.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Ain’t no point lyin’ ‘bout pretty things."
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning upward again.
His mama always told him to persist when he wanted something—and that was exactly what he was gonna do, just now the goal is you.
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 4.3k
m.list | chapter three | chapter four | next chapter
You are mad at Zuko. Again.
He is a good person. He ended a war for fuck’s sake— one that lasted for over one hundred years. At sixteen, mind you. He could’ve easily said, to hell with you all, enjoy the dictator.
He doesn’t deserve this.
It was bad enough that the chancellor came along. You have arranged for Concubine Saiyo to accompany him, again. You also brought guards. Half a dozen of them. He’s staring at two of them right now, sitting way too close to you.
The strategist had sent them here, as if you alone weren’t worth a dozen soldiers yourself. He couldn’t even make it up if he tried— that’s the criteria that needed to be met in order to be accepted into the military’s elite unit.
He knows you could’ve easily declined the assistance, you just chose not to— this is you sending him a message. One he heard loud and clear last time, when you stormed back into his chambers after chasing that servant.
There was a sudden burst of light at first, making him turn to see what caused it. As he was doing so, the smell of something burning hit his nose.
You were burning his curtain to a crisp.
It wasn’t until the ash eventually got swept away by the wind when he looked at you, only to rudely be told to, “Get a fucking door.”
There was no forgetting the cold look in your eye or the sharp tone you used to cut into him in that moment.
“I won’t bother to remind you of your place, so let me remind you of mine— I’m here to keep you on that fucking throne. If your alliances were to have seen what that servant had just witnessed, they will question your intentions. They will question everything— starting with the fact that you still don't have an heir. You’ve come too far, worked too hard to mess this up. I won’t allow you to— I refuse.”
And then.
“Never. Touch me. Again.”
That was the hardest part to hear— he held you knowing he’d never hurt you, and yet, he still did.
You went on to pretend as if nothing had ever happened. No silent treatment. No smart, overly formal remarks meant to provoke him.
You continued to be his advisor.
Just not his friend.
—
Despite all the murderous air that’s recently settled in the Silk District, it’s still as magnetic as ever.
It was more than just brothels. It was endless entertainment. Sprawling markets. Exotic goods. Diverse cuisines. Festivals. You couldn’t even say the brothels were “just brothels”, the courtesans were gold standard.
It wasn’t just people from all over the nation that visited— it was people from all over the world. And for that, there’s many hotels, luxurious ones. The owner of the hotel you’re staying in was generous enough to completely shut it down for the Fire Lord’s visit.
Zuko usually doesn't require such excessive accommodations. There was a point in time when he didn't even have a roof over his head, let alone a bed. Not to mention he starved for the entirety of it— that’s not exactly something that leaves you.
It really doesn’t take much to make him happy.
He couldn’t say the same for most, if not all, the company he brought today, which is why he held off on saying anything other than a simple thank you.
The owner and the manager were waiting outside at the time of your arrival, more than happy to welcome their most special guests with refreshments. The soldiers were tasked to be Saiyo’s food taster for the trip. Yet you absentmindedly took on the task, taking a sip of the mango juice before grabbing another glass from the tray and handing it to her. You’re no stranger to travel, but you seem awfully familiar with the place.
Perhaps it has something to do with the man that just called out your name.
“My…” The man continues to walk up to you and Zuko can't help but notice how mesmerized the bastard looks. “You’re as lovely as ever.”
The look Zuko gave the guards was nothing short of startling. They knew he was a peaceful man, so the fact that he even had the capability of exuding such dark energy sent chills running down their spines.
Instantly, they unsheathed their swords and stepped forward. The worst part of it all, the stranger couldn’t feel any less threatened by the act. He holds his hands up in innocence and chuckles.
The man had long, brown hair with half of it worn up in a knot. Draped in a loose fitting robe that revealed a muscular physique. Tall. Green, cat-like eyes.
He’s very attractive.
Unfortunately.
“It’s fine,” you murmur, signaling for the guards to lower their swords. There’s not much enthusiasm in your tone as you greet him back, “Ryuko.”
“I must say it’s not very surprising to see you wearing the imperial crest on your robe, you’ve always been a clever one,” his grin grows, as confident as ever.
You have no idea how to respond to that. “And you’re…”
“The newest council member of the district,” he reveals, then redirects his attention to Zuko. “Your Majesty,” he offers a subtle bow, “Please excuse my manners— I was not aware I’d be running into an old friend today. It’s a pleasure to welcome your arrival to the district.”
The apology does nothing to ease Zuko’s irritation as he continues to assess the councilman like he was some threat.
“Likewise.”
It’s a harsh crowd, not that Ryuko cares. If anything, he expects it from those that come from the Royal Capital. Pompous fucks.
Oh well. Work is work. At least some parts of it will be more interesting now.
—
The Fire Lord can’t help but thank the gods for Concubine Saiyo’s penchant for gossip and general nosiness.
“It seems your old friend may have had a bit of a crush on you,” the concubine says with a light giggle.
Ryuko stayed for a little longer, revealing he’d be at the new facility for the majority of your week-long stay.
“You’re definitely not wrong,” you suppress a laugh, taking another sip of wine. “We were engaged at one point.”
Zuko stops mid-chew.
“Oh? May I ask what happened?”
“I had a bit of a rebellious phase and it came to an end,” you were comfortable enough to reveal.
The mood of tonight’s dinner leaned more towards the intimate side. You wouldn’t be the only one sharing personal details— the chamberlain was just complaining about his daughter not very long ago. Though you’re sure some of the wine you’ve been sipping on all evening helped.
“Care to share the details of this rebellious phase of yours?” the chamberlain shyly asks— it seems he had the penchant for gossip as well.
Since it’s the chamberlain asking and you’re looking to turn it into a learning lesson in your slightly inebriated state, you decide to humor him.
“Well,” you sigh, wondering where to start. “I moved here shortly after turning eighteen and stayed for a little over a year. It’s a wonderful place, really— very lively. Shortly after moving, I met a girl at the market. Her name was Cyra and she was a courtesan. Anyways, she was the first friend I made here—“
Saiyo puts a hand over her mouth. “Did she recruit you?”
“Saiyo, please,” Zuko snaps at her, already struggling at the fact that you were engaged. He did not need the image of you fucking more men in his head right now.
“I’m sorry, My Lord!” she squeaks out.
“I wouldn’t say she recruited me.”
“What?” his tone hardened, it goes unnoticed given everyone else’s shock. It’s a little insulting.
“Some of the girls in the brothel she worked for were firebenders and I ended up being an instructor of some sorts to elevate their fire dances. Fire dancing tends to be energetic, which is great for festivals, but not for the songs they sing and instruments they play. So, I helped them make their dances look more graceful.”
Their madam was quite generous with your compensation. You went on to give more private lessons at other brothels and somehow became a part of an underground society filled with the district’s elite. That was where you met Ryuko.
The people of the silk district didn’t care so much about what class you were in. If you had something interesting to offer, whether it be a courtesan who’s gained notoriety from simply being unforgettable or a fighter who people could confidently place their bets on, you were considered important.
Ryuko ran a fight club. He also accepted money from wealthy merchants and business owners on the side whenever they needed one of his fighters to do some of their dirty work for them— you only found out the morning his home was raided, which led to his arrest.
“And yeah— he went off to prison and I went back home.” The room’s silent, everyone‘s just staring at you with their eyes wide. “Anyways, that’s why it’s important to offer assistance, especially when it comes to a place like this. Not add more violence.”
The chancellor looks away in shame. Zuko’s not looking at you anymore, either. There is a lot he wants to say right now, many of them being questions like, who in their right mind allowed a fucking criminal to be a member of the council?
“Do you still love him?”
That as well. Thank you, Saiyo.
You hum. “I was young, I’m not sure if I truly ever did. Looking back, I don’t think the engagement would’ve lasted.”
“I see,” she took another sip of wine. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that you had the chance to explore the world for some time. I’m sure you have better judgement because of it.”
“Thank you. I’d say so, too.”
—
Accepting your fathers initial offer to bring guards was a decision made with a scattered mind and empty stomach.
The entire purpose of opening a rehabilitation program was so people could be treated with dignity and you didn’t consider how showing up with multiple guards would look up until the last moment. So to avoid looking wary of the very people you once ate meals and danced with, you only brought only one along and assigned him to the chancellor.
He’s not any more sheltered than Saiyo, and if the presence of a guard is what’ll prevent him from fainting at the sight of someone covered in tattoos, then so be it.
It didn’t take him long to figure it out.
“I can assure I don’t need a bodyguard,” he forces out a laugh. “I understand you kids had your adventures, but—“
“Chancellor, you’re not referring to the time my father exiled me from the nation at thirteen years old, are you?” Zuko dryly asks, instantly killing the mood.
“No, no— never,” the old man stutters. “Your other adventures, w-with your friends!”
He hums. “I see.
You stay quiet throughout the exchange, sticking to your new rule of only speaking to Zuko when you actually need to tell him something. Even if you had a change of heart, you’re not sure how that would go. He’s grown to be more sarcastic with his answers as of late, and you’d rather not be on the receiving end of it, for obvious reasons.
This is the first time you’ve felt any sympathy for the Chancellor. But at least he’s able to walk away.
The Fire Lord doesn’t allow you to do that. He spends the day quietly trailing behind you, keeping you somewhat within his reach. Not overbearing, but noticeable. To you, at least.
The new facility is bigger than the one in Republic City. A two-story with high ceilings and plenty of rooms. Lots of natural sunlight.
“They’re going to be living it up like kings in here, aren’t they?” Your comments directed more towards Jin, who’s been working day and night since his arrival. There’s a deadline and it seems like he’s trying to cut it in half— you appreciate a hard worker when you see one.
“Yes, they are,” he hums with satisfaction.
He’s a sweet man. You’re glad the Lord has been more receptive of him compared to last time.
“And here we have the meditation room,” Jin reveals. “It might be a little difficult getting them to calm their minds at first, but it’ll quickly become a favorite, as it did with—“
Jin’s cut off by random knocks. You both turn around to find the Fire Lord’s knuckles against the freshly painted wall.
It’s difficult to pinpoint what’s so awkward about it. It just looks odd. Could it be due to Jim’s immediate reaction? He fixed his posture, looking as if he were about to get yelled at.
“…Is everything to your liking, Lord Zuko?”
Your lips stay shut, averting your gaze from the man as he looks back at the director and makes an attempt at being polite.
“Mhm,” Zuko pulls his hand away from the wall, unaware of how uncomfortable Jin is at the moment. “Very sturdy.”
“Yes, my Lord,” he nods, a wave of relief crashing over him. “It’s wonderful for absorbing sound.”
“I see that— excellent work.” Zuko’s bored face doesn’t match his sudden enthusiasm. There’s a bit of a stare off afterwards, and that’s when Zuko finally notices how nervous the director is. It annoys him. “You may continue.”
“O-of course, my Lord.”
The tour goes on for another thirty minutes before you find yourselves in the backyard for lunch with the rest of the volunteers… and the Chamberlain, who you’re sure has been utterly useless in all the time you’ve been here. Still, he’s actually not all that bad to be around, and you hand him a plate.
You’re one of the last to go up to the long table that’s filled with various dishes, grabbing a little bit of everything as you walk along it.
Until you run into something at the very end, leaving you quietly startled.
“My apologies.”
“Oh.” You wouldn’t call your reaction to that familiar voice negative. You did refuse to apologize, though. “Didn’t see you there.”
“That’s alright,” Ryuko smiles, then cheekily adds another small portion of food onto your plate. “Are you on your break right now?”
“I guess,” you murmur, walking to the other side of the table, not missing how he just comes along. “May I ask why you’re following me right now?”
“Well, I was hoping we could talk.”
You deadpan. “We already are.”
“Privately,” he persists. “Just 10 minutes, please. That's all I need for an apology and explanation.”
“I’m not angry with you and there’s nothing to explain.”
“For you, perhaps. But for me?” He places his hand over his chest, eyes filled with that same stubborn look. “I’d really like to do the right thing here.”
At first you sigh, wondering why you can’t just eat your food in peace. Then you find your eyes trailing towards the table where the Lord and the Chamberlain are currently seated, along with the guard. It’s the one in the bun you’re worried about, but he seems to be in his own head right now as he silently eats, leaving the other two to conserve among themselves.
“Do you need to ask for permission?” Ryuko sounds slightly concerned when he asks.
You shouldn’t feel the need to, it’s not like you’d get in trouble. But the way your chest tightens is hard to ignore.
“No, never.” You rip your gaze away from the table to look at Ryuko again. “Fine. Ten minutes.”
—
Zuko’s not sure why you think he can’t see you. From his peripheral vision, he saw everything— you running into whatever his name is, the whole dance you two did around that table, and then you staring at him before running off with that man.
Or shall he say criminal?
It’s been over nine minutes since then and he’s currently counting down the seconds until it becomes ten.
Is that unfair? Sure.
Ten.
You may not be his lover, and made it clear that you never will be, but guess what?
Seven.
He’s still your boss.
Six.
You have a long list of duties and he is prepared to make that list even longer.
Three.
Two.
…One.
“Where are you going, my Lord?” the Chancellor asks, surprised at how he abruptly stood.
“You have a guard, you’ll be fine.” He waves a dismissive hand as he begins to walk away from the man he just offended.
The facility doesn’t have many furnishings at the moment, you could only imagine how loud his footsteps would be. Luckily, one of his many talents is the ability to go unnoticed, all thanks to his time spent as a fugitive. It’s not like he’s tiptoeing and hiding behind walls, either. He’s just quiet— even when his eye twitched after hearing a tone that was far too hushed for his liking.
It grows clearer the closer he gets, his footsteps leading him towards the second kitchen.
“…a chance?”
He's aware that finding a cramped, closed off corner to stand in isn’t very befitting for his role as the nation’s ruler, but it could be worse.
He could be a dictator.
“…I’m a man now.” Oh, shut up. “I can take care of you…”
“That doesn’t matter… It’s been years… I like my life in the Royal Capital.”
“What life is that of an Advisor?” Ryuko’s voice grows tense, as does the Lord’s fist. “You can’t tell me there’s a future in that… that man is going to chew you up and spit you out once he's done with you.”
You stutter and then there’s silence. Having to listen to someone dwindle you down like that pulls at his chest.
“You think he won’t? I was here for an entire hour and witnessed the way he looks at you… he thinks he owns you.”
“…why do you keep bringing up the Fire Lord? You keep talking about me as if I’m his pet… this facility was all my idea.”
Correct.
“And who’s taking credit for it?”
God he fucking hates this guy.
“I don’t want credit. Look, I— they’re probably looking for me by now already… I’m sorry.”
“You’re here for a week— let me prove myself to you.”
“I don’t know how you’d be able to do that.”
“I’ll find a way.”
In those last few minutes Zuko stood there in silence, waiting until the coast was clear for him to leave, he couldn’t help but think about what your ex-fiancé had said to you.
That man is going to chew you up and spit you out once he's done with you.
You had no idea how to respond to such words.
Did they hurt you?
Did you believe them, even for just a single moment?
There was a selfish part of him that wanted to believe you were hurt, for no reason other than knowing it simply wasn’t true. You’re one of the most important people in the meeting room. You said it yourself, this was all your idea. You’re no pet.
Saying such things to a proud woman like yourself was unkind, at best. The fact that someone thought they could do so sickened him. If you can’t accept all that Zuko wants to give you, he can only hope you at least use him as an example for how you should be treated.
—
“Do you ever miss living here?”
You softly hum in thought. “Sometimes. It was fun.”
“And now your life’s so serious,” Cyra blows out a puff of smoke, a wooden tobacco pipe held loosely in her hand. “I must say, though— the Fire Lord is quite handsome.”
You try to hold it in, but you burst into a small fit of laughter. She had already asked about Ryuko— you both had joked over his sudden delusions of getting you back. Now it seems like she’s moving to the newest topic.
“What’s so funny about that?” She sits up, handing the tobacco pipe to you.
You hope no one’s around to smell it on you by the time you step back inside from the balcony.
The owner of the hotel has arranged for a night of entertainment, minus the services, knowing he was being accompanied by a concubine on the trip. Seeing your old friend walk in with the rest of the entertainers was a better surprise than seeing your ex-fiancé. You had mentioned your visit in the previous letter you’d written to her and bought herself out for tonight just so she could sit here with you.
“Do you not think he’s attractive?”
There’s still a smile on your face when you finally answer, “am I blind?”
“For a moment, you had me under the impression that you were,” she laughs, laying back on the day bed and looking up at the stars. “Now that I’m here, will you tell me more about his less diplomatic side, since you won’t write about it in the letters?”
She catches on fast. You hardly mention him at all out of fear that the letters get lost in transit.
“Like what?”
“Just… random, stupid stuff.”
“Well… he gets in these moods sometimes, and it’s as if he’s a broody teenage boy,” you stifle a laugh. “It’s hard to take it seriously when I’m having to watch everyone tiptoe around a manchild.”
You tend to look away during those moments, such as today, because he’ll just become angry. Today was by far your most successful day.
He’s been in a mood since you’ve yelled at him. While you feel bad for those suffering around him, like the Chancellor, it’s better off this way. You’ve never had to threaten a servant like that before. It was subtle, of course, but a threat is a threat. Hopefully you never have to do anything like that again.
You don’t tell Cyra any of those details, though. It was best if you kept quiet on the matter.
“So the Fire Lord is a spoiled brat?”
You tilt your head and think. “A brat, yes. But I wouldn’t say spoiled. He likes his showers cold and prefers street food. I’m sure he’ll sneak out of here one night with a cloak just to grab some skewers.”
“He sounds like your type.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Cyra giggles and moves on, knowing you wouldn’t budge whether it was true or not. She looks back inside to take a peek at the Fire Lord. He looks bored and unimpressed with all the people surrounding him, even with the woman sitting by his side.
“Does he like his concubine?”
“He likes her enough,” you murmur tentatively. “That’s the one he frequents the most.”
“Is there any reason in particular?”
You all but shrug, knowing the thought of him waiting until he’s pent up and angry to visit his concubines is a thought she’d enjoy too much, being the crude woman she is. Instead you say something about Saiyo’s personality, rather than her… physical endurance, all while trying to move on to a new topic.
Everyone’s gone by the early morning. You didn’t notice how tired you were until you watched Cyra walk out of the lobby with a pair of heavy eyes.
You didn’t expect anyone to be awake by the time you got back up to the suite, but just as you begin to pour yourself a glass of water, you hear heavy footsteps.
Zuko almost stops once your eyes meet.
You’re guessing he’s here for the same reason you are. Given his high tolerance, he tends to drink the most during any occasion alcohol is served and you can imagine how parched one could get once the effects wear off.
You look away and continue to pour, thinking he’s too tired to offer more than the hum of acknowledgment he gave as he continued to walk closer, grabbing a glass for himself.
“Was that the friend you spoke of last night?”
The urge to let out a long sigh was one you had to fight. You were reluctant to answer him, he’s not supposed to speak to you with that much ease anymore.
“Yes. Were you interested in her services?”
He stopped and just blinked, looking at you in annoyance because you knew him better than that. “I was only curious about her because she’s friends with you.”
How aggressively wholesome of him.
“I see.”
“Yeah,” he says rather mockingly in return, giving you a taste of the treatment he’d been giving to everyone else as of late.
But then he rolls it back.
“If you want to spend a day or two with her this week, you could.”
“I don’t think that’d be necessary—“
He softly cuts you off. “It’s not, but it’s a chance to spend time with her before going back to the capital.”
You pick up the glass of water, thumb smoothing over the condensation as you take a moment to think about it. “What about the facility?”
“You’ve already done your part when you first suggested it.” There’s not much warmth in his tone. Had there been any, you probably would’ve thought he had an ulterior motive. “It’s just an offer.”
“Alright. I’ll guess I’ll take it then,” you avoid direct eye contact as you murmur. “Thank you.”
“Mhm.”
You miss the way his lips try to twitch into a smile, committed to keeping his composure despite the rush of tranquility you had just given him.
He still hasn’t bothered to remember your ex-fiancé’s name, but given his goal of winning your heart over in just a week's time, it’s safe to say he’s a man of persistence.
And so is Zuko, which is why he’s decided he is going to make that goal absolutely impossible to achieve.
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 4.7k
m.list | chapter two | chapter three | next chapter
With a gate of its own that requires special permission to enter, the western part of the palace grounds is considered to be one of the most guarded locations in the world. It’s where you can find the Fire Lord’s most precious treasures, his concubines.
It’s also where you can find the orphanage he had built a few years ago— a decision he needed no advising on, as it was an idea of his own. There was no better place for a child.
Zuko doesn’t expect everyone to agree with every action he makes. In fact, he encourages everyone to think for themselves. By all means, ask questions, disagree with him, show him a different perspective— allow him to serve his people.
He is a fair man.
However, the number of individuals that were against building the orphanage made him question just who exactly was he serving, because at that moment, he was surrounded by a bunch of fucking monsters.
Apparently, placing children that were of low birth in the western court would’ve sent a ‘bad message’. In other words, it’d bring their value down to that of an abandoned child.
Do you know how morally bankrupt you’d have to be to think that? The entire purpose of closing off the area was to keep women and children safe, it shouldn’t matter if they’re biologically his or not. Even the strategist saw no validity in their concerns, and he’s known for rejecting proposals, for no reason other than finding joy in others' struggles.
Needless to say, he continued with his plans.
The circumstances of one’s birth and status becomes irrelevant once they become a child of the palace. Zuko made sure of that by making an actual title out of it, all while hoping it’d be enough to appease a few nobles.
He may have also let Aang take part and have a little fun with the drafting process. It looks ridiculous on paper— the document starts off by declaring them as the cutest members of the court— the failure to recognize them as such will result in the immediate loss of one's honor.
Jokes aside, the document is as valid as it gets and it has been advised that it be treated as such. It’s one of the very few documents that mentions the death penalty— testing the legitimacy of it is not a game you want to play with him.
The orphanage takes up a fair amount of space. The home itself is double the size of a high ranked concubine’s, with a decent sized vegetable garden obstructing the view of it. If some of the concubines are anything like their families, the last thing they need is the constant reminder that their chambers could be bigger. They are more than welcome to visit the children, though— many of them actually do, along with the servant girls.
And you, surprisingly.
Aside from all the planning, you never mentioned anything about the orphanage, let alone show interest in the matter. He just assumed you weren’t the maternal type, only to catch you there six months after the palace started taking in children. He then assumed you were just there to make sure everything was running smoothly.
Wrong.
He looked closer and the sight had him reconsidering just how much he knew you because you were clearly there to give a chubby, mindless baby a tour of the garden. You gave them a tomato to gnaw on while you pointed out all the different vegetables being grown, too.
The conversation he had with you shortly after sounded more like an interrogation.
“What are you doing here?”
You looked at the child, then back at the lord who just awkwardly stood there like a child lost at the market, before stating the obvious. “Visiting.”
“Yeah, but… why?”
Your brows raised, “Am I not allowed to?”
“I mean— yeah. Of course you are, but—” he paused and gestured at the child, “why did you give the baby a tomato?”
“Because she wanted it,” you said, voice calm despite growing visibly frustrated with the questions. He gave you a puzzled look, because babies can’t fucking talk, and you further elaborated. “She was reaching for it and I let her have it.”
He almost asked if you were worried about the child choking, but you obviously weren’t since they couldn’t even break the skin of it. You seemed quite confident in your ability to keep the little human alive, which also took him by surprise. “Wait— so you come here a lot?”
You let out a sigh. “Yes.”
The questions stopped there. He didn’t want to offend you or discourage you from making future visits.
Zuko still doesn’t know your visiting schedule, you never tell him when you go even after he’s expressed wanting to visit with you. He thought today would be his lucky day since your visits have been longer due to Mira being there, but the gods never seem to grant his wishes no matter how simple they are.
The next time he would see you is at the training site, speaking with your father. He was somehow able to give you and the soldiers his full attention, because he stopped talking to you for a split second to bark at one of them to fix their posture.
He took that as his sign to leave. The strategist apparently had eyes on every side of his head and for all he knew, he’d be the next one to catch some odd form of that man’s wrath.
. . . . . .
It’s easy to forget just how big the palace is, but unfortunately for your fathers assistants, they are reminded of that fact whenever he summons you. The task is time consuming, your location changes depending on what you’re working on, and a lot of the time, you are working on multiple things at once. What’s worse is half the time you’re too busy to go see him, making their efforts all for nothing.
Today’s unlucky assistant checked every single location there was to think of before giving the west wing a try. He wasn’t a fan of the guards there, they’ve always treated him as if he were trying to break in and steal one of Lord Zuko’s concubines.
You would’ve declined to meet your father today had his assistant not been in such rough shape. Not only was he tired, but he was also afraid thanks to the guards.
“How was your trip to Republic City?”
The question made your face momentarily drop— that’s what he wanted to ask? He could’ve written you a letter!
“It was busy, but good, I guess. Found some volunteers for the Silk District project.” You don’t spare him the details. Ever. He’s the type to nitpick at them in hopes of catching a mistake that could be pinned on the Fire Lord.
He raises a brow. “You’re not too tired, are you?”
“No,” you assure him. “Not at all.”
He gives you a suspicious look before continuing. “Good— anyways, I’d like to send a few soldiers with you on your trip to the Silk District. I’ve received word that it’s only grown more violent since the incident with the brothel workers and I wouldn’t be surprised if those beasts tried to target you.”
It’s like he forgot that you tried to kill him once. He also called you a beast that day… and an evil little bitch.
You smile. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he barks out an insulting laugh. “The Fire Lord may be a ruler, but don’t expect him to play the role of a protector, too. That man has a duty to stay alive and needs to focus on saving himself. You will have soldiers there to keep an eye on you.”
You let out a laugh of your own, letting it die out into a silence that ends up getting dragged out past the point of comfort. “I understand your concerns. However, that is not necessary and I’m going to have to respectfully decline your offer.”
“It’s not an offer—”
“Father,” you’re calm as you cut him off with a simple warning.
“No, listen to me—”
“I will break them beyond belief.” You casually threaten him, making it sound as if it were an event you were looking forward to. It makes the strategist quickly drop it— he’d rather not see you go through with that promise. You take a deep breath, pleased at how easy that was to settle, and move on as if you didn’t just threaten his men. “I am fully capable of protecting myself and will be just fine without soldiers. So please, don’t worry about me.”
You don’t know what kind of nonsense that old man’s head is filled with. He knows you're strong enough to protect yourself, he also knows you would never count on anyone to save you, and yet he still does… that.
Sending people after you, demanding your presence, making you accept his help.
He was worse when you were a child, there was a point in time where his control reached even the simplest parts of your life. But that wasn’t the part that infuriated you, it was the part where he’d say you had everything.
You couldn’t even let your mind wander without being interrogated over what thoughts were in your head.
You spent your entire childhood yearning for the freedom of adulthood, only to have it ripped away while reading an acceptance letter from the most elite subdivision in the military. To be accepted into a program was considered to be the highest honor. Yet, it was just another reminder of all the choices that you never had— it wasn’t even you that applied.
Your memory of what happened afterwards is vague. You just remember showing your father what an elite soldier looked like and the experience was enough to send him into a full-blown crisis. It left him panicking over just what kind of punishment was awaiting him after death— he was certain he’d have to answer to someone for giving the world nothing but evil children.
Needless to say, he didn’t push you to go to that program. You were going to be the next head of the clan regardless, which shows you’d done enough.
The thought of you training for another few years was also deeply unsettling.
Your father has toned down since then, but there’s moments when he reverts back to the man that raised you. He still wants you to join the military, except this time around he wants you to work for him and be his replacement once he retires, just as he was for his father. He never takes no for an answer, either, and will continue to bring it up. You understand the role of an advisor doesn’t last forever, but that doesn’t mean your time as one is coming to an end soon.
The constant pursuit of control is an exhausting one. It’s become a sad sight over the years, one that makes it hard to stay angry with him.
It’d be nice to watch him take a break for once.
Unlike your fathers assistants, you don’t have to mindlessly search for the lord. There are currently no meetings, which means he’s either in his office or his personal courtyard.
Hopefully he’s in his office, you’re least likely to be met with an unwelcome surprise there.
The courtyard isn’t that bad— it’s what his courtyard leads to: his chambers. Aside from the times he’s requested your presence, it’s a place you’ve learned to heed with extreme caution.
It doesn’t get easier with time. The moment you’re met with an empty office, you’re already cursing to yourself and begging the gods that he’s clothed today. Seeing the lord naked once is already far too much and it’s already happened a handful of times throughout the years.
There is a reason why fights break out so often between concubines. It’s the same reason why Zuko laughed when that man assumed he had a small dick, and it has nothing to do with his personality.
Getting the image out of your head is a task on its own and has driven you nuts at times. It’s as stubborn as the lord himself, lingering around and refusing to fucking leave.
You soon find yourself at the entrance of his chambers, nervous as you are frustrated that he refuses to get a door. His reasoning for covering the entrance with curtains is because he enjoys the extra airflow. There’s apparently also no need for a door when he already has one at the entrance of his courtyard. Which is idiotic, in your opinion, he never hears when you knock.
You make your presence known by calling out to him. No answer. You pull the curtain aside ever so slightly and take a peek. No idiotic lord in sight.
You prepare for the worst. The first step is taken and you call out to him again, this time it’s more of a warning. Your footsteps echo throughout the dim space, and with each second that passes, you find yourself feeling more and more like an intruder.
This really is the worst job sometimes.
You call his name, again. Nothing. Your eyes land on the hallway leading to his bedroom and the doors wide open. If he were in there, he would’ve come out by now.
He’s not here.
The conclusion brings a sigh of relief as you move on with your thoughts. There’s one other place he could be and that’s the western court, which leaves you torn. If he’s with a concubine, then that means you can take the rest of the day off. It’s getting later in the afternoon though and you’d rather not end up with more work tomorrow just because you made that assumption.
You turn on your heel and begin to walk out, too lost in thought to pay much attention to what’s in front of you. It’s not until you’re just steps away from the entrance when you're startled by a figure blocking it.
Startled may be an understatement. You let out this quick, blood curdling scream that left your throat raw afterwards.
You’re dying inside from the embarrassment and Zuko thinks it’s fucking hilarious.
“What kind of an intruder gets frightened like that?”
Your heart’s still pounding against your chest from the initial fear, making it difficult to answer back, let alone argue. “I was just— I’ve been trying to look for you— god I fucking hate you— you been standing here this whole time and you couldn’t even say anything?”
"It’s not like I was hiding.” His grin widens. “I expected you to be a little more aware of your surroundings.”
“Yeah? Well not everyone’s used to living in a cave,” you say bitterly, finally looking back at him again. “Sorry I’m not used to the darkness.”
He dressed down in training pants and a tunic, but clothed nonetheless. He must’ve been getting some training in since his hair’s up, too.
“I thought you only trained in the mornings?”
He crosses his arms and leans against the entryway, then shrugs. “The afternoon’s nice sometimes when it's quiet. One of the servants told me you were looking for me on the way there— you alright?”
“I’m wonderful.” You weren’t sure what kind of an answer he was expecting— he asked as if that wasn’t your job to look for him. “Was there anything that needed to be finished before the day ended?”
He hums and thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” you ask, giving him a skeptical look.
“Positive.”
“I don’t believe you.” There’s a tinge of defeat in your tone and the little smile he gives tells you he’s in that little mood to fuck with you. “Zuko, I’m serious— I don’t want to have more work for tomorrow.”
Oh, wow. You’re actually saying his name.
He lets out this warm, airy laugh, further making a mockery of your suffering. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to!”
“No,” he laughter dies into a low hum. “You’re all done for the day. Promise.”
You just stare at him for a moment. It’s not that you don’t believe him, you do. He’s just a pest and you can’t believe he’s in charge of millions of people sometimes.
“You should come train with me— I think it might help with whatever you got bottled up right now,” he casually offers.
“You scared me senseless and then you made me go around in circles trying to get an answer,” you slowly spell it out for him, not realizing it only fills his chest with a sick sense of pride. “This is because of you.”
“And now you can get revenge” he gives the solution easily, making it sound like the opportunity of a lifetime. “You won’t have to hold back on me, either. It’s probably been a while since you got to spar with someone without worrying about killing them.”
A smile manages to break through as you prepare to shut him down, yet words come out surprisingly sincere. “It pains me to say this, but I’m not sparring with someone as important as you.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you ever said to me, you know that?” he manages to get a little remark in right before you start listing reasons why.
“Aside from Uncle Iroh, you’re pretty all alone. There is no one next in line, not even a child— that you could’ve had by now, by the way.”
“Yes, I could’ve had multiple,” he comments in amusement.
“You have multiple meetings a week and they’re all with important people, too. Their job is to notice what’s wrong, especially when it comes to you. Any concerns they have, whether it be a scratch or bruise, can be made into a problem.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re afraid to hurt me?” he asks, words dripping from his lips like warm honey.
You’d think he’d be offended or maybe even start to make fun of you for thinking that, and you’re getting neither. He’s more flattered than anything right now.
“I would love to.” you coldly break it to him, then go on to say a bunch of things that you hope he doesn’t make fun of you for. “But it’s you who puts on the Fire Lord’s crown everyday and people are safe now because of that— they get to live their lives in peace. Even if it were something light, I’m not going to spar with someone who has a title that actually means something. It’s not like I enjoy bending that much, anyway.”
Zuko finds himself completely still as he takes your words in— not tense, nor shocked, just processing them.
He thought you were kidding when you said he was too important.
It’s not like his title was something you overlooked. He’s never even had to wonder if you approved of having him as the nation’s ruler. You’ve worked with him for years— of course he had your approval, of course you thought he was competent. He just never expected you to hold him in such high regard as the Fire Lord.
Taking responsibility for his family’s crimes has been nothing short of rewarding, but with it comes a certain guilt whenever he sat on that throne— it makes him wonder if it was time to shed some of that weight.
“Thank you.” His words come out tender, eyes golden and filled with awe. He’d like to say more, but something tells him that your words haven’t caught up to you yet, and so he clears his throat and moves on. “So what’s this about never having liked bending?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t really like fighting. All the running and jumping around is tiring” You murmur, just the thought of it makes you look miserable. “I only went to training because I had to.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he hums, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t around for a good chunk of time, but he’s heard about how brutal that training was— all the fainting and bloody noses due to exhaustion. “Are you happy now, at least?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re family was set on turning you into a fucking killing machine,” he huffs out a laugh, still surprised that you hated fighting this entire time. “Are you happy with where you ended up instead?”
“Mmm— yeah.” You pause and Zuko waits for the complaint. “It’d be nice if you made my job easier though and just answered my questions with a simple yes or no.”
“You know I like messing with you,” he murmurs, poking the tip of your nose and earning himself a little glare. “Makes my day a lot more fun.”
“I am not your jester.” You try to say it with a straight face, only for you both to end up having to suppress a laugh, then remember what you came here for just shortly after. “I guess I should get going then since there’s no more work for today.”
“Yeah— easy day.” He wishes you wouldn’t go right now. “…Are you returning to the north wing?”
That’s where your chambers are, on the complete opposite side of the palace grounds.
“Mhm,” you nod, shifting your stance— you can’t actually leave, he’s blocking the door.
“Your chambers are up to standard, right?” He doesn’t move, he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I remember you complaining about them once.”
“That was two years ago,” you kindly remind him, his ability to remember such a small detail leaving you slightly concerned. You only complained about a creaky cabinet. “But, nope. I’m very cozy there.”
“Can I see?”
“No,” you say as politely as possible. “Any other questions?”
He gives a contemplative hum— the longer it goes on the more concerned you grow. It’s not like you can leave since he hasn’t moved, so you’re forced to stand and wait.
Now he’s tilting his head and studying your face.
“Do you plan on ever asking anything?”
“I was still thinking about it. But since you’re in a rush right now, sure.” The fabric of his shirt stretches over his biceps as he crosses his arms, eyes lazily trail down to your lips. “Let me kiss you again.”
You let out a long sigh as you start to murmur to yourself. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not,” his brows furrow with the defensive response. “Just one.”
“Why?”
“I find it unfair that we both share the same experience, yet be in two different states of being— I was drunk.” It’s a pathetic excuse, one he just came up with.
“That’s your fault.” You almost mentioned the fact that he basically jumped on you and you had no idea about, but decided against it out of fear that it’d create an entire argument. “Besides, I was tipsy, too.”
“I still think you should let me kiss you,” he persists.
“Of course you do.”
“Can I?”
“You are a pest,” you murmur to yourself once again. “Would you like me to escort you to one of your concubines?”
“No, thanks,” he curtly says, before thinking again. “C’mon, I gave you a baby—“
You cut him off, because he did not— Mira is a child of the palace. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Alright, fine, sorry.” He lazily holds his hands out in defense. “It’s really easy if you close your eyes, by the way.”
“You're full of shit.”
“I am a man that would like a simple kiss.”
You look at him, then the entrance he’s blocking, then back at him again.
Zuko notices and smiles. “One kiss and you shall be released.”
You were right, he was blocking the door on purpose. Bastard. It takes you a moment to even take his wishes into consideration. It probably won’t be awkward afterward since it’s happened before, but then that opens the door to him asking again.
You look at him and he’s never looked more smackable with how unapologetic he is about it all.
“You’ll let me go after?”
“Mhm.”
You take more time to respond, clearly struggling with the idea of allowing something like this to happen. A part of you wants to make a run for it, but you also don’t want to find out if he’d actually catch you.
“Alright, fine,” you quietly say, already growing nervous from the grin that pulls out of him.
“Don’t look so scared,” he hums as he starts walking closer.
His words pull a slight frown from you. “It’s hard not to when you say it like that.”
He stops right in front of you and gently lifts your chin to look at him. “Like what?”
“That.” There’s less of a bite in your tone, he’s more intimidating when he’s this close. “Don’t make this any harder for me.”
He rubs his thumb over your chin, giving you a sympathetic look. “I like it when you’re sweet like this.”
Just moments later, both of hands are cupping your jaw and he’s leaning forward.
His lips are soft.
They’re not crashing into you this time and you can’t help but think about how they’re pressed against you so gently. Even with the way he takes his dear time, everything feels so light, it’s easy to breathe.
Slowly, he pulls away and you’re met with heavy lidded eyes. His hands are still cupped around your jaw, you’re not sure if you want them to pull away just yet.
His thumbs rub over your cheeks. “Would you be mad about one more?”
You know you should pull away, the disappointment for not doing so comes out in your voice. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I know,” he murmurs, nose brushing against yours before pressing another kiss against your lips. “I’ll leave you alone after this.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His only response was another kiss. It starts off like the first, but becomes more familiar. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in and deepening it, until the faint sounds of your lips parting and moving with his could be heard.
By the time he pulls away, you’re both slightly out of breath, and you’re wondering if this is where the line should be drawn.
Zuko’s thinking the exact opposite. “Still think we shouldn’t be doing this?”
“We shouldn’t be doing this at all,” you let out a small laugh.
His hold on you is firm and when you fail to turn your face away, he looks at you in amusement. “Why are you laughing then?”
“Because I was supposed to leave after the first one.”
“Sorry about that.” He smiles and presses a kiss against your temple. “You’re allowed to admit that you’re liking this, by the way.”
“I’m not doing that,” you say, words stubborn and final.
And Zuko laughs because you wouldn’t have the privilege to come up with such an answer if you were in another scenario. You’d be admitting to all kinds of things if he could have his way with you.
He of course doesn’t say that, being the gentleman that he is. “You’re a very cruel woman, you know that?”
You press your finger into his chest. “And you are a very selfish man.”
Which probably wasn’t a very good idea, the poking and the name calling. It seems to have put an inappropriate thought in his head given the groan he had to suppress.
“I am a very selfish man,” he says in a dangerously low tone.
And then his lips are on yours because for years he’s been deprived of one of the most simple joys in life: touching a woman he likes.
So he touches you gently. He kisses you deeply. He has been fucking starving, but he savors you completely.
Until there’s metal crashing down on the floor, followed by a yelp that makes you push him away, hard. The servant’s apologizing profusely for dropping the platter that was carrying his tea and for intruding.
Then she scatters away, ashamed and embarrassed. She was under the impression that all of the Fire Lord’s intimate encounters took place in the chambers of his concubines. She was also under the impression that he only had intimate encounters with his concubines.
Which is correct. It’s also why you take off running after her. If the details of what she had just encountered began to spread, you are fucked.
notes: god i need him so fucking bad i just know he'd talk u through it wait im the writer HE DOES talk u through it
a/n ~ whoops friends ive been busy... ahahah.... i work so many hours now i want to die <3 taglist CLOSED! enjoy, next part will be the last part (and u already know what happens in that one hehehe)
access the verse here !!
it’s been two days since gojo got your instagram, and in those painful near-48 hours of silence from you, he’s learned that he cannot sit still for the life of him.
he’s been pacing around the living room for ten minutes, phone in hand, locking it, unlocking it, opening your profile, closing it, opening messages, closing them.
“just text her,” toji says from across the room, not even looking up.
“i’m not just gonna text her,” gojo shoots back immediately.
“you’ve opened the chat like six times.”
“i’m thinking.”
“you’re overthinking,” geto corrects, glancing up from his book.
gojo scowls, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. “there’s a difference.”
“no there isn’t.”
he stares at the ceiling again, phone resting in his palms, thumb hovering.
what do i even say.
he scrolls your profile again for the fiftieth time like inspiration might strike him, and then a story notification pops up.
gojo freezes and waits a respectable twenty seconds (which he doesn’t think of as desperate, but rather curious) before tapping it. it’s a picture of a matcha cup, sunlight hitting the table you’re at - some outdoor cafe - with the location tagged.
gojo sits up so fast he nearly drops his phone. “okay,” he says. “okay, this is my in.”
“your ‘in’,” toji asks lazily. “what is it.”
“nothing.”
gojo’s already typing. stops. deletes. types again. deletes again. “this is stupid,” he mutters.
“you’re stupid,” toji replies.
gojo ignores him, brain racking to find a way to make ‘hey’ sound cool and not sleazy.
gojo: is it good should i go
he stares at it. and sends it before giving it another thought.
“fuck,” he says, chucking his phone across the room to the other couch, and lasts four seconds before he’s springing up again to check his alerts.
“don’t double text,” geto reminds him calmly.
“i’m not gonna double text.”
you don’t reply. it’s been one minute. two. five, and gojo’s back to pacing.
“she’s not gonna answer,” toji says.
“she is.”
“she’s not.”
“she is.”
bzzzt.
gojo goes still again and opens his phone.
you: it’s good
he exhales like he just ran a marathon. “she replied,” he announces.
“congrats,” toji says flatly.
gojo: worth the trip
you: depends who you’re going with
gojo stares at that for a second, then slowly grins.
oh.
oh.
he leans back, suddenly feeling like the room tilted in his favor.
gojo: guess i’ll need a good recommendation then
he watches the three dots appear and disappear like it’s reality tv.
you: i’m not recommending anything to you
he huffs out a quiet laugh.
gojo: we should go together sometime so i can make sure it’s good
there’s a longer pause this time, long enough for doubt to creep in. oh god, i’m gonna get ghosted already.
you: you’re persistent
his grin widens.
gojo: i’ve been told
gojo: let me take you
his thumb taps nervously against the screen now.
your phone is in your hand, half-finished matcha on the table across from you, and the faintest smile on your face.
you: no
gojo: okay
your brows furrow slightly. okay? that's...it?
gojo: how about coffee
unbelievable.
you: no
gojo: tea
you: no
gojo: juice
you: no
gojo: water
you stare at your phone. you can practically hear him saying it. you press your lips together, fighting a smile.
you: you're not funny
gojo: please? i'll buy whatever fancy matcha order you have
gojo: my treat
your friend looks you over, narrowing her eyes slightly. "you're texting him."
you don't even look up. "i'm not."
"you're smiling."
"i'm not smiling."
"you literally are."
you drop your phone onto the table. "i'm not texting him."
she leans forward, a glint in her eye. "then who."
"no one."
she doesn't believe you for a second.
"give me your phone."
"no."
she lunges across the table, unlocking it quickly (you internally curse yourself for having told her your pin, a while back), eyes scanning over the text thread with a grin.
"oh my god."
"give it back."
"you're so into him."
"i'm not into him!"
"you're literally setting up a date."
"i'm not—"
she's already typing. your eyes widen, heart thumping in fear, and you reach your hand forward to grab your phone, but she ducks.
"i swear to god, what are you—"
"and done! i sent."
your throat feels tight. "what. did you send."
she grins, waving your phone in front of you, and tossing it back. "i just sent what you were thinking."
you scramble to unlock it, looking at the screen.
you: okay
your heart drops into your stomach. “oh my god.” you stare at her, head feeling light all of a sudden. “why would you do that.”
she shrugs, completely unbothered. “because you were going to say yes anyway.”
“i was not.”
“you were.”
“i wasn’t.”
she just smiles, slow and knowing. “you’ve got this whole act on. i can see right through you.”
you open your mouth to argue then close it.
because, annoyingly, she's not...entirely wrong.
your phone buzzes and you both look down.
gojo's heart has never raced so fast in his life. he closes instagram five times and tries to distract himself with reels, waiting for you to answer, and when your message comes in, his hands even shake a little.
(thank god toji and geto can't see that. he'd never live it down.)
he opens it, reads it once. twice, because there's no way...
he actually stands up. “yes,” he says out loud.
toji looks over. “what.”
“she said yes.”
geto smiles. “to what part.”
gojo’s already typing again, faster now.
gojo: we’re not just doing matcha
gojo: we’re making it a whole thing
gojo: matcha
gojo: then something
you: something like what
he grins, pacing again now, circling around the coffee table.
“okay,” he mutters. “okay, think.”
gojo: you tell me
you stare at the message.
you: art gallery?
you smirk slightly. that should do it. that should scare gojo off. there's no way he'd agree to an art gallery. he's the type to get bored in five minutes, who'd complain, and who'd ruin the outing.
you send it, look up at your friend all triumphantly.
“there,” you say. “problem solved.”
she raises a brow. “you think that’s gonna scare him.”
“yes.”
your phone buzzes immediately.
gojo: amazing
gojo: art gallery it is
gojo: matcha, gallery
gojo: whole afternoon
you stare at your phone, face falling. “…what.”
your friend leans over, reading, then laughs. “oh, you’re in trouble.”
“he’s insane,” you mutter.
“well, now you've got a nice little date set up,” she teases, and you glare at her.
“this is your fucking fault.”
“please. you have me to thank.”
you stare at his messages, but your heart does that weird thing again, and you hate it. just a little.
meanwhile, gojo drops back onto the couch, staring at the conversation like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“he’s smiling like an idiot again,” toji says.
“he’s gone,” geto agrees.
gojo doesn’t care. he’s already planning it out in his head. matcha, then art gallery. if he's lucky, maybe a walk in the park after.
he hates art galleries. hates them. he winced when he saw your text but knew it was a tactic to push him away.
ha. like that would work.
he giggles like a schoolgirl. toji and geto share an unimpressed look.
you're standing in front of your mirror a few days later, staring at your reflection.
this is stupid. you shouldn’t care this much. it's just matcha and an art gallery with a guy you don't even yes sort of really like.
you adjust your outfit anyway, fix your hair, step back. frown. “…whatever.”
your phone buzzes on your bed.
gojo: i can pick you up
you stare at it for a second.
you: i’ll just come to your place
you: i have to drop something off for choso anyway
three dots almost immediately.
gojo: oh
gojo: okay
gojo: i’ll be here
you don’t know why that makes your chest feel weird.
you ignore it, and ignore it even more when you pull up in the frat's driveway a half hour later, your chest bubbling up annoyingly. you hesitate for a split second before knocking.
geto opens the door after a moment and he blinks. "...hi."
you tilt your head slightly. "hi."
there’s a pause, a noticeable one, like his brain lagged for a second. "come in," he says finally, stepping aside, but his eyes flick over you again like he’s recalibrating something.
you step inside, glancing over at toji, who's sprawled on the couch, mid-scroll, and he doesn’t look up until geto shuts the door.
"who is—" he looks over and stops, mouth hanging open slightly. "...oh. uh."
you glance between them, unimpressed already. “is this a staring contest or..”
toji huffs out a quiet laugh, sitting up a little. “nah, just—”
geto clears his throat lightly. “you look nice, y/n.”
you give a small, flat nod. “thanks.” then you hold up the textbook in your hand that you brought from home.. “where’s choso?”
“kitchen,” geto says, still watching you like he’s trying not to be obvious about it.
you walk past them, completely unfazed. toji leans toward geto the second you’re out of earshot. “is she hotter than i remember or am i tripping?”
geto exhales quietly. “satoru's cooked.”
you find choso quickly, hovering near the counter like usual. “hey,” you say, holding out the book. “you needed this, right?”
choso looks up, a little startled. “oh—thanks, y/n.” he takes it carefully, like it matters more than it should. “you didn’t have to—”
“i was in the area,” you cut in. you glance around, fighting back an eyeroll at the thought of gojo. "...where is he?"
choso blinks. "oh, i think—"
before he can answer, a door down the hall opens, and gojo walks out.
and shit, that nagging voice inside you tells you he cleans up good. he's in dark linens, a pair of sunglasses pushed up through his white hair, and he's halfway through adjusting his sleeves when he looks up and sees you.
he stops mid step completely, like someone hit pause. his mouth opens and closes, all rational thoughts evaporating into steam as he looks at you, heart squeezing in his chest. “…hi,” he manages intelligently. “erm. hi.”
you raise a brow slightly. “hi.”
he’s holding flowers. a pretty bouquet of pale pink tulips, held loosely in his hand as he just stands there, like he forgot how to function.
it’s quiet for a second too long.
gojo blinks like he just remembered he has a body, and walks toward you a little too fast, then slows down halfway like he’s trying to look normal.
fails.
“these are—uh—” he starts, then clears his throat. “for you.”
he holds the flowers out. you look at them, then at him. “…thanks,” you say, taking them.
he nods too many times. “yeah,” he says. “yeah.”
silence again.
geto and toji are very much watching this from the living room. toji looks like he’s holding in laughter and geto looks like he’s witnessing a historical event.
gojo straightens slightly, trying to gather whatever remains of his usual composure. “shall we,” he says, a little too formally.
you glance at him then to the door. “alright.”
he exhales softly in relief and holds the door open for you, swallowing thickly as he catches a waft of your perfume as you walk by. he looks back at toji, who facepalms, and choso, who gives him a supportive little thumbs up. geto’s still stifling laughter.
“okay,” gojo mumbles under his breath. “i got this.”
he catches up to you, opening the passenger door, and you slide in as he circles around to the driver’s side, hands gripping the wheel for a second before he starts the car. he glances at you then away quickly, his palms feeling sweaty.
“you look really pretty,” he says, quieter this time.
you glance at him. “…thanks.”
gojo clears his throat. “are you excited?”
“no.”
he nods. “right. sorry. i’m, uh, excited.”
“that’s nice,” you say, looking out the window, and gojo can’t help but glance at your sweater dress again, and the way it hugs you so perfectly.
the car ride is silent. not awkward, but the air is thick and almost charged, as gojo restlessly taps his fingers against the steering wheel and you stare out the window, tulips still in your lap.
gojo keeps glancing at you. quick, almost stolen looks, like he’s checking something and then pretending he didn’t. naturally, you notice, and at first you ignore it, until his fingers start tapping against the wheel, stopping, and starting again so much, and he keeps looking at you, biting the inside of his cheek, that you have to squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance
his mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something.
you give him a minute, then another, and he keeps looking at you, eyes darting away when you make eye contact, that you sigh, turning your head fully now. "just ask me."
he startles a little. “what?”
“whatever you’re thinking,” you say flatly. "you've been deliberating for almost five minutes.
he huffs a quiet breath. “…i’m not—”
“you are.”
he hesitates, glancing at you then back at the road. “…why did you say yes,” he asks finally, slower now. “if you hate me.”
you blink before looking away again, out the window. "...i don't hate you."
"well, you act like it."
“i act like you’re annoying.”
“same thing.”
“it’s not.”
he glances at you again. “then what is it?”
your fingers shift slightly around the stems of the tulips in your lap, and you huff softly. "i guess you're not that insufferable."
a slow, shit eating grin spreads on gojo's face, and you immediately regret what you just said.
"high praise," he says, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.
"i take it back. you are insufferable."
"alright," he says lightly, turning the corner into the lot, and you feel that little buzz under you're skin you've been pretending isn't there when gojo's pretty blue eyes blink at you softly after he parks.
you just unbuckle your seatbelt and reach for the door, swallowing thickly. “you parked too far.”
gojo glances at the empty spot literally right in front of the café. “…it was the closest one.”
“mm,” you hum, stepping out anyway, shrugging whatever that feeling was out of your bones, and he watches you walk ahead for half a second, then scrambles out after you.
inside, it's warm and bright, and you curl your fingers into the sleeves of your sweater dress, looking up at the menu as you step up to the counter.
“what are you getting,” gojo asks, stepping up beside you and leaning low to talk into your ear, you nearly shiver.
“strawberry matcha,” you say. “small.”
he hums, but when you open your mouth to order he smoothly cuts in. “two strawberry matchas, and make both large, please.”
you turn your head slowly. “…i said small.”
“i heard you.”
“then why did you order large.”
he shrugs, already handing his card over. “because i wanted a large.”
“then get a large.”
“i did.”
“and mine?”
“also large.”
you stare at him. “i got a small for a reason.”
“what reason?”
you hesitate. “...dunno, because you're paying, and i didn't wanna be rude.”
he looks at you, grinning. "oh, now we're scaling back the rudeness?"
you glare, shoving his arm slightly, and he laughs, the barista looking at you two with a little smile. she calls your order a minute later and gojo grabs both cups before you can. of course he does.
he hands yours over, fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. you ignore it, and ignore the rush you feel.
“thank you,” you say, because you have manners.
“you’re welcome,” he says, like he’s a gentleman.
you narrow your eyes slightly, then turn toward the door. “outside.”
“yes, ma’am.”
“stop.”
he grins, following you out anyway. you pick a table in the back, half in the sun, and gojo sits across from you, sliding his sunglasses down his face before wrapping his hands around his drink.
you take a sip of your matcha first and he watches you like it's some kind of test. you lower the cup. “…what.”
“nothing,” he says quickly, taking a sip of his own. he makes a face, coughs slightly.
you catch it immediately. “nice.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you made a face.”
“i’m adjusting.”
“do you not like matcha?”
“...it tastes like grass.”
you exhale, looking up at the sky like the conversation is paining you. “then why'd you ask to come here?”
“cause you like this place,” he says simply.
you look at him wordlessly and take another sip of your drink.
“so,” he starts, leaning back slightly. “what’s your major.”
you glance at him over the rim of your cup. “why.”
“because i don’t know anything about you.”
“you don’t need to.”
“i want to.”
you pause. “psych.”
his brows lift. “really.”
“yeah.”
“that explains a lot.”
you narrow your eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he gestures vaguely toward you. “you analyzing me this whole time.”
“i’m not analyzing you.”
“you definitely are.” he shakes his head, smiling a little. “okay, miss psych major. what’s your diagnosis.”
you study him for a second, eyes lingering long enough to make him shift slightly in his seat. “inflated ego,” you say finally.
he gasps, mock offended. “wow.”
“with a tendency to talk before thinking.”
“okay, that’s—”
“and,” you add, cutting him off, “a little bit desperate.”
he leans back, squinting at you. “a little bit?”
“a lot a bit.”
he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, studying you like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious or not. “desperate is crazy,” he says finally.
you shrug. “you begged for my instagram.”
“i did not beg.”
you shoot him a look and he holds up his hands, laughing. "okay, but it worked."
you just take another sip of your drink and he watches you again.
"stop staring."
"i'm not staring," he says, voice soft.
you make a face and he grins, teeth flashing. “you’re not even a little bit curious about me?” he asks after a second.
“no.”
“that’s a lie.”
“it’s not.”
“it is,” he insists. “you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t at least a little curious.”
you shrug. “i wanted matcha.”
“matcha tastes like shit, i'm sorry,” he says after another small sip of his drink, and you facepalm.
he taps his fingers lightly against his cup. “what do you do when you’re not analyzing people and insulting them?”
“i don’t insult people.”
he gives you a look and you sigh. “i read. i work. i go out with my friends.”
“thrilling.”
“i didn’t ask for your review.”
“i’m just saying, there’s room for improvement.”
you raise a brow. “and you’re the improvement.”
“obviously.”
you stare at him and shake your head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth.
his grin softens slightly. “i like when you smile,” he says.
“i don’t smile.”
“you literally just did.”
“no i didn’t.”
“you did.”
“no proof,” you cut in, and he leans forward, laughing.
“i saw it.”
“that’s not proof.”
“i’ll get it on camera next time.”
“don’t.”
“too late. i’m already planning it.”
you scoff and gojo just smiles, watching you with a soft kind of intensity that makes your stomach churn.
you don’t rush the drinks. in fact you stay sitting there a little longer than necessary, fingers tracing the condensation on your cup while gojo talks about some story. you only correct him twice, and he grins every time you do.
“so,” he says eventually, “i'm assuming you're always this mean on first dates.”
you don’t even blink. “this isn’t a date.”
“right,” he says easily. “this is a very structured, multi-location, several-hours-long hangout where i bought you a drink.”
“it's two locations.”
“more than one location is multi-location.”
you give him a look, and he just smiles back, unbothered. there’s a pause before you glance at your empty cup. “…we should go.”
“yeah,” he says, standing immediately. “yeah, okay.”
gojo thinks he might slowly be losing his mind.
it's in a good way. definitely in a good way. he keeps catching whiffs of your perfume, or little hints of your smile that make him feel sort of dizzy.
and the way you're so casual with your answers, still kinda dismissive, a little bit rude? he loves it. he wants to ask you more, find out more about you, talk to you more.
he doesn’t say that out loud, obviously.
he just opens the door for you again and follows you out like a normal person who is not, in fact, losing his mind over a girl who called him annoying ten minutes ago.
the drive to the gallery is quieter than before. definitely not a bad quiet, gojo thinks to himself. just different. he catches himself glancing over at you at red lights, then immediately looking back at the road, chest feeling tight.
you get to the gallery shortly after and gojo mentally preps himself before stepping inside :
don't ask dumb questions.
make sure to sound kind of smart.
just don't look like an idiot.
he pauses when you step inside one of the rooms. he hates places like this. it's too quiet and too still and the white walls make everything feel so boring.
he glances at you. your arms are crossed, eyes tracing over the painting you said was 'part of the renaissance movement' (whatever that means), and you're both standing in silence.
he lasts about eight seconds.
“i’m gonna be honest,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “i don’t get it.”
you sigh, but it’s lighter than before. “you don’t have to get it.”
“then what do i do.”
“look.”
“i am looking.”
“no,” you say, finally glancing at him. “you’re seeing, not looking.” you turn back to the painting, and something in your expression shifts.
he forgets whatever he was about to say.
you lean in slightly, arms folding loosely, gaze tracing the piece again. “see how the colors move,” you say, quieter now. “the subtle brushstrokes.”
gojo’s eyes flick to the painting then back to you.
“it pulls your attention across,” you continue, pointing lightly. “it’s not random. there’s intention.”
gojo is not listening to a single word about the painting.
he’s watching you, cataloguing everything.
the way your voice dips when you’re thinking. the way you pause before explaining something, and how you bite your bottom lip. the way your expression softens just a fraction when you find a painting you like.
he swallows, his cheeks definitely dusted a little pink.
you're beautiful.
“it’s about movement,” you continue. “see what the artist did with how this section was painted?”
“yeah,” he says, nodding like he understands. “i see it.”
you glance at him.
he absolutely does not see it, and he panics slightly. “…the colors,” he adds, gesturing vaguely. “they’re—uh—doing things.”
your eyes narrow.
he commits, laughing awkwardly. “the blue is very…blue?”
there’s a beat, and then you snort, your laugh echoing in the dead-quiet gallery.
the sound hits him straight in the chest. i did that. i made her laugh.
“that’s your big takeaway,” you say, shaking your head.
“i’m easing into it,” he says quickly, recovering. “there's lots to, erm...analyze.”
“right, of course.” you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. “now, this next piece is one of my favourites...”
he listens to you as you happily ramble on about symbolism and whatever colour theory you had to talk about now, and gojo tries harder to listen. he asks a question (that doesn't sound too dumb) and you answer him without immediately shutting him down. when you correct him, you're laughing a little now, and gojo wants to laugh when you laugh, too. all the time.
it feels easy.
you stop in another room, empty except for the two of you. he follows you as you point to the next painting, telling him to 'watch the intent behind this' or 'look at this technique'.
he glances down. your hand is right there, relaxed and close.
his heart does something stupid and he hesitates because this is the part where he usually just goes for it. (but again, when's gojo ever gone to an art gallery with a girl?)
he doesn't want to mess it up with you, so after taking a short inhale, he asks, "can i...hold your hand?"
his voice comes out quieter than he expected and you just look at him. he doesn't joke or backtrack, he just stands there, waiting.
your expression shifts slightly, and you lift your hand, hold it out like it's nothing.
it is not nothing.
gojo reaches for it carefully. your hand is warm, soft, fits into his like it belongs there. it hits him all at once. he wants to grin, or say something stupid, and his heart feels light. he wants to jump of joy.
you turn back to the painting like nothing happened, still holding his hand, and his thumb brushes small circles over yours as you walk.
“this one’s cool,” you say, smiling as you approach another piece.
gojo nods. “yeah,” he murmurs.
he’s not looking at it, not really. he’s looking at you, and thinking, yeah. definitely a good way to lose my mind.
gojo doesn’t let go of your hand until the very last second, right when you walk up to his car. even then it's slow, like he's testing if you'll pull away first. you don't, your hand just slipping out naturally as you approach the parking lot.
the drive back to the frat is shorter than he wants it to be. he pulls up, parking beside where you left your car earlier, and for a second neither of you move. the engine hums softly then he turns off the car, resting his hands on the wheel.
you reach for the flowers first, lifting them carefully from where you set them down earlier, adjusting them in your hands.
“i had a really nice time,” gojo says.
you glance at him. he leans back slightly in his seat, one hand still resting on the wheel, the other rubbing at the back of his neck.
“even if,” he adds, a little sheepish, “the gallery was boring as fuck.”
you stare at him for a second before smiling. “…me too,” you say quietly.
gojo’s grin breaks out immediately, bright and stupid and completely unfiltered, like you just handed him the best news of his life. he leans back in his seat slightly, exhaling. “okay,” he says, nodding once like he’s processing it. “okay, good.”
you glance at him. he looks happy, genuinely. it does something weird to your chest again.
“we should do it again,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
you don’t even hesitate. “no.”
he snorts, shaking his head. “you’re funny.”
“i’m serious.”
“you’re not.”
“i am.”
he leans a little closer, resting his arm on the center console, looking at you like he already knows the answer. “you will.”
you meet his gaze, unimpressed. “no.”
“yeah.”
“no.”
“yeah.”
you roll your eyes, pushing the door open. “you're delusional.” you step out, closing the door behind you, flowers still in hand. he’s out of the car a second later, walking around to the sidewalk where you are.
he shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. “bye, y/n.”
you turn back toward him. he's looking at you with that same soft, slightly dazed expression he’s had all afternoon.
you step closer and he stills, then you lift slightly onto your toes and press a soft, quick kiss to his cheek. it's light and barely-there. “bye, gojo.” you pull back before he can react, already turning, walking toward your car like nothing happened.
he just stands there, completely still, eyes wide, heart doing something violent and uncoordinated in his chest.
…did she just...
he lifts a hand slowly, touching his cheek like he needs to confirm it happened.
you’re already unlocking your car, not even looking back. he watches you drive off.
he stands there like his brain short-circuited. “…holy shit,” he whispers, turning back to the house, legs a little wobbly, eyes a little dazed. definitely not normal.
toji looks up first from the couch, then geto and choso walk out of the kitchen.
“well?” toji asks.
gojo doesn’t answer right away. he just stands there, loopy smile etched on his face.
geto narrows his eyes slightly. “…you look insane.”
“it was good,” gojo says finally, voice a little distant.
“just good?” toji asks, suspicious.
gojo shakes his head slowly. “no. it was—” he stops like he doesn’t even have the words.
geto stands, walking a little closer, studying him. “…is that—”
toji hops up from the couch. “no way.”
choso looks confused. “what?”
toji points at gojo’s face. “you’ve got something on your cheek.”
geto’s already grinning. “lipstick.”
toji bursts out laughing. “oh, you’re done,” he says, shaking his head. “you’re actually finished.”
choso’s eyes widen slightly. “she—?”
gojo smiles, completely, utterly gone. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.
“you have lipstick on your face,” toji laughs.
“shut up.” gojo walks past them, heading toward his room, you on his mind, already planning your next date.
toji calls after him, still grinning. “you’re in love, man.”
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 5.4k
notes: hi i was supposed to post this hours ago but my computer crashed and so did i 🙂 anyways be sure to check out the new tw's 😝 i feel like zuko's kind of a menace in this, kinda not?? idk lmk!
m.list | chapter one | chapter two | next chapter
Zuko goes through many, many different emotions upon waking up.
First it’s confusion— he’s so hungover that he can barely remember his own name, let alone where he is. Then it’s annoyance because he feels someone tossing and turning beside him, which eventually makes him realize where he’s at, and that’s in between two of his concubines that he has no idea whether he fucked last night or not.
Then it’s shame and embarrassment after remembering he basically threw himself at you last night and got kicked out of your room because of it.
He sits up with a groan, rubbing the sleep off his eyes before looking both ways, wondering how to get out of bed without waking the two women up. He may not be that into them, but he wasn’t heartless enough to rip them out of their sleep. Eventually, he throws the sheets back and climbs over Saiyo since she seems to be in a deeper state of sleep, and then quickly covers her again, before stepping into the washroom to ready himself for the day.
You and Hieto, the head of the Fire Nation’s Health and Wellness Department, were already waiting for him once he stepped inside the carriage. All Zuko offers is a light nod in his sorry state, too groggy to even say a simple good morning. Heito’s a true professional and greets the fire lord goodmorning, and you struggle to not look at him like he’s some diseased creature— which he’ll accept given what happened last night.
The ride to Republic City’s new rehabilitation center is quiet. The last time he was this quiet with you was the very first day you started working directly for him. He had already seen you around the palace grounds, but that was the first time you two had been face to face since you were children, before his father burned him and then banished him from the country.
You were staring at it— the scar that was left behind. Not in judgement. If anything, it was more from sorrow. Having all of your attention left him feeling more shy than he’d like to admit— afraid to say the wrong thing, which he knows is ridiculous given his place in the hierarchy.
One can never be too comfortable in his place, though.
At times you’ll make fun of him for being too traditional, maybe even more traditional than his father in certain aspects, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. With the state his grandfather and father left the nation, there was a lot needed of him in order to appease all the sides that they had split up through years of war and tyranny. The most important being the relationships he kept with seven of the big clans.
It’s been difficult at times in the past, especially with yours, but it was still the easiest way to keep the peace. It was simple— keep a few concubines, pass a few harmless bills, meet people halfway.
He’s gotten used to his duties over the years, yet he never truly gotten used to you. Or rather, the fact that he can’t have more. Having you as his advisor was the most Zuko was going to get.
There was one point where he was dumb enough to think it might’ve worked, but now, it’d be a political death sentence if you two had gotten together. Not only did your family hold enough power and influence, but they also refused to align themselves with others— not even with the Fire Lord. It has always left the other clans feeling unsettled.
For years, your clan has always gone along with the Fire Lord’s wishes— it has nothing to do with loyalty and all to do with the fact that they all just simply do their jobs, which they were scarily good at. Ozai wants war? Sure. Zuko wants peace amongst nations? No problem.
Usually that’d be seen as a good thing, but given how the army itself has looked up to your grandfather and your father, that was an issue. Nobody would be surprised if half of them were secret loyalists, and that terrified everyone— the thought of your clan branching off one day and successfully staging a coup.
Zuko choosing to have you as his advisor did absolutely nothing to ease their worries. You may have the same ideals as him, but no one forgot about the incident between you and your father when you turned 18 years old. You were young, ready for some freedom, and filled with rage after learning he signed you up for the military. Nobody forgot about the sheer amount of power they witnessed you exercise against him that day— sending bolts of lightning his way as you chased him down, yelling at him to take your name off of the roster.
You were going to kill him.
It was just one of the many, many skeletons that are hidden in your family’s closet.
Zuko wasn’t there to witness it, but it didn’t surprise him one bit. The only time you were allowed to interact with kids your age was during school and training, you were never allowed to go outside and play. Of course you snapped the way you did.
But that’s a story for another time.
For now, just know the man has no idea what the hell to say to you after last night. Especially not with the expressionless look on your face at the moment, making him wonder if he should just pretend like nothing ever happened, too.
He didn’t want to. You kissed him back with the same amount of eagerness before pushing him away, after all— he wasn’t going to forget that any time soon.
. . . . .
There’s a few rehabilitation centers scattered throughout the city, with each location having its own focus and goal. The one you arrive at is at the edge of the town, closer to the mountains, and can be considered to be a correctional facility.
To your surprise, the first one to greet the three of you is a very sober Aang. You’d think he’d be a little hungover, but a night out clearly doesn’t stop the Avatar from being a morning person.
Then there’s Zuko, who needs a fucking nap. You took one look at him in the carriage this morning and knew he didn’t even try. He tied his hair up in a bun and ditched the usual royal get-up for a tunic and training pants. The only thing that hints at him being the Fire Lord is the robe he threw on since it has the imperial symbol on the back, but even then, his demeanor was more of a prince slacking off on his duties.
Good thing the Avatar was there to remind the entire staff who they were all in the presence of.
“Alright, on your knees everyone!” Aang looks around behind him and shouts, cupping his hands together at his mouth so everyone could hear him loud and clear. “Lord Big Dick has arrived. Mhm, yup— look at him.”
There’s not a glint of joy in Zuko’s eyes as he walks further inside. It felt less like a government facility and more like a circus with all the clapping Aang is doing. As if he couldn’t be any more peeved at the moment, the employees do end up getting on their knees.
“Please stop bowing,” he murmurs, feeling his brain start to pound against his skull harder.
Aang crosses his arms and smiles rather proudly, further agitating the Lord. “Yeah, you see that? Sexy and humble.”
“I—“ Zuko cuts himself off, then takes a long, deep breath in hopes to ground himself. “Hey, Aang?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop talking.”
All the Avatar does in return is laugh. Getting on the Lord’s last nerve is fun, especially when you’re one of the very few individuals that can get away with it, but that grumpy Lord is still his friend, which is why he decides to lay off and take it easy on him for the rest of the tour.
The main difference between this facility and the ones back in the Fire Nation is that this one actually tries to help correct behavior rather than punish it.
Key word: Try.
Not everyone wanted to be saved.
What immediately caught your attention was how clean the facility was. It wasn’t some cold, dusty place where people were left to rot. If anything, the natural lightning and addition of indoor plants made it feel more like a nice getaway.
Of course, there were people still in confinement, but you were pleasantly surprised to learn that a majority of the people in the program were free to walk around. They all looked happy to be there, too— whatever they were doing was clearly working.
You and Heito spoke to a handful of the members, all of whom were eager to share their stories and most importantly, proud to talk about how far they’ve come. Most had similar stories of trauma and hardships, with their crimes being a direct result of being forced to suffer through it all alone.
Some have come to accept it, some have even forgiven themselves— then there was one guy that tried to take his anger out on Zuko. He wasn’t even mad about getting cussed out. His fathers reign of terror wasn’t that long ago— his family probably was the cause of all this poor man’s problem.
You will never understand how Zuko can stay so calm while having someone practically bark in his face, let alone allow them to. He got a reaction out of him once, and that was when he told him he had a small dick— Zuko laughed, because it’s really fucking not, then apologized.
The slew off insults ended with the one last final, “Fuck you— Your father ruined so many fuckin’ lives, I hope that evil bastard rots in hell.”
“Yeah, me too,” Zuko responds in a tone that’s way too casual, which throws the man off because he said a lot.
He was expecting him to respond with something more rehearsed. It didn’t even sound like he was trying to relate to the guy, his words just came off more as a parent tired of their child embarrassing them.
You’d think his father would stop being less of a thorn in his side given how he’s been behind bars for years now, but he still finds ways to inconvenience Zuko.
Just last week, he had to stand there and listen to another sob story about how he’s getting older and needed to be treated with dignity— his definition of dignity being released and put in a nice home, somewhere far away with lots of servants. His father does it every three moments. It’s the only time he requests to speak with him, actually.
He usually comes up with a respectful way to turn him down, since he’s the one that wanted to treat that evil piece of shit with dignity in the first place— a big mistake by the way, dignity’s been his favorite fucking word ever since.
Zuko wasn’t in the mood to fake being nice, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to be rude, either. Instead he crouched down, looked him in the eye and made a joke that Ozai did not find funny.
“How about this,” Zuko began to strike a deal with him, bringing a glint of hope in his old man’s eyes. “I’ll let you out of here when the scar around my eye magically disappears.”
It took a moment for his father to process those words.
Zuko likes to describe his father as someone that gets deeply offended from the sight of joy— to the point where Ozai actually threatened to kill him once for laughing too hard when he was 7 years old. So, you can only imagine how enraged he was when he realized his son was poking fun at him and at the scar that was supposed to bring him shame.
‘Worthless, deformed bastard’ was one of the many insults his father threw at him as he walked away, yet the only thing that stuck to him was the grating pitch in Ozai’s voice as continued to have a meltdown. He can just hear his father yelling now, and it’s hurting his fucking teeth.
The member is still staring at Zuko in disbelief once he snaps out of it.
“What was your name again?” Zuko asks.
“…Haru?”
“That’s easy to remember,” Zuko says to himself, not exactly paying attention to Haru's sudden change in attitude. He never really cared for it to begin with. “If you ever find yourself interested in becoming an imperial guard, I’ll have a spot waiting for you.”
Haru looks at you and Heito in confusion, making you chime in. “You don’t have to. But, if you do, just know that everyone who works at the palace is well taken care of. Lots of opportunities for advancement, as well. I’m sure you’ll find it very rewarding.”
You couldn’t help but add that last part, knowing Zuko only offered him the job to fuck with Ozai a little. The former tyrant already has three big meals a day, clean clothes, a comfy futon and a couple of board games to keep him entertained, he can handle a little day to day banter.
The visit ends with a small chat with Aang and one of the program directors, Jin, in the courtyard. They were both aware of the rising tension in the Fire Nation, but didn’t know about the brothel incident in the Silk District until you told them— piquing Jin’s interest more than you had expected.
Zuko’s pretty much back to normal too, not that it makes much of a difference. He’s always been more of a listener and would rather let everyone else speak first.
And when he does finally speak, it’s because you’re asking him a question.
“What do you think of taking Jin back with us when we leave?” you ask him.
Zuko takes one look at the awkward man and almost rolls his eyes at how flattered he is that you want to take him home like he’s some kind of pet. He doesn’t even bother asking if he’d be okay with being borrowed, he’s clearly begging for it.
“Yeah,” he nods, faking the enthusiasm in his tone, then turns to Heito. “You already have a location in mind, right?”
Heito nods. “Yes, Sir.”
“Alright, cool.”
His tone came out clipped as he side-eyed the director, ready to tell him that he’s standing too close to you and that he is not your fucking type. The only thing that stopped him was Heito, who asked if everyone was ready to go— Zuko’s answer being almost immediate.
“Let’s go.”
. . .
The next day is spent visiting an orphanage.
At first, it brought that same heavy feeling the correction center brought, maybe even more since you’re around a bunch of innocent children. You’d say that it’s probably the highlight of your trip, though, thanks to all the little moments of joy they brought throughout the day.
From the start, you knew it’d be hard to leave once you saw how excited they were. Running up to you to show off their drawings, talking about their favorite subjects in school— also eager to tell their stories like the members from yesterday, just in their own way.
“E-Excuse me!” A little boy begins to pat on Zuko’s leg, trying to get his attention. “What happened to your eye?” he asks, unable to hide his concern.
It’s a question he gets every time he’s around children— he was pretty much waiting just for it at that point.
“Oh, this?” He crouches down with a smile. “I got burned in an accident when I was younger.”
Obviously not the truth, but that’s not a story you tell a five year old.
The kid tilts his head. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah, I’m alright,” he says, suppressing a laugh as he ruffles the kids' hair.
“Yeah, he’s strong!” another kid says, and Zuko easily agrees with that.
You would’ve laughed had you not noticed a girl, who had to be around three, trying to get your attention. She’s been staring at you for quite some time now and shuffled away when you tried to say hi, but you guess she finally mustered up the courage to say something.
“I like pink,” she quietly reveals, pointing at the lining of your robe. You’re still not wearing your nation's colors and opted to wear white and light pinks today.
“I like pink, too.” You smile as she makes herself comfortable, reaching out and touching your robe, intrigued by silky texture as well. “Is pink your favorite color?”
“Yeah!” She smiles back, quickly warming up to you. “Are you a princess?”
You laugh a little. “A princess? No, I’m just a normal girl.” Your mood’s immediately ruined when you hear Zuko snort at that— you don’t even know why he’s even trying to intrude on your conversation right now, this little girl clearly likes you more. “What?”
“You come from a family full of nobles,” he reminds you with a smug grin, then looks at the little girl. “She is a princess.”
She giggles and jumps around a little. “Are you a prince?”
He grins, like a fucking asshole. “Close— I’m a king.”
You roll your eyes, muttering “whatever” under your breath before a bunch of kids start asking him different questions all at the same time.
Aside from Heito, who left hours ago, the Fire Lord’s visit lasted the entire day. You were supposed to leave around lunch, yet you stayed for lunch and dinner. The little girl, who you came to know as Mira, stayed glued to your hip the entire time. At one point she took a nap in your arms after tiring herself out, but not before making sure you’d still be there when she woke up.
You guess the good thing about working for Zuko is that he doesn’t rush you while you try and fail to say goodbye to Mira. He stayed back, leaning against the door as he quietly watched.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?” she asks with a pout on her face.
Zuko also sees a slight pout on your face as you hesitate to answer. “I don’t know… we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. If I can’t, do you want me to send you letters?”
The kid lets out a defeated sigh. “But— but I don’t know how to read.”
“That’s okay,” you hum and rub her arm. “Your teacher can read it to you and you can tell her what to write back.”
Her eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah, of course.” You easily promised the girl, unaware of the fond look that always manages to appear on Zuko's face whenever he sees you at the orphanage back home. “You can tell me all about school and what you’ve been up to.”
Her little smile returns as she nods. “Okay!”
The little agreement between you made it easier for her to go back to her caretaker afterwards without crying. The man you’re now sitting alone with on the way back could say the same for you. You’d never admit it, though.
For a moment, he seriously thought you were going to bring her back home with you, given how quick you were to bring back the director from yesterday, too.
“You should’ve seen the caretaker's face when you decided she was going to read and write those letters for Mira,” he says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that set in once you stepped out of the orphanage.
You curse under your breath, you never even asked if she’d be okay with that. “I hope she doesn’t get tired from it. Fuck— what if she just throws my letters away? She’s gonna think I lied to her.”
“I doubt it,” he stifles a laugh. “You can always have one of the fire representatives make visits and handle the letters for her, if you want.”
“You actually think they’d do that?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. It’s not like they’d have much of a choice if it’s a direct order from him. “They deal with assholes all the time, it’d probably be a nice break for them.”
“I guess,” you hum. “I want it to be someone that’s a little more gentle, though. They’re all so serious, it’d probably scare her.”
“We’ll get someone that has daughters to do it, then,” he says, determined to help you keep your promise to the kid.
“Thank you,” you quietly say— had he been any further, he probably wouldn’t have heard you.
More silence. The discomfort it brought made it difficult to fully breathe. You had no idea what to say to him— especially not when that kiss started to replay in your mind. Heat creeped up your neck as you continued to push the image away.
Eventually, you come to the conclusion that there was only one way out of this mental torture, and that was to apologize.
“So uhm…” You barely look at him, instead you mess with your robe. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for being cold towards you these last few weeks.”
He raises his head, looking stupidly happy about being the one to receive an apology first. “You sure you’re not just saying that because you had fun today?”
“…Maybe.” A smile starts to tug at your lips, just glad he responded with something lighthearted. “I shouldn’t have dragged it out for that long, though. Sorry for making everything more difficult than it should’ve been.”
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t exactly making it easy for you when you wanted to stay back.” He leans back in his seat, remembering how he went straight to demanding that you come along. “It wasn’t fair of me to try to talk to you when I was drunk and mad, either. I’m sorry about that.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, still playing with the lining of your robe, “...for the apology and for throwing out the chancellors' request to investigate the damages done in the east wing.”
“No need to mention it.” He waves a hand, brushing it off as if he wasn’t startled by the sudden crack of lightning.
He’s going to pretend like he wasn’t considering filing charges against your clan, either— not because he felt that you needed to be reprimanded, but because he wanted to add a tally to his side of the scoreboard.
The funny thing is you still have no idea about your clan paying for the damages. Your father didn’t even have to ask if it was you. All it took was one of his soldiers mentioning the incident for his fatherly intuition kicked in, making him extend the training break so he could slip the lord some hush money.
Zuko politely refused at first, hoping it’d build some sort of trust with your father, only to quickly realize there was absolutely nothing to build on. He truly didn’t care to form alliances with anyone outside of his family.
“I appreciate your forgiveness, but my daughter is still indebted to you. I won’t be able to sleep at night as her father knowing it could be used as leverage to turn her into some useless concubine—“
Zuko’s eyes widened. “No, I-I would never do that—“
“Right, right.” He doesn’t believe him one bit. “Unfortunately, your words bring me no comfort, but neither does the word of god. So please, allow me to soothe my spirit by taking responsibility for my daughter’s mistakes.”
That entire interaction left Zuko staring at the wall for over half an hour, insulted and confused by the strategists' lack of trust in him.
He clears his throat, pushing past the silence before it grows uncomfortable again. “I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you for today and yesterday.”
You blink a couple times. “...For what?”
“You know.” Zuko does some awkward hand gesture and you still don’t know. “Like talking and getting to know everyone in the programs.”
“Oh… thanks,” you say, still confused as to where this is coming from. “I haven’t been doing anything different, though.”
“I appreciate it either way,” he says, somehow managing to be both vague and straightforward. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” you nearly laugh, convinced he’s talking just to talk at this point.
“Fuck— everything,” he huffs, unsure where to even start— you’re fucking perfect. “Always asking the right questions, coming up with solutions with everyone's best interest in mind— all the thought and effort. Even in conversations, you always know what to say. Heito sucks at getting to know people.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get on my good side again?”
“No, I’m just— half the council doesn’t give a shit,” he admits. “At least you do.”
His comment about the council pulls a small laugh out of you, then dies down into a hum. “Of course I do. I can’t take it out on the civilians. It’s not their fault that their Lord is—“
“Is what?” he murmurs, daring you to finish that statement.
You innocently shrug. “A little moody.”
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles. “Lucky for them his advisors on the public’s side.”
“Mhm— exactly.”
If only your father knew just how much Zuko agreed with him— it wouldn’t be fair to the world if he kept you locked away. He has you to thank for a majority of the good decisions he’s made. At this point, your opinion’s more valuable than his. He might get annoyed seeing other men stare at you sometimes, but it’s never stopped him from bringing you wherever he goes. He wanted you to be admired and remembered by others.
The idea of taking you in as a concubine has always been out of the question, despite what that crazy old man thinks.
“I can’t think of anyone more deserving of a crown.”
The carriage creaks.
You can’t help but just stare.
And Zuko stares back, because he fucking means it.
He’s also aware of how much you hate hearing this stuff. For some reason, it leaves you very, very vulnerable and that’s the one thing you don’t know how to handle.
Unfortunately, Zuko knows exactly how to break you down a bit. He enjoys watching you spiral, too. He’s just not sure which one’s worse at this point.
“That’s not,” The words die out in your throat, you want to crawl out of your skin. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Yeah, I know.” The soothing tone he uses does nothing to settle you, there’s not one ounce of remorse in it. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I— are you dumb?” you struggle to find the words, and it’s an amusing sight to see.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask your Lord such disrespectful questions,” he playfully scolds you, hoping it makes you worse so he can show you just how little he cares.
“You have an entire courtyard of women waiting for that crown.”
“It’s not for them.”
“Yes, it is!” You can’t help but snap at him. “That’s the whole point of their families sending them here— to have your kids!”
“It’s not a requirement.”
“No, it’s not because it just happens when you do your part.” You continue to scold him, even more annoyed at fact that you even have to explain that “God, you’re so difficult— you have so many to choose from, why can’t you just fucking pick one?!”
“I like being difficult.” He looks away as he huffs out a laugh, knowing it’ll just get worse if he continues to look at you. “Nobody’s getting that crown.”
You let out a long sigh. “You can’t just joke about stuff like that.”
Zuko just nods and lets you believe whatever you want to believe.
He wasn’t kidding, though— that crown is yours. He’ll melt that thing down to a useless rock before anyone else could have it.
“I’m serious— the council’s already asking questions about the next heir.”
It’s only been brought up once, but once is enough to get the ball rolling. The topic will only become more frequent with time, and if they heard him talking like this, there will be a push.
“As if I don't have bigger things to worry about, like the crime rate shooting up,” he laughs bitterly.
He decided a long time ago that everyone was going to have to wait for an heir. He already has millions of citizens to take care of and he’s clearly not doing enough with the Silk District plummeting to hell.
It might be too late to try to look at the bright side, but you felt a little bad for the sudden wave of stress that topic brought over him. “At least you’re doing something about it.”
“I’m trying.” He turns to look outside the carriage and catches some of the moonlight peeking through. “Go easy on me in the mean time— I’m stressed.”
“Right.” You hold back a laugh and nod. “You say that as if I’m the one that starts the fights.”
“You should probably start remembering how important you are, then. I need you around,” he reminds you, this time around it’s said with a certainty that leaves no room for extra questions.
For once, you allow yourself to look at the way it highlights the features of his face— from his nose, to his eyes, to his jaw. So sharp. Yet even now in all his seriousness, there’s still something so soft about him. For the longest time you wondered what it was, only for you to remember what Zuko was like as a kid. He had his moments like any other child— cried a lot, too— but he always tried to do the right thing, even after all of the suffering he’s gone through.
He’s just a good person.
Time has only proven his father wrong— a child born with a heart of gold was the luckiest of them all.
. . . . .
Time moves slow when you’re miserable. It explains why you’re already boarding the air ship to go back home— the rest of the trip went by in a blink of an eye once you finally settled things with Zuko.
You didn’t expect much from this trip aside from touring facilities and learning about the new programs— now you’re leaving with more people than you came with. There’s a little over a dozen volunteers, one of them being Jin, the director from the correction facility.
At first you were worried Zuko would be stand-offish with him. It’s hard not to after catching him glaring at the guy, multiple times, for no reason when they first met, but he ended up being more preoccupied with something else.
He was more quiet than usual, troubled over whatever thoughts were running through his mind. Then from the corner of your eye, you catch him looking at you four separate times.
The fifth is when you finally give him attention.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the orphanage real quick and grab Mira?”
“She’s a child,” you remind him, since he’s treating adoption like a grocery store run. “I can’t just rip her away from her home at the last minute. Besides, they probably won’t even allow that.”
Zuko can’t say he’s too surprised at the way you immediately lashed out at him. It’s been well over an hour since you’ve said goodbye to the kid and your eyes are still puffy.
“What if they did allow it?”
“Why are you even asking me this right now? I can’t adopt a child right now,” your eyes start to well up again, voice threatening to break in a whine. “Who’s going to watch her?”
He’s not used to seeing you cry and pauses in fear of saying something that’ll lead to actual tears. He probably should’ve worded it better from the start. This entire idea was last minute to begin with.
“I don’t know I was just thinking, since she’s the youngest and nobody wants to play with her, we can just move her to the orphanage at the palace. Most of the kids there are on the younger side anyway.”
“Wait.” The tears stop, you take in a sharp breath. “She won’t have to play in the corner by herself anymore. Do you think they’d actually let us do that?”
Zuko has spent the last 6 days watching you build a bond with a little girl who adored you from the start, then he had to watch your heart break in fucking half when you had to say goodbye— never again.
He will literally kidnap Mila if he has to.
It probably won’t be that difficult in your case, though. Her caretakers already know how much you adore her. They’ve seen the way her eyes light up when you’re around. She might not be going to a traditional family, but for all the selfish reasons people can have children, he sees nothing wrong with you taking her back home so she doesn’t have to play alone anymore.
So, yes, he thinks they will let you do that.
chapter recap:
- we met zuko’s dad and he lw hates him 🙂↕️
- more of readers backstory. she pretty much refuses to be with zuko bc her clans seen as problematic and since she’s not a concubine, it’ll probably set some people off. if the clans aren’t balanced, it could lead to a rebellion/someone trying to take the throne. readers also annoyed that he won’t fuck his concubines because not having an heir also causes civil unrest and could also lead to someone else trying to take the throne lol so she cares! she just wants to live in a peaceful country
- zuko hated seeing reader cry so much he gave her a baby (there’s an orphanage in the palace grounds that reader can visit her in)
track twenty-three: feelings between the lines | prev track< | setlist
three rockstars! one you!
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)
content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, the morning after, reader lowk wants all three of them, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, satoru being a pitiful puppy dog, suguru misses her sm, and sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt/comfort
a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/tsumiinum
Someone had to be drilling an ice pick through your skull.
Waking up in a daze, still a little drunk as your brain throbbed and ached, face buried into a soft pillow.
"Morning," a low voice murmured in your ear, a heavy arm wrapped around your waist as you tried to hide from the light filtering in, groaning in response as his fingers sank into your side.
"Su-"
You stopped yourself before you had even managed to make it through a full syllable.
Whose name were you going to say?
Which one felt right on your tongue?
You rolled over, stomach flipping as you found yourself staring into sleepy blue eyes, soft white hair splayed out on the pillow next to yours as he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.
"You sleep okay?" Satoru asked, your heart stalling as the sudden weight of your regret settled on your shoulders.
Your mouth went dry. Cotton stuffed in your throat as your chest got all tight, nails digging into your palm as you pulled the blankets around. your bare body tighter.
Fuck.
What the hell had you done last night?
"My head hurts," you croaked, heart hammering as you watched the corner of his mouth curl up into a small smile, reaching out for your cheek before you reflexively pulled back.
He didn't frown at you.
Just gave you those pretty puppy dog eyes that made you feel even more like shit than you currently did.
Especially when there was a different face in your mind, a dark stare that pierced straight through your heart.
"I can go get some pain killers," he offered, yawning as he sat up straight, pretending like he wasn't hurt by how hard you were staring at him like a stranger. His chest on display, pale skin catching the sun as he stretched out his long arms, rolling his shoulders back as he not-subtly showed them off.
"I have some in my bag," you mumbled, pointing to the one half-open and rummaged through on the floor on the other side of the room.
Satoru stood, totally naked as he strolled over to it, bending over to dig through your clothes and tossing out a couple pairs of panties before he found the small bottle of painkillers you purchased from the resort gift shop the first night you got here.
He unscrewed the cap to take one himself before he tossed it over to you.
You didn't catch it, but it landed on your lap.
The warning label staring back at you as you wondered how many warnings you ignored before you ended up here.
Dealing with the awkward morning after with the worst person you could've possibly slept with.
Satoru casually walked over to the mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to chase it down before leaning over the bed and holding it out for you to take.
Definitely what you should've been drinking last night, but no, you always learned your lesson a little too late.
The bottle was barely cold, the mini-fridge hardly keeping it below room temperature even for how expensive this place had to be.
Still, you took a long sip, the water doing nothing to soothe how dry your mouth felt when you were hyper aware of who you were drinking after.
But you had done a lot fucking more than just swapping saliva.
"Say it," Satoru spoke softly, looking at you with understanding you weren't expecting.
"What?" You blinked, almost choking on your water.
"That it was a mistake," he muttered.
It was.
But it was suddenly so much harder to actually get it out when he was looking at you like he didn't regret it at all. Like he'd known that this was how it would always end between you.
"Satoru," you apologetically began, swallowing hard, even though that lump that seemed to live in your throat lately wasn't budging. "We-"
"We were just drunk?" He offered the excuse for you when it was obvious you were struggling to finish.
"I don't want to hurt Suguru," you murmured, not that your sentiment meant much after what you'd done. "Or you."
His disappointed smile was enough for you to know you already had.
"I get it," he shrugged.
"You're great," you offered, trying to salvage some of the situation, to not push away one of the few people who tried to support you when he didn't have to. Although, now that you had sex, some tiny voice in your head couldn't help but suggest that perhaps that was all he wanted from you after all. "I'm just not-"
"You don't have to justify yourself to me," he interrupted before you could put yourself down, before you could push him away.
Was it really Suguru's feelings you were trying to save here? Sukuna's?
Or were you just trying to protect yourself again?
Common sense screamed at you that any sort of relationship that started from this wouldn't end well.
You were too sour for someone as sweet as Satoru.
All you'd do was disappoint him.
It's what you were doing right now, wasn't it?
Because no matter what you said, or swore, he could see it written all over your face that you wished last night hadn't happened when it only left you even more confused.
Wracked with guilt over what the fuck you were going to tell the men waiting for you, how you were supposed to move forward when you were caught in a messy web of feelings you were tangled and tied up by.
"I'm sorry," you half-whispered, clearly still feeling the effects of the alcohol when you realized you sorta wanted to cry about it, breath hitching uncomfortably as you averted your eyes away from his.
"You don't have to be," Satoru casually said, still playing the light-hearted guy you'd gotten to know. Too well, you guessed, since you could tell it was just a mask. That he was hiding how he felt to save you from feeling worse.
"I am, I-" You were floundering. Headache pounding behind your eyes as you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, reaching up to rub your eyes. "You keep getting dragged into my problems and-"
"I want to be the guy that solves them," he stopped you, one knee on the bed as he got down on your level, forcing you to look him in the eyes so you could see that he was actually serious for once. "But I'm not the only one."
And while you were here, naked and hungover, Suguru and Sukuna were trying to put the rest of your life back together.
You had to choose.
Decide if you wanted one or none of them.
But how were you supposed to know who wouldn't leave you heartbroken?
Who wouldn't leave you wondering and wishing for someone else once all the dust settled?
And what if, the answers weren't the same?
What if the one would tear your heart out and take it with him when the two of you fell apart?
Your mouth opened, but the right words eluded you. All the words did.
Sitting there, surely looking stupid as you struggled to say anything to stay friends, at least.
"I'll go," Satoru quietly said, going to pick up last night's clothes before starting to get dressed. Pulling his stained shirt back over his head as you helplessly watched him.
"Last night, I-" You tried one more time, but he held up his hand. The same one that spent half the night exploring your body.
"I want you," he bluntly said. "It's fine if you don't want me back. But I'll still be there for you when you get back."
No room for misunderstandings.
Nowhere for you to hide how you felt either.
"I don't know what I want," you honestly murmured, and he gave you one more soft smiles of his, walking back over to where you were sitting in the bed. Bending over to press a small kiss to your forehead, a stifled squeak of surprise almost escaping your lips.
"I know," he mumbled back. "Call me when you get a little closer to figuring it out."
How long would that take you?
A week? A month?
More?
You wanted all of this to be over.
To be back in a bed that felt like yours, in a place that felt like home, where you could wake up and go to a job where you didn't have to think about how many of your coworkers had seen your sex tape.
Was that too much to ask?
It felt pretty fucking far-fetched as you stared at Satoru's broad frame walking away while you cut into your own palms with your nails, lungs straining to get air in-and-out as you heard the door thud shut behind him.
Left alone to stare at the wall, to count the seconds of silence as you curled back up under the covers to shut your eyes like you could shut off the rest of the world too.
Your brain was barely functioning. Your ass was sore. But really, all you could focus on was how tired you were of the hurt you'd been harboring in your heart from months.
Fuck, years.
It'd been ripped open and stitched together so many times you were sick of just slathering superglue in the cracks.
This was just the latest cut.
The freshest wound.
You'd done it to yourself this time.
And as you tried not to doze back off, slip back into nightmares you couldn't control, you wondered why.
Yeah, Satoru was attractive. Sweet. The type of attentive you had a hard time saying no too.
But you couldn't help but ask yourself if part of you hadn't wanted to hurt Suguru and Sukuna just a little bit. Make them feel abandoned too, or make yourself feel better about what they'd done to you.
The guilt that was already there just encased your lungs, all thick and slimy and heavy as you hastily crawled out of bed to pick up your phone from where you left it on the floor last night.
You didn't have it in you to shower yet.
The bathroom lights were too bright. And you didn't think you could deal with looking in the mirror right now. Instead, you picked up a robe you left draped on the furniture, hastily tying it around yourself as you sat in one of the chairs, bringing your knees up to your chest as you unlocked your phone.
You didn't really know whose contact you were looking for until you landed on it.
Suguru must have set your ringtone to something he recognized, because he answered before the second ring. Saying your name into the speaker like it was something special.
Like you were.
"Um, hi," you mumbled, wondering if he could hear your hangover when your voice was trembling already.
"Drink too much last night?" He wryly asked, and you let out a nervous exhale.
"Yeah, like, a lot," you honestly answered, tucking the phone against your head and shoulder, shutting your eyes at the sharp stab of pain behind them from the simple movement. "Before you ask, yes, I took medicine and drank water."
He chuckled a little at that.
"You know me too well. How are you doing?" He asked softly, warmth in your ear that almost made you wince. "Having fun?"
You weren't even dating him anymore, but it still felt like far more than just some minor betrayal to fuck his best friend.
"Um, I got a visitor," you answered, not totally sure how to say it without awkwardly spilling everything immediately.
"Yeah, I saw," Suguru muttered, and you could hear his disappointment. "Someone got photos of you guys on the beach."
"Oh," you swallowed, biting your already broken and bleeding lips.
Of course.
You were still being watched.
Photographed and filmed for strangers' entertainment.
"They all think that we're in some polyamorous relationship or you're dating Satoru and he's just a, you know-" Suguru didn't finish, but you figured it out for yourself.
A cuck.
God, his dad definitely wanted to kill him now if he didn't before.
"Either one is probably more normal than whatever this is," you accidentally said out loud, and he actually laughed, a short burst of it that soothed you for a second before you realized that this wouldn't last.
Suguru would find out sooner or later what you did.
There wasn't going to be an easy way to admit it. To come clean when you felt filthy for what you'd done.
You didn't want to be the reason he lost Satoru. Didn't want to become them or their band.
"Suguru," you apologetically started, shutting your eyes before you even said it. "I'm sorry, I just have to be honest with you, uh, me and Satoru sorta slept together last night."
You waited for him to tell you he hated you. That he couldn't believe it or something equally damning. Condemn you for being a bitch or a whore or a slut even when you knew he'd come up with something more clever.
Not his slow exhale.
"I figured it would happen," he admitted, but his hurt wasn't hidden. Right there in his wounded acceptance, the thick swallow audible even on the grainy line.
"You-" You stopped yourself, unsure where you were about to go with your sentence.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"He told me he was in love with you last week," Suguru lightly scoffed, and a discomforting feeling settled in your stomach as you started nervously playing with the hem of your robe while he continued, "He swore he wasn't going to do anything, but I mean, it was just a matter of time."
He sounded resigned.
Like he'd given up.
"I don't think he was planning to," you weakly defended, even though you hadn't really begun to process the knowledge that Satoru told him that he was fucking in love with you. Wanting someone was one thing. But you didn't know what the fuck to do with Satoru's love when all you'd been preparing yourself for was lust. "I let him come in my room, and we were both really wasted. I wouldn't have-"
What?
Slept with him sober?
"You deserve someone whose going to make you happy. If it's him-"
"He already left. I told him I didn't want to hurt you," you mumbled, pulse annoyingly pounding as you paused. "I'm sorry."
You already said it.
But you wanted him to know you actually meant it. That it wasn't some rehearsed line to clear the air.
"We're not together," Suguru said, almost like he was telling you that you didn't owe him any apologies. But it stung to hear anyway.
"I know," you half-whispered. "But I shouldn't have fucked him when I still have some feelings for you."
What they were exactly, you weren't sure, but it would be a lie to say they weren't there.
Suguru was silent.
Every second he didn't speak was more painful than the last, yet, you couldn't bring yourself to take it back.
"Can't you just tell me you hate me? Please?" You asked instead, reaching up to rub your eyes as you resisted the urge to cry again. "I lied to you when we were together and I just slept with your best friend, and-"
"You wouldn't be there right now if I hadn't fucked us up," he stopped you mid-spiral, and you knew if he was here, he'd probably pull you into a hug or drag his thumb under your eyes to stop the tears from falling. "It's my fault Satoru even had the space to come between us."
"You're not going to strangle him, right?"
"You're not going to sleep with him again?" He asked, careful to toe the line between teasing and taking this seriously.
"No," you mumbled. You'd just get food service delivered to your room and hole up inside it for the next week if you had to. "I'm not getting drunk again either. Like, ever."
You still felt two seconds away from throwing up, the throbbing pain in your brain refusing to dull as Suguru chuckled through the phone.
"I'm not going to kill Satoru," he promised you, even though you could still hear how pissed he was at his friend - no matter how carefully he concealed it under his steady tone.
It just made you feel more like a screw-up for putting him in this position.
Yeah, he hurt you. Broke your heart before.
But all the lines between exes and lovers and friends had been crossed and redrawn and blurred so many times that you didn't know whether to hate him or yourself for how things were now.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," you mumbled, wondering whether or not wallowing would ever get you anywhere. How you were supposed to climb out of a hole you kept digging deeper.
"There's nothing wrong-"
"I always do this," you stopped him before he could defend you. Not sober enough to stop talking but too drunk to make much sense of what you were rambling about. "Sleep with someone I shouldn't and run away instead of actually facing anything."
You'd done it with Sukuna.
Fucked him and fled the morning after and started the whole awful act of pretending you were just friends.
You tried to do it with Suguru.
Gave the relationship thing a try only to run away at the first huge hurdle.
And here you were, hours away from both men after you sent another one away.
Holed up to hide your feelings from not just them, but yourself.
You didn’t want to keep having the same conversations. Stay stuck in this stupid cycle.
“You don’t have to have everything figured out, you know,” Suguru murmured.
Still the same man you fell for from that first meeting. The one that could disarm you so easily. Soothe you even when you wanted to be upset.
“I don’t think I have anything figured out,” you grimaced.
You wouldn’t have a job when you came home. A place to say.
Just a sex tape and your own splintered pride to show for the last six months of your life.
Meanwhile, Manami probably still hadn’t faced any real repercussions for ruining your reputation, your prospects, your world. You’d skimmed over what the lawyers had emailed you, but any court case would take years.
You needed to pull yourself together now.
“There’s nothing wrong with starting fresh,” Suguru started, but you were sighing before he had even fully finished.
“What? Like change my name? Create a fake identity?” You sarcastically teased, jaw locking when it hit you that you sounded sort of like Sukuna.
“I’m just saying we don’t have to hold onto the past,” he clarified, all mature. Reasonable.
“Oh,” you muttered. “Yeah.”
You had no idea how to do that.
Your past was Sukuna.
From scraped knees and school dances to the songs and the sex, to his smirk and his hands on your skin, it was all him. Late nights on his couch or tangled together in his sheets. He colored your memories. Colored your relationships.
Moving on was always so far out of your grasp you sort of stopped considering it a real option somewhere along the way.
It had been so much simpler to assure yourself that you were fine with it. Swear that you didn’t care what or who he did outside of you.
But then you met Suguru, and then came Satoru, and now you were beginning to consider that maybe the smartest thing you could do was buy a wig and a flight and start a new life where no one knew you.
Not that anyone new you could possibly meet would be able to compare.
“Can I take you out for dinner when you come home?" Suguru abruptly asked, and it surprised you how quickly you were about to say yes.
"Like, actually go out?" You murmured, mulling over it.
There was a whole list of reasons to say no. A city waiting to capture your private moments on camera. An ending that you'd be risking unravelling.
"Yeah, somewhere quiet. Just us," he suggested. "I know a place."
Was he asking you on a date? Or would you be going under the guise of friends?
"Why?" You asked softly, looking for any reason to say yes in spite of everything else.
"I miss hanging out with you," he admitted. "Getting lunch with you before was honestly the best time I've had since we broke up."
"Yeah," you spoke quietly, nodding to yourself even though he couldn't see it. "Dinner is, uh, good. We could do that."
There was a gap, a brief lull, like he might be surprised you said yes.
"Great," Suguru breathed. "I'll call you, okay?"
"Okay," you shrugged to yourself, already replaying his words, rewinding and working through your conversation before he'd even hung up.
You did miss Suguru. Missed how comfortable you used to feel around him before all the stuff with Manami started and everything got all fucked up.
Sukuna would be pissed off if he knew.
Might try to start round two of another one-sided boxing match.
But it was still enough to make you pause, force you to think about the fact you weren't sure which of them you missed more.
"Will you text me?" Suguru asked, and you couldn't help but remember how much had changed from those first two weeks you'd known him - how Satoru basically had to shove the two of you back together since you were both being stupid and stubborn.
Despite what Suguru had sworn, you had a hard time believing that he'd just let Satoru sleeping with you just slide.
"Yeah," you awkwardly confirmed.
And like the coward you were, you hung up the phone when you heard his slow inhale, cutting him off before he could say something else that might undo the rest of your call.
Staring at the screen blankly once it was over, ignoring the message from Sukuna that popped up.
You told Suguru. He'd taken it okay.
But he'd apparently known Satoru had some kind of feelings for you first.
Sukuna was already having a hard time. If you broke the news over the phone that you fucked someone he just started to become friends with, there was a nonzero chance he'd book the first flight out here to beat Satoru's ass.
And you were exhausted of being the one to break up his fights.
So, you did something you knew you could easily end up regretting later.
Why tell Sukuna now when he'd crash out just as hard when you got back home?
Silencing your phone before padding back over to the bed, burying your face back into the pillow that still smelled faintly of Satoru and made the most likely not mature decision to just go back to sleep.
Barely messaging any of the men you'd let bury themselves inside you over the next week and a half, only offering vague assurances you were fine outside of sunbathing and swimming and sleeping.
Drying out and refusing to touch another drink until your head started to clear. The fog fading into a faint outline of a plan for your return.
Yuki offered an extra room at her place for you to stay so you wouldn't have to worry about a hotel or leeching off a man. You'd have to find a new job first, although the dollar amounts attached to the handful of offers in your inbox about exclusive interviews or photoshoots were a tiny bit tempting after the defeat in already being exposed.
But you didn't want to sell your soul - not when you were still taping it together.
Once you had some form of steady employment, you'd get some cheap studio apartment, hopefully in a less shitty place than the one you left.
Still, even when you knew what you were going to do, there was only dread in your stomach when you got off the plane back to the place you used to call home.
Sunglasses still perched on the tip of your nose, one hand in your hoodie while you read a message from Kaori confirming that Jin would be there to drive you to Yuki's.
You glanced up from your phone, mouth pressed in a thin line as you scanned the crowd for him.
But there was a different pink-haired man waiting for you in the crowd.
One you recognized instantly, even if he was trying to blend into the background by leaning against the wall towards the bathroom. He was dressed up, wearing some button-up that didn't seem to belong on his wide shoulders, a nice jacket slung over his elbow, slacks clinging to his muscled thighs as he walked over to you.
You stood still, stunned at the sight of him looking more like a movie star than some guitarist who used to exclusively perform at one-star bars.
"Hey," Sukuna gruffly greeted you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.
It took you a second to return it, body going stiff before you wrapped your arms back around him. Closing your eyes as your cheek got squished against his chest, feeling his palm press against the small of your back as he inhaled your new shampoo.
"Got a surprise for you," he mumbled.
"Why do you look like-" You started to ask, but he was already leading you away, interlacing his fingers with yours automatically. And there you were, following him without thinking about it too.
"Just got out of this idiotic meeting with our management," he answered, pushing up his own sunglasses as he hurried towards the closest exit. "Feel like a fuckin' prick in this."
"You look good." Your mouth moved to compliment him before your brain reminded you that you were still annoyed at him.
"Thanks," he mumbled, and even under the harsh airport lighting, you could swear his cheeks looked a little pink.
You wondered if he was worried about being seen with you.
Okay, no, that wasn't quite right.
You were worried that him being seen with you would hurt him. If it would just be another drop of resentment in your relationship.
Being seen with the girl from your rival band's leaked sex tape probably wasn't a good look.
But he didn't let go of your hand, his palms getting clammy by the time he pulled you through the exit, already hurrying across the parking lot to get to his car.
"There's fur on your jacket," you commented as you walked, plucking out a gray hair from the top of it just for his shoulders to slump a little at the sight.
"My therapist recommended I get a, uh, pet," he begrudgingly admitted. "Something to take care of."
You almost laughed.
Trying to picture him at an animal shelter scowling at all the creatures in cages.
"A pet? What'd you get?" You gawked at him, a smile tugging up on your lips against your will.
"A cat," he grumbled.
"Did you name it already? What does it look like?" You pressed, the dread in your stomach fizzling out at the idea that maybe that was the surprise.
"She already had a name," he grunted. "So before you laugh-"
"Oh my god, is it embarrassing then?" You covered your mouth, concealing the giggle that nearly escaped.
"Muffin," he muttered, definitely blushing now as he hit the button on his car keys to unlock the doors right as you approached.
"You have a cat named Muffin," you repeated, suppressing every strong urge to laugh right in his face as he opened your door for you.
"So what?" He locked his jaw, cocking his head to the side as he waited for you to get in.
You were about to - but then you saw what was already in your seat.
A blindfold.
"What's that for?" You frowned, bottom lip pushed out as you looked back up at him.
"Your surprise."
You should've known better by now.
But Sukuna always knocked you off guard. Threw you back into the deep end right when you started to crawl out.
Giving you a smirk you hadn't seen in so long that somehow convinced you to let him tie it around your eyes, even when you mumbled under your breath that he was already on thin ice.
You tried to ask where you were going.
Sukuna refused to give you a real answer. Just returning each of your questions with his own about your vacation.
And the longer you sat there, the more the guilt started to resurface.
Because as good as this was, as fun as it felt to not be fighting with him for once, you knew it would fall apart once he found out what you'd done with Satoru.
But you couldn't get yourself to say it in the car, or even outside of it when he had one palm on your back and the other fingers on your wrist as he led you inside what had to be a building, or in the elevator as you heard him press a button and the soft hum of an acoustic song.
"Sukuna, seriously, where-"
"We're literally almost there," he scolded you, and you rolled your eyes behind the thick fabric obscuring your vision. Standing there awkwardly as you shuffled on the balls of your feet, yawning as you got off the elevator - and let him lead you through a door.
"You know, I was supposed to be going to Yuki's, right-" You started, just to break the thick tension crackling between the two of you before you felt his fingers brushing against your face, tenderly tugging the blindfold down.
You didn't believe it.
Blinking at your new surroundings, him standing in front of you, the center piece of a puzzle you no longer wanted to solve.
You were in someone's apartment. Someone's very, very nice apartment.
Spacious. Open. The last light of the day streaming in. A nice TV hung up on the wall and an expensive rug underneath your feet.
It was beautiful. The sort of place you dreamed about living in one day.
"Whose place is this?" You asked, your voice coming out strained as your eyes slowly dragged over the walls.
You saw it before he said it.
An old photo of the two of you, framed in gold on a side table. Back from college, his arm slung over your shoulder as you smiled at the camera.
"It's yours," he shrugged, pulling a key from his pocket and holding it out for you to take.
"I can't afford a place like this," you shook your head, voice cracking as you stared at the pretty arched windows overlooking the city below, the new furniture he must have picked out with you in mind. Replacements for all the stuff you could've salvage.
"That's why I paid for it," he said, like it should be obvious.
"I never asked you to-"
Pure panic started to overwrite your brain, aware you were blinking too fast, breathing too hard as you took in all the tiny details he'd put into this while you were gone.
"Yeah, but you let that asshole pay for your vacation, so this is the least you can let me do," he sarcastically muttered, as if this wasn't totally different.
Lips parting to protest, but you couldn't come up with a defense, a way to explain how it wasn't the same thing at all. That was just a couple weeks where you could relax.
This felt more like the rest of your life.
Some big commitment you were scared to make - that he made for you.
Part of you wanted to pick a fight instead, accuse him of just trying to one-up Satoru, but you were speechless.
Staring at him as you tried to catch your breath, overwhelmed by what he'd done for you. Without even knowing what you'd done when he wasn't there.
"The rent has to be fucking insane," you started to stammer, taking a few steps forward only for him to follow you.
"That's why I just bought it," he bluntly said, like it was that simple. You didn't know what to say. How to feel.
You knew he had money.
Enough for his car and guitars. Enough to pay for his apartment and his house.
But he still bought the same old clothes and lived off the same food, didn't splurge on designer shit or anything extravagant.
It wasn't who he was.
"It's-"
Sukuna frowned, brows scrunched together like he knew you were going to tell him it was too much.
"Live here for a month and see if you like it," he suggested. But the problem wasn't that you wouldn't like it. The problem was he knew you would love it.
And now, you'd have to wake up in a bed every day that Sukuna bought for you.
Or maybe it was just that this was another big change in your relationship, a moment showcasing his maturity when you were still struggling to pick yourself up from rock bottom.
He had a huge setback, and still here he was, pushing forward and trying to move past it while you just felt stuck.
"What if you hate me one day?"
He just looked at you like you just posed the dumbest question on the planet. How else were you supposed to tell him that you were starting to think that all you'd ever do was hurt each other?
"You're the only person I could never hate," he grunted.
But it was still tiring to be the only one he liked.
"What if-"
"I don't give a shit what happens," he cut you off before you could ask him another hypothetical, before you could overanalyze his answers and his attitude and try to figure out if you fit in his life or if you were both just forcing it. "I bought this because I want you to have everything you want."
You thought back to what you said to Satoru.
And maybe, deep inside your chest, you were starting to have the faintest inkling of what that was.
"Stop staring at me like there's a catch. It's just yours," Sukuna repeated, as if you'd suddenly accept it when he said it a second time. Stepping closer to put the key directly in your palm, closing your fingers around it. "No strings attached."
"No strings attached?" You echoed him, thinking back to the last time the two of you thought that was a good idea.
"You can stop talking to me forever after I walk out that door if you want," he shrugged, even though he was looking back at you like it would kill him if you actually did. "If you're sick of me."
"You still really shouldn't have-" You began scolding him, softer this time as he shook his head.
"I should've done it years ago," he insisted, regret glinting in his eyes. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."
It shouldn't get to you.
But you felt yourself wavering, heart thumping too fast as you felt the ridges of the key dig into your palm.
"I guess you can give me a tour of the place," you reluctantly muttered.
He did.
Echoing statements you guessed he probably heard from a real estate agent as he pointed out square footage and open spaces, grunting where he got some of your new stuff while you recognized what few items you'd boxed up to be put in storage, mentioning that he already moved your car to the parking lot and left your keys back in the kitchen.
It was exceeded you first impression.
Set up just the way Sukuna knew you would like it - and you were reminded of just how well he really did know you.
Once your mini-tour was over, he ran back down to grab your stuff from the backseat of his car, bringing it back up and dropping it by your door as he awkwardly stood next to them.
"I'm gonna head out," he spoke slowly, all gravelly and rough. "Gotta feed Muffin."
"Pet her for me," you muttered, leaning against the wall as you stifled your surprise that he wasn't staying. Not trying to sleepover or even spend the night on the couch.
He stepped over your bags, pausing in front of you to look down at your face, studying your features with a softness you still couldn't get used to.
"Can you come with me to my therapy session tomorrow?" he murmured, reaching out to graze his fingers against your cheek. His jaw locked like he'd like to do a lot more, but holding himself back.
Refusing to rush into it the way you both always did.
Trying to stay at the same speed for once instead of too fast or too slow.
"Send me the address," you nodded. You already agreed to it before, hadn't you?
Besides, you could use a therapist.
A third party to break down what you felt and what the hell you were supposed to do with it when you were sure your heart had been split in different halves.
Maybe you could break it to him that you fucked Satoru there while you were at it.
reblogs n comments are super appreciated <3 love hearing your thoughts as always ! i was actually going to have the therapy appointment in this one but it was already getting pretty long so i decided to split it and put it in the next one!
a/n~ thank u to the brilliant anons and comments who wanted me to continue the verse but with the other frat guys!! introducing the gojo verse 😉 enjoy!!
the party is already loud by the time they get there, bass thudding through the walls so hard the apartment feels like it’s shaking. choso stays close to his girlfriend, hand hovering at the small of her back and she keeps smiling at him, soft and reassuring like she always does, and it settles him a little. she’s throwing a party to celebrate end of midterms, something “lowkey”, but it very quickly spun into fifty people crammed into her apartment.
gojo, on the other hand, is already plotting. “i’m telling you,” he says, leaning back against the kitchen counter like he owns the place, hand holding a red solo cup. “tonight is light work. i could walk into any room here and leave with, dunno, minimum three numbers.”
“i’m pacing myself,” gojo shoots back, grinning. “quality over quantity.”
“you just said three.”
“three quality numbers.”
choso’s girlfriend rolls her eyes with a smile. “you’re insufferable.”
“i’m charming,” gojo corrects, already scanning the room, gaze flicking from group to group like he’s window shopping. “there’s a difference.”
that’s when she spots you.
her whole face lights up and she slips out of choso’s arms, weaving through people until she reaches you, and suddenly you’re both laughing about something, arms looping together.
“guys,” she calls, tugging you along, “this is my best friend, y/n.”
you step into the circle, smiling carefully. “hey, guys. hi, choso."
choso gives you a shy nod. “hi, y/n.”
geto smiles, polite but curious. toji barely acknowledges you, already halfway to the drinks.
gojo doesn’t look at you at all.
he’s too busy craning his neck over your shoulder, eyes darting past you like you’re just another body in the way. “minimum three numbers,” he repeats without looking, patting geto on the shoulder. “suguru. i’m seeing options.”
your mouth twitches. “wow,” you say, dry as dust, “don’t all look at me at once.”
gojo finally blinks and slowly he drags his gaze down to you, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth because shit.
you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
shit, and you're standing right in front of him.
there’s a beat. “huh.”
you raise a brow. “riveting response.”
geto’s mouth quirks. choso’s girlfriend looks between you two like she just lit a match and tossed it into dry grass, and she facepalms.
gojo straightens, like he’s recalibrating mid-conversation, suddenly he's aware he’s been talking at full volume about “quality numbers” in front of you.
“sorry,” he says, recovering fast, flashing that easy grin. “didn’t realize i was being introduced to—”
to someone who looked this good, he wants to say. someone like you.
“someone with ears?” you cut in.
gojo’s mind backtracks for a split second before grin sharpens. “—someone this rude.”
“only rude when i’m annoyed.”
“so all the time?”
“only when people earn it.”
they stare at each other for half a second too long, something sparking, quick and bright and a little dangerous. choso’s girlfriend claps her hands once awkwardly. “okay, perfect, you two can fight later. y/n, drink?”
you nod, letting her pull you toward the kitchen again.
gojo stands there, a little awe-struck. he stares at the space you just occupied, mind still catching up to the present.
geto leans in, voice low. “three quality numbers, huh?”
gojo doesn’t answer. he’s still staring at where you disappeared into the crowd, like if he looks hard enough he can rewind the last thirty seconds and not sound like an idiot.
“…shut up,” he mutters finally, scrubbing a hand over his face.
your friend pours you a drink with a smirk. "so? thoughts?"
"the white-haired one's an asshole," you grumble.
she laughs immediately, bumping her shoulder into yours as she slides a drink across the counter. “gojo? he is, but like…a manageable one. he's actually really sweet. you get used to it.”
“i don’t plan to.”
“mm.” she hums into her cup, watching you over the rim like she knows something you don’t. “we’ll see.”
you take a sip, eyes flicking back out into the living room. unfortunately, the pest is already looking.
gojo doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about it. he’s half-turned toward the kitchen now, cup dangling forgotten in his hand, gaze locked on you and his lips twist into a small smile.
you narrow your eyes slightly.
he straightens instantly, looks away fast. suspiciously fast. for a guy who just spent ten minutes talking like he’s god’s gift to women, he suddenly looks like he’s been caught committing a crime.
you watch him for another second, unimpressed, then turn back to your drink.
“you’re staring,” your friend sing-songs under her breath.
“i’m not.”
“you literally are.”
“i’m observing,” you correct, taking another sip. “like a case study. frat boy in his natural habitat.”
she snorts. “and what have we learned so far?”
you glance over again, just in time to catch gojo pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with geto, nodding way too seriously at something that definitely isn’t that interesting.
“he’s a fraud,” you say simply.
“ouch.”
“did you hear him? ‘three quality numbers’?” you mimic, lowering your voice into a lazy drawl. “who says that out loud, for fuck's sake."
"well, he didn't think you were listening."
“that’s the problem. he doesn’t think.”
as if summoned by your words gojo looks over again. this time when your eyes meet he freezes for half a beat before he forces himself to walk over, running a hand through his hair.
you sigh quietly. “here we go.”
he stops a step too close, like he misjudged the distance, then leans back awkwardly to compensate. “hey.”
you blink at him. “hi.”
there’s a long, long pause.
toji and geto watch from across the room, snickering.
gojo clears his throat. “so. uh.” he gestures vaguely between you and choso's girlfriend. “you’re… her friend.”
“incredible deduction,” you say flatly. “did you major in that or is it natural talent?”
your friend elbows you lightly. "y/n."
his mouth opens, then closes, before his grin flickers back, a little less steady this time. “you’re mean.”
“you’re observant,” you shoot back.
he shifts his weight. “so what’s your deal?”
you tilt your head. “my deal.”
“yeah, like—” he waves a hand, searching for words that don’t immediately make him sound stupid. “what you’re about.”
“i’m about not giving my number to guys who treat parties like a shopping spree.”
gojo’s ears go a little pink. “that’s— okay. that’s not—”
"oh, it's not?" you tilt your head, stare unimpressed. "cause swear that's what you were yelling about five minutes ago."
“…okay,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to rebuild a sentence from scattered lego pieces. “in my defense, i was not yelling at you specifically.”
you blink. “that’s worse.”
“no, wait—”
“you were yelling at the concept of women in general?”
“no,” he says faster, then winces at how that sounds. “i'm not like that."
you tilt your head slightly. “you introduced yourself like that.”
gojo opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. he closes again.
since when am i at a loss of words?
"you're very articulate," you say, taking a sip of your drink, severely unimpressed.
“i’m usually more articulate,” he says, and immediately hates how that sounds.
you give him that same, blank stare. "sure," you say, flat.
there’s a beat where his brain tries to catch up to his mouth, but they’ve clearly stopped coordinating. he tries again. “i just mean—i don’t usually—i’m not like...stuck on words.”
“you seem pretty stuck now.”
gojo exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair again. you're still looking at him like that - all unimpressed and unfazed. like you don't care that he's satoru gojo.
it's a new feeling, and humiliatingly effective.
because you’re still looking at him like that.
“you’re just...you’re really hard to talk to.”
your expression doesn’t change, but something in your eyes sharpens. “that’s a you problem,” you say simply.
silence again.
he’s not used to silence like this. usually there’s someone filling it for him. laughing, reacting, leaning in. you just stand there, existing,
it makes him feel weirdly off-axis.
from somewhere behind you, a guy calls your name. “y/n! you coming to play?” the guy asks, nodding toward the living room where people are setting up some drinking game.
you glance at him, then back at your friend, who's curled up against choso's arm. “yeah,” you say, already stepping away from gojo like the conversation has naturally ended. “i’ll come.”
just like that, you're gone into the crowd. no look back at him.
“wait,” gojo says, too fast.
you pause briefly, look at him over your shoulder. “what?”
he opens his mouth and nothing comes out again.
for once, there’s no punchline ready. no smooth recovery. no stupid confidence parachute.
just him stupidly blanking. “uh,” he manages finally, then clears his throat, tries again. “nothing.”
you give a small shrug like he’s already been filed away as unimportant, and turn back to follow the group.
gojo stands there, arms limp at his sides.
geto strolls up beside him, sipping his drink. “that went well.”
“shut up,” gojo says automatically, but it’s weak.
geto glances toward the living room where you’ve already disappeared into the crowd. “she’s too pretty for you.”
"shut up," he repeats.
the rest of the party feels like slow motion. the music's still loud, people are still chattering, but his attention keeps snagging back in one direction.
you.
he keeps catching flashes of you between bodies. your laugh when someone says something stupid. the way you lean in when you talk, like you actually mean your words. the way you fix your hair, or how your tongue darts over your lips.
it’s irritating.
it’s worse than irritating.
it’s distracting.
a girl slides up to him sometime later, glittery eyes, thick fake lashes and a practiced tilt of the head. “hey,” she says, hand brushing his arm like it belongs there. “you’re gojo, right?”
“yeah,” he says automatically, still looking past her shoulder.
she leans in a little. “i’ve seen you around campus. you’re kind of hard to miss.”
“uh-huh,” he replies, eyes flicking again.
she laughs softly, clearly taking that as encouragement. “you wanna get out of here? it’s kinda loud in here.”
“maybe,” he says.
she blinks. “or we could just go now.”
“yeah, maybe.” he doesn’t mean to sound bored but you just walked past the kitchen again and someone said your name and you smiled and it did something annoying to his brain.
the girl follows his gaze this time, sees you. then looks back at him, slower now. “oh,” she says.
gojo doesn’t notice the change in her tone, he’s still half watching you across the room like he’s trying to figure out what you’re doing and why it looks like that matters. what guy you're talking to. who's making you smile like that.
“so that’s what this is,” she adds, voice flattening.
he finally looks at her properly. “what’s what?”
she lets out a small, offended laugh. “never mind.” then she scoffs, sharp and unimpressed, and turns on her heel. “weird,” she mutters as she walks off.
gojo stares after her for a second, confused, then immediately looks back for you again.
“dude,” toji calls from the kitchen counter, watching the whole thing like it’s entertainment. “what happened to three numbers? that chick was into you.”
“i didn’t—” gojo starts, “she wasn’t—”
“interested?” geto finishes lightly, leaning against the counter beside toji. “she was, until you spent the entire time ogling y/n like there was no other person in this room.”
gojo tries to laugh it off, but it comes out distracted, thin. his eyes flick again, instinctively, toward the living room, where you were moments ago, but you're gone now.
where'd she go?
his chest tightens with something he doesn’t name.
“you were staring at her like a lost dog,” geto adds, amused.
gojo finally tears his eyes away like it physically costs him something. “i wasn't staring.”
a beat.
toji just hums. “mm.”
"where's choso?" gojo says, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck. "haven't seen that guy for most of tonight."
"eh, i saw him talking to his girlfriend on the balcony a bit ago," toji says, pointing to the sliding back door.
"cool, cool," gojo mutters, pushing his way through the crowd to the back, where choso and his girlfriend are indeed standing, talking to a few guests. (well, choso's standing behind her, holding her hand, and she's animatedly chatting to the group).
she spots gojo and waves. “hey,” she says brightly. "what's up?"
“hey,” gojo replies, slower than usual.
choso glances up. “you good?”
gojo hesitates. “yeah. where’s y/n?”
choso's girlfriend blinks. "oh. she left, like, two minutes ago."
something in gojo’s expression shifts before he can stop it. “left?” he repeats.
“yeah,” she says, oblivious to the way his tone changed. “said she was tired. she had work early tomorrow or something.”
he looks past them again, instinctively, like maybe she’ll still be there if he just checks harder.
choso watches him for a second. “you didn’t notice?”
gojo scoffs lightly, too quick. “i noticed. i just thought she might've been talking to you guys, or something.”
choso shakes his head. "sorry."
gojo's head rushes. how could you leave without him talking to you more? he hand't even gotten your number. he didn't know anything about you.
"fuck," he grumbles, rolling his head back.
your friend stares at him, small smirk playing on her lips. "i'll tell her you're deeply concerned about where she's gone."
"no!" gojo says quickly. "i mean, erm. no, it's chill. i'll see her around."
she hums under her breath as gojo walks away, slumped in defeat.
"gone?" geto asks from inside.
"gone," gojo confirms, slumping back against an empty chair. "i'm so fucked."
"if it's any consolation, she wasn't into you," toji says, and gojo glares at him.
"that doesn't matter. i fumbled," the white-haired man complains, dropping his hand against the side of the couch.
geto smirks. “you didn’t fumble,” he says calmly. “you tripped, fell down a flight of stairs, and took out the railing on the way.”
toji snorts. “landed face first, too.”
“shut up,” gojo mutters, dragging both hands down his face. “i didn’t even get a chance to recover. she just left.”
“you had, like, an hour,” toji points out.
gojo sits up straighter now, shrugging toji's comment off. "i'll just see her again."
toji snorts. “and do what? give a powerpoint apology?”
“i don’t need a powerpoint,” gojo scoffs. “i’ll just talk to her. properly this time.”
geto’s smile is small, knowing. “and what makes you think she’ll give you that chance?”
gojo pauses then his mouth tilts, something sharper returning, something stubborn. “she will,” he says.
toji huffs. “based on?”
“because she didn’t ignore me,” gojo says slowly. “she could’ve. she didn’t.”
geto watches him, intrigued.
“she stayed,” gojo continues. “she argued. she kept talking. if she actually didn’t care, she would’ve just walked away way earlier.”
toji considers that. “…hm.”
gojo glances up, a little more confident now. “and she looked back.”
“once,” toji says.
“still counts.”
geto lets out a quiet laugh. “you’re building a whole thesis off crumbs.”
“it’s a good thesis,” gojo insists.
“it’s a delusion,” toji says.
“it’s optimism.”
“it’s desperation.”
gojo rolls his eyes. “you guys are so negative.”
he leans back again, arms spreading along the back of the couch, staring out at the party that suddenly feels way less interesting. “i’ll see her again,” he repeats, more to himself this time. "i have to."
toji glances at geto, then back at gojo, smirking. “yeah. you’re cooked.”
gojo doesn’t even argue this time. "i'm not fumbling again."
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with Suguru's older sister - you - since he was old enough to even remember, and it's only gotten worse since he's grown up. Yet you still see him as 'little toru' when nothing on Satoru Gojo is 'little'. Now you're coming off a terrible breakup with your long term boyfriend Hiromi, and visiting Suguru's family for spring break. What better time to try to make you feel better by having you squirt all over his fingers!? But can you really ever fuck your brother's best friend?
pairings - Fratboy! gojo x Sugu's big sis! reader
warnings -reader is 28, he's 22, your ex is Hiromi hehe, masturbation ( m and f) yandere Gojo, fingering, squirting, oral sex (m receiving) tons of tension, a teeny bit cracked out, Toru is shameless - no one in Sugu's fam is safe from this man
wc-6.4k - NGL it's prob gonna have a pt 2 and maybe 3 lol
art creds here!
Satoru Gojo has been obsessed with you for as long as he can remember – his best friend Suguru’s older sister, watching you right now as you’re by the side of the pool. Suguru hops in and splashes you, making you jump up, your pretty tits bouncing as if to fucking torture him even further.
You’re sweet – achingly sweet, but you don’t look at him that way. You smile all cute like he’s a kid when he’s six-foot-four and you have to look up at him, since you’re six years older than Suguru and him, that’s just how you see him. Satoru thought when he graduated college surely you’d notice he’s a man now, but you treat him the same as ever.
“Little Toru!”
What the fuck on Gojo was little!?
His cock throbs underneath his swim trunks as those drops of water slip down your pretty tits, the sun glimmering off your skin. You came back to visit for the summer with your family, even though you’re twenty-eight you still come to spend time with the family, and Satoru makes sure he’s there too.
You had a nasty break up with your boyfriend, this damn lawyer you used to bring around at Christmas and Thanksgiving, Satoru cheered right in the middle of fisting his cock when he got your text. You all were close after all, he loved to make you feel better in any way he can, put a smile on your pretty face, though he’d love much more to make you fucking drool.
“You got all my sunblock off!” You huff and Suguru sticks his tongue out, your parents are in there with him along with all your annoying little cousins that visit, you’re so cute with them he can’t help but wonder how good of a mom you’d be.
Well, he’d make you one some day.
“I got you sweets,” Satoru walks over and you smile at him, trying your best not to eye fuck your little brother’s best friend – but fuck were his shoulders broader, was he more cut, what the fuck was he eating? He’s impossibly tall these fucking days like he got another inch.
Ovulating around twenty two year old Satoru after a breakup with Hiromi was fucking horrible. You clear your throat and hand him the bottle, you can ignore how his blue eyes flicker across your tits in your bikini, can’t you? Satoru had some cute crush on you, you weren’t immune to it, but he’s too fucking young for you.
“Thanks little Toru,” he laughs softly, sitting behind you and squeezing the sunblock into his palm, gliding it down your back slowly, watching the white lotion meld into your skin, wishing it was something else entirely.
“Little Toru huh,” his voice is soft behind you as his huge hands work across your skin, fingers drifting across your skin and making your lashes flutter shut for a moment, you lean right into the touch as his lips brush near your ear. “What on me is little?”
“I um…” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your parents and Suguru and children are in the damn pool and you’re over here pressing your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb and ache.
“You always called me that,” he chuckles a bit, huge body pressing up against you, casting a shadow as his fingers work the lotion into your shoulders thoroughly, his touch sinfully good. “Do you need more on you?”
“Y-yes please,” you damn near arch with him on your lounge chair, his thighs spread wide, gliding it down your arms.
“You didn’t answer me,” his huge hands take over your arms as they glide them all down your skin. “What’s little?”
You look back at Satoru, biting your lower lip. How fucking mad would Suguru be if you fucked his best friend!?
You can’t go fucking doing that.
Right?
No!?!?
Just because Hiromi hurt you doesn’t mean you can suddenly go and act on impulse, thinking with your pussy rather than any sort of brain cells. It’s simply that you’re comfortable with him, that he’s gorgeous, that for the past few years the way he looks at you makes you feel so pretty – how he talks to you all low and soft, teasing with his big smile.
It’s just that, and the fact that his body is hard, that his skin is hot – his perfect form is present right behind you. You’re fine, just remember it’s friendly, he’s just teasing you like he does. You can’t look at ‘little toru’ who just so happens to be six-foot-four and getting thicker in the chest every time you see him – how does he keep getting more fucking muscles?
Was football really doing all of this?
“I um… just call you that,” you murmur softly, breath caught in your chest, heart hammering so quickly you’re dizzy, especially with the heat radiating down against your skin, his hands brushing more lotion, pausing at your mid back.
“Move your hair to the side, it’s drippin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs lazily, you bite your lip so hard it leaves little teeth marks, pulling your hair to the side and smiling over your shoulder at him.
“There,” you murmur, eyes locked with his.
Fuck you’re pretty.
God he wants to drag you right on his goddamn lap, slide his cock to the hilt – he bets you’re so fucking tight, but he also bets you’re so wet you could just take him. When his hands slide up the curve of your spine, you can hardly stop your cunt from dripping down the damn lounge chair, his hands rubbing all that cream into your skin ever so thoroughly.
“Then why do you call me that, huh sweetheart?” He asks now, you sigh, glaring back at him just a bit. “I’m way fucking bigger than I was when you met me.”
“Well yeah, you were like a kid, Toru.”
“Now I’m way bigger than you, hmm?” His tone echoes in your ears – way bigger… you already know the sheer size of Satoru Gojo, but to think of just how big he is makes your cunt pulse.
“Ahem…” You clear your throat now, rushing up and laughing nervously, ignoring the evident bulge in his light blue swim trunks. “I’m gonna get in!”
“With your sunblock on?” He teases, you can’t answer him – can’t even look at him, no you hop right into the cold chill of the pool, trying to cool your ovulating ovaries the fuck down.
*****
It’s hard to be around you.
Literally hard.
Satoru finds himself heading into the house while you and the family are still splashing around in the pool – he certainly can’t just palm his cock when the whole family is around. He had to rush off into the damn bathroom, shutting the door behind himself, leaking so much pre he’s sticking to his trunks.
"Mnh," Satoru can’t help but tug at his drawstring, those trunks still dripping wet with the faint scent of chlorine clinging to them, he shoves the waistband down, cock springing free, slapping his flat belly button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Was there a better word for what you do to him? Satoru’s barely biting back a moan, wrapping his hand around that thick base of his shaft, sucking in a breath, he usually has a little more fucking self control but he doesn’t right now. Not when he got to smooth that white cream against your skin and watch it melt into it, fuck imagining rubbing his cum all over your body instead has him pulsing.
Imagine every inch of you covered in him – he’s gone truly psychotic, wanting to fucking mark you like you’re his, he was tired of seeing you with that dumb fucking lawyer. What did you need him for when you could have Satoru? What, because he’s in his thirties, Satoru Gojo was fucking filthy rich, and he’d make sure you never had to lift a pretty little finger.
“I’ll take care of you – hah, b-baby,” he’s whining out, eyelashes fluttering shut, picturing you vividly.
The way those water droplets were glistening on your skin, how your pretty tits bounced when you hopped up and Suguru splashed you. How the little bikini showed beauty marks on your tummy, a couple lines on your hips where they’ve spread just a bit since you were his age – all to spread to have his baby, he’s so sure of it.
Breedable fucking hips that he’d love to hold in his big hands, arching your back for him all pretty like a good girl – he could practically hear the moans that you’d give, they’d be much louder than the soft little sounds you made when he touched your back earlier. He can’t help but want to hear it, hear how fucking loud you get, would your sounds get all muffled as he pressed your head into the mattress?
He’s been jerking it to you since he found out what his cock even did, back when it was honestly terrible to do so, but he has no sense of guilt when it comes to you. Watching you, stealing those panties, practicing just what he’ll say as he fucks his fist devotedly to any picture he’s snuck of you, fuck he took photos from your goddamn family album he was so pathetic.
“Stop teasin’ me sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his cock, slowly at first to just savor the feeling of his precum smearing his reddened tip – all drooly already. He spits right down on his cock, a long trail of gossamer saliva swirling down, using it as lube while picturing how wet you’d get.
He bets you were wet with his hands running across your skin, he could feel heat that couldn’t just be from the sun, surely it was not the rays shining and warming you, it was Satoru’s nearness. He ached to taste the sun right off your skin, your cunt tasted so good on your panties, surely it would taste even better right from the source.
He starts to stroke his cock faster, fucking desperately, imagining your much smaller hand instead of his. You probably couldn’t even wrap those fingers around his girth, you’d have trouble taking him, tummy would just bulge as he moves in and out of your hole. He whimpers at that vision, imagining you looking at him with need, with hearts in your eyes.
Anything but that fucking sweet ‘big sis’ affection.
"Little Toru," he mumbles under his breath, a little laugh escaping him as he strokes his nine inches that would ruin your cunt for anyone else. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really have no idea, do you?"
Satoru’s strokes became more erratic as he imagined lifting your pretty ass up, bending you over the poolside, pulling that bikini aside and finally showing you exactly how ‘little’ he was. Fuck would you scream out Toru when he busted his load inside? When he filled you with all those creampies you deserved and he fingered it inside so it took?
It starts to feel too good, he’s so sensitive he’s leaning against the bathroom counter, groaning out, right about to cum when he hears it.
Someone jiggling the handle.
“I’m… hah, in here,” he manages to bite out, freezing when he hears your voice on the other side of the door.
“Toru I really am freezing, can I just come in real fast to grab a towel? I won’t look or anything,” you’re shivering, water dripping on your parents floor. “All the other bathrooms are taken by the kids and Suguru even stole the one in my old bedroom.”
“Oh… ah…” Your voice is making him pulse, he’s stroking faster, laughing just a bit.
“Are you laughing!? I’m freezing you little brat!”
“Brat, hah – you’re the brat baby,” you blush on the other side of the door, jiggling the handle again. “So eager to see my dick?”
“Oh you’re ridiculous – like I haven’t seen all you have before.”
“That was years ago, I’ve changed,” he murmurs, biting back a whimper unsuccessfully. “Not little Toru anymore.”
“Will you hurry up then? I am so fucking cold, ugh,” you’re shivering in your soaked towel – all the splashing got it so bad it’s fucking useless. “Satoru Gojo!”
“Fuck, fuck just… one sec, you’re impatient,” he strokes his thick cock one more time, whimpering out when his white ropes start spilling on the sink, his eyelashes fluttering, cheeks all flushed in his reflection.
“What the fuck are you doing in there? Did you hurt yourself or something!?”
“Hah… no…” He’s moaning now, the relief felt from his balls not being so goddamn tight and full of cum, he quickly starts wiping down the marble counters littered with his milky strings. “Hold on, okay? Fuck…”
“Fine,” you cross your arms, trembling like crazy, Satoru hastily opens the door after he tugs his swim trunks on, opening it and forcing you to look up at him, so damn tall you’re right there with his chest.
Little Toru indeed.
He’s a giant now.
“Finally,” you mumble, he leans one of those long ass arms over and grabs a dry towel, wrapping it around you and taking the wet one, hanging it up. “Oh thank you.”
“Made ya wait that long, can at least dry you up,” he murmurs, wrapping you even tighter, hands massaging the terry cloth covered arms that are covered in goosebumps. Your breath catches, looking up at him, far too close, you can feel that heat just radiating off his skin. “There, any better?”
“Um yeah, I’m sorry I was so impatient,” you mumble nervously, looking down and seeing the way his abs tense as he breathes, further down to the slutty little happy trail he has.
That’s when you pause.
Is that… is that… cum!? On his fucking belly button!? Is that his tip peaking-
“Satoru!” He blinks curiously as you push at him, his hands still firm on your shoulders.
“What, are you on your period? Acting all moody one minute, sweet the next.”
“You can’t ask me that!? Were you…” You lean close, whispering. “Jerking off, really?”
He smirks.
“I had to freeze so you could finish? Couldn’t you wait till you’re back in the room to do that?”
“Aw, did you wanna watch, sweetheart?” He asks, tilting your chin up, his lids getting lazy over those curved up blue eyes of his. You swallow then, your throat dry from his fingers caressing your jaw. “I would have let you if I knew.”
“Of course I didn’t…” You can’t even speak, not when you’re looking at his abs again, he leans back and laughs a bit.
“Ah, didn’t tug them up enough,” he hides what looks like a pretty blush tip, smiling like he’s fucking embarassed, he is flushed but it’s for an entirely different reason. “Is that better, sweetheart?”
“It’s… on you, god,” it’s your turn to blush, he hums a bit, stepping back lazily to drag his fingers across his own cum, putting them to his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks his own release off them.
Oh fuck.
You swallow nervously, the sight of it is utterly filthy, his hum as if he tastes so sweet, fluffy lashes fluttering. “Mmm, I guess I missed a spot when I cleaned up. My bad.”
“Your bad!? You’re such a…” you trail off now, you’re aching and he looks too fucking good, psychotic ass blue eyes all lit up as they study you. You can't even finish the sentence, your face burning with a blush that has nothing to do with the sun you took in.
"I'm such a what?" he presses closer to you, until your back is against the door, it closes behind you, leaving the two of you alone in the little guest bathroom.
“Such a…” you clear your throat, feeling him against you, you should pinch his ear or smack him in the back of the head like you did when he was younger – but you can’t even move.
He's all warm against you, the sticky remnants of his own release splayed across that pale skin, a hand on the wall beside you. The way he’s looking at you and his sheer proximity are doing things to you that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
“Such a pervert,” you glare and he chuckles, cupping your face with a hand now – that’s not how a twenty two year old frat boy should look down at you, should act, with his arm fucking raised and the little thatch of hair still damp underneath them. His silky locks are falling in slick little strands across his brow. “A total pervert.”
“Me? No, sweetheart,” he smirks down at you like the little shit he is. "I’m just taking care of a problem you caused."
"I caused it!?" you squeak out the words almost embarassing, pushing at his chest half heartedly – he’s so built and muscular it’s like pushing against a brick wall, his heart thudding under your palm. You barely manage a glare. "How is any of this ridiculous behavior my fault?"
He catches your wrists in one of his big hands, thumb brushing over the delicate network of veins, right over your frantic pulse. “How is it your fault?”
“Yes, you psycho.”
“You exist," his words confuse the fuck out of you then, breaths faster until your tits are rising and falling in the top just a bit too small, his gaze drops to it when your towel hopelessly falls. He exhales and traces his hand over the curve of your tit, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches. “That’s how it’s your fault.”
‘B-because I exist?” You whisper, shaking your head now. “You’re just fucking with me, what does that even mean?”
"You wore that bikini,” he murmurs, a thigh coming between yours, instead of tugging away you shamelessly arch your hips, earning his soft little exhale. “You let me put sunscreen on you, didn’t you? Let me touch your skin, while you’re fucking looking like that." His eyes – those impossibly fucking bright blue eyes – drag down your body, like he’s touching you
“That makes no sense, you’ve always seen me in swimsuits, Satoru. You may have had some little crush when you were younger, but you’re an adult.”
“And so the fuck are you, a whole woman, hmm?” He whispers, you hate how good it makes you feel. “Fuck you must be ovulating, swear I can smell it.”
“You cannot freak!?” You shove again, but your hips move, heat emanating even from your soaked bikini bottoms, the scent of chlorine mixing with the sweetness of his breath, the musk of that slight sweat underneath his arms.
“Bet your body wants a baby in her,” he smirks, his hips dragging you down on his thigh, a trail of slick glittering on it. You whine out, biting your lip and shaking your head. "What did you expect to happen, you lookin’ like that, after that man was dumb enough to leave you?"
"I expected you to act like a normal person, even if y-you somehow think I’m hot or something, you can’t just… act like this, all psychotic. What do you mean babies inside me!?”
“Oh you don’t wanna be bred?” You almost whimper goddamn this little brat.
“You’re a little fratboy.”
“A little fratboy?” He repeats, you bite down on your lower lip and nod. “You want me to act normal, huh?”
“Y-yes go back too… whatever it was um… before. Go fuck your little frat girls at your parties, girls your age," your voice is weak, breathless and fucking pathetic – you hate whatever the hell was happening, the fact that you’re aching for him to do just that – pump cum right inside you.
"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs softly, leaning in and letting his lips hover until they’re almost touching yours. "I haven't been normal about you since I was twelve years old."
“That’s insane,” you hiss, shaking your head again, his thigh pressing up and you feel your body respond, his hands tugging at your waist, thumbs right underneath the swells of your breasts.
"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"
Your heart is hammering in your chest as you drink him in, half naked and still glimmering with the pool water.
This is Satoru.
Annoying, bratty, little Toru – who used to follow you around like a lost puppy, then grew to just annoy the ever loving shit out of you. Suguru’s best friend who has spent more time with your parents than you have in the past ten years – he’s ‘Toru’ and that’s that.
Right?
He can’t be the man who sucks cum off his fingers.
You should push him away – walk out and lock yourself in your room for the entirety of the rest of your stay, you should do anything but let his lips brush the corner of your lips, do anything but whimper. Anything but moan softly when he tugs down your top, groaning at the sight of one of your pretty tits bare, with the faint lines the sun left on your skin.
“Oh my fuck,” he whispers, he didn’t know you’d be that fucking beautiful, he had snuck so many glimpses but to see that pretty nipple in person? “Look at you.”
“I… we… even if you’re not Suguru’s best friend, even if you weren’t six years younger – I literally just broke up with-”
“A dumb fuck?” You glare at him. “He’s stupid to ever leave you.
“You don’t know him, and… even if we um… did something-”
“What!?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Satoru-”
“You wanna do something!? With me!?” You snort a bit at how suddenly cute he is, before he gathers himself, hand trailing down your tummy, it trembles underneath the surprising roughness of his fingertips. “Want me to make you cum, pretty?”
“Fuck,” where’d he learn to talk like this!? Hiromi could eat pussy – and that man could fuck, but something about Satoru’s utter desperation and devotion had you gushing and pulsing around nothing. “I… you can… can you…”
“Can I make you cum?” He chuckles, finding your elastic, slipping his fingers underneath so his finger grazes your clit, your hips buck at it, whining out weakly. “Yeah, sweetheart, I can make you cum until you’re squirting right on this fucking floor.”
“J-just… fuck, just…” You should push him off – but instead, you find yourself shoving his hand down further, eyes fluttering shut, your head back ever so slightly against the door. “There, my clit, please… please, fuck…”
It’s happening.
Satoru’s dreamt of this moment since he even knew somewhat was a pussy was, and yours was soaking goddamn wet, so messy it’s loud, echoing in the bathroom, he swirls it in little circles as you rock your hips, still straddling one of his thighs. He pulls it back and picks you up, making you gasp, sitting you right on the sink and tugging your bottoms to the side.
“Toru, I…”
“Fuck yes, god call me that,” if he hadn’t already jerked off – he’d be cummin’ again just eyeing your needy, puffy cunt. “Fuckin’ perfect lil cunt, god, just look at you, soaked.”
Your lashes flutter shut, expecting a finger and then shocked when you feel a glob of saliva right on your needy clit. “Ah!”
“Mmm,” he’s humming, spreading his own spit around, smirking at the sight of his bubbly, gossamer saliva coating your cunt. “Perfect just like that… Do you need them inside? Bet yours couldn’t hit.”
“Shut it, Toru,” you’re yanking on his wrist, making him moan with how you take over, he’s used to girls just a little too shy, not that it was a bad thing – but you knew what you wanted, grabbing his fingers and sucking them.
“Oh my… f-fuckk…” He almost does cum watching your cheeks hollow, seeing you suck him down to the knuckle, your pretty pussy just drippin’ right down the counter as you arch your hips more.
“Hurry b-before they notice,” you whisper desperately now, guiding his hand down to your needy hole, whining out softly. “Two, put two in, please.”
“Sure you can take it?” You just nod eagerly, he swirls them and then buries them to the fucking hilt inside, you have to smack a hand on your mouth, drool spilling across your palm as he starts easing them in and out. “Fuck, took em s’good just f’me, huh? Just like that, needy lil cunt wants me.”
“Sh-shh,” is all you manage to mumble, lifting your hand and yanking him down, hand entangled in his silky hair. “Once, just once and… we can’t…”
Hah, as if Satoru would just touch you once, when he’s rocking his fingers up and down, making a squelching fucking mess, your eyes roll back in your skull as he works them faster, until the clicking is just echoing obscenely. “Once, huh?”
“You finger me, I’ll s-suck you.”
“Slutty girl,” you can’t stand how he says that, how his long digits press on your puffy lil cervix, barely able to formulate a fucking thought as he works you so much you’re desperately trying to get a breath. “That’s it, gonna cum that easy? Just f’me, hmm? All me?”
You can’t answer, so you drag him down for a kiss – and that’s when you lose it, kissing Satoru wasn’t normal – not the way he moans like a little slut, desperately taking over your mouth. His hands dragging every bit of slick from your cunt as impossibly more comes down his thick fucking fingers.
“God,” he whispers, hardly able to catch his breath. “You’re so tight, fuck…”
“Mnh,” you can hardly manage to speak, think of anything but how good it feels, his fingers going even faster now. “So much… too much I…”
“You can take them baby,” he whispers – in a way ‘little toru’ sure the fuck shouldn’t, his eyes black with their blown out pupils, kissing down the side of your jaw and curving his fingers right up against that soft spot on your front wall. “Look, you’re doin’ s’good already.”
“Ngh,” you’re so goddamn close, your head falling back for him to work you quicker. “Gonna cum… gonna…”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Fuck,” you hiss the words, but Satoru doesn’t pull his fingers back, he moves them slower, to edge you, to torture you.
Isn’t it what you’ve done all these years?
“Act normal,” he murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, sharp teeth nicking it as he eases his fingers out, rubbing your clit back and forth so quickly you’re about to scream out loud. “If you wanna cum, you’ll just act like I’m not here.”
“H-hey, yes?” You barely manage to squeak out, Satoru smiles against your neck, pinching your clit and making you bite down hard on his bare shoulder, leaving glittery teeth marks.
“Sis, we’re about to grill out – I can’t find Satoru,” you found him all right – he’s tugging your hair at the roots so you look at him as he’s about to make you squirt all over. “Have you seen him?”
“Hah I d-did,” fuck, he’s rocking them faster, smirking cruelly at your plight. “I saw him um… upstairs dancing to some t swift.”
“You brat,” he hisses in your ear, Suguru chuckles.
“Yeah, sounds like him.”
It’s not even!?
Satoru shoves his fingers in against that cervix and makes you whine out, grinning all evil as you glare at him. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing, Sugu! Um… I’m getting freshened up, then I’ll meet you guys outside, okay?” You bite back a moan when Satoru’s kissing your neck, tongue lapping up a little vein underneath your skin he traces, free hand plucking your nipple and twisting it. The dual stimulation is too fucking much.
“No worries, sis, I’ll throw some chicken breast on there for you,” now you feel guilty – great!
“Thanks Sugu, you’re the best,” you murmur, he’s walking away now, leaving this psycho who’s fingering you faster. “I’m gonna… cum, fuck, fuck…”
“Aww you’re easy f’me,” he whispers, eyeing you as you’re about to fall apart, fingers shoved right back inside your needy hole. “I’ll make you forget him, forget anyone but me.”
“Psycho, what!? Just… ah!” He slams a big hand over your mouth, chuckling dark and fucking sadistic as he makes you squirt all over, it’s spraying against his hand and even hits his tummy, making him moan.
“God, look at that,” he’s pulling those fingers out of your pulsing walls in wonder, peering at the mess you made. “You’ve got me covered, sweetheart, you’ve got such a slutty lil pussy.”
“Fuck…” You’re so weak, when you hop off and shove him against the wall, kneeling and tugging at his waist band.
“Oh my god…” THIS IS HAPPENING.
The girl of his dreams is on her knees, her squirt all on his fingers, he’s sucking it off them as he grips your hair, letting out a desperate whine when you kitten lick his drooly tip.
“You’re already hard again for me?” Your whisper is diabolical, he barely manages a fucking word – all his braincells gone when you stroke his cock, sucking his tip and swirling the flat of your tongue.
Oh you’re a pro at sucking cock – and he’s mad about it.
“Wish you never had one but mine in your m-mouth,” he’s huffing, pressing on the back of your neck so you take impossibly more of him in your mouth, fucking into your throat needy and desperate. “Do you have n-no gag reflex!?”
“Hmm,” you’d smile if your throat wasn’t blissfully full of his pretty cock – you’d feel bad about that later, not right now, when your fingers are pumping inside your quivering hole, still sensitive from him. When his fingers tighten in your hair, bucking his hips and whimpering out
“Can you take all of it, huh? Doubt you can – oh my f-fuckkk.” You suck him deeper before he can think, your nose brushing against the soft white hairs nestled at his base as you look right up at him. “Oh my… fuck your throat it’s so goddamn slutty… mnh…”
Satoru’s supposed to make you whimper, not the other way around, but how can he do anything other than stutter, bucking them so that he slips his tip right past your uvula, you have tears in your eyes, sniffling a bit, but aside from that you’re bobbing your damn head. He can’t even imagine that lawyer got this, got you sucking him so deep and choking on his cock and left that shit.
Your eyes are so pretty he’s stunned, he dreamt of them looking up at him like this but really nothing could prepare him for what it’s like to have the girl he’s jerked off to forever taking him in between her lips.
"Fuck, your mouth... god, your mouth is better than I ever..." he trails off into a strangled little slutty moan, those pink lips parted as you pull back.
You have strings of saliva and drool just dissolving, he can hear your messy little pussy as you shamelessly overstimulate it, sucking him till he’s dizzy. “Mmm, you like it, huh? You’re so wet for me, Toru.”
“Oh fuck you,” you giggle and he almost laughs – but it turns into a choked little moan, you’re swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge of his tip, tonguing that slit where all his pearly cum is slipping. “God, your fucking mouth.”
“Mhm,” you murmur, before plunging down again, slurping him the fuck down as you look up at him through your lashes.
The sight almost makes him lose it right there, busting from less than two minutes of your pretty lips stretched around him, the sight of your pretty tears at the corner of your eyes the only tell that it took effort stuffing his cock in your throat. Tight, needy throat that reflexively swallows around him as he cups your face to hold it in place, fucking your face harder.
“Gotta finger your cunt again? Needy, messy lil slut – all f’me, isn’t it?” You can’t help but whine out around him – yes, it’s all for him, and he knows it. Even as he’s whining out he’s dominating you, fucking your throat raw – you won’t even be able to talk tomorrow. “I can’t wait to drink that pretty pussy, f-fuck… god, when i pump you full of cum I’ll lick it right out.”
Satoru Gojo is absolutely fucking insane.
And you’re about to cum again just sucking him and fucking your own pussy with your much smaller fingers.
His hips are already jerking off rhythm now, meaner with it as he’s fucking himself back into your willing mouth. "Such a fucking tease for years... ah, shit, don't stop, b-baby please – m’gonna-”
One moment fucking your throat so hard you’re choking, the next murmuring your praises – pretty girl, needy slut, fuckin’ tease, my sweetheart – he’s a babbling mess, and you can’t help but feel so sexy doing it. Hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard as you pull back, feeling his hands tremble as they tug at your hair.
“Gonna swallow all of me? Hah – god just wait, I’ll fill all your fucking holes,” well that just fucking sends you, when he’s not gentle and he’s slamming his cock mean in your throat, heavy balls smacking your chin as you drool down them.
He murmurs your name when you feel him pulse and thicken, before he does just that – fills your throat with all that sweet, salty mix of his cum, hitting the back of your throat. You swallow it all, every last drop fucking greedy as you cum again, spasming and gushing down your own fingers.
You don’t stop licking him – not even after you’ve sucked his milky seed in your throat, you’re sucking his sensitive cock after, until he's whimpering your name.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers, finally letting go of your hair to gently stroke your cheek, you pull back with a messy pop and he struggles to even find a word for what just happened. “You’re so…”
“Good at it?” you tease, standing with his help and giggling, but it’s all shut off when he tilts your chin, kissing your swollen lips and lapping his own cum off with the tip of his tongue.
“Mmm, was gonna say beautiful,” your eyes locked.
Oh fuck.
It’s not just ovulation – you know it then and there.
Before you can have an entire mental breakdown, oh and a quarter life fucking crisis, you both hear everyone laughing outside. “Shit we…”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fucked out and spent by you.
Satoru wasn’t innocent – but with you he felt like it – there’s never been anything like what you just did, fucking up his goddamn mind.
You rush out to the cookout after getting dressed like nothing happened – acting all unaffected and infuriating him to no end.
But it was just that, an act.
One he calls your ass out when Suguru is flipping burgers on the grill, and he’s handing you a beer with a little curve of his lips. “Oh, thanks ‘little toru’.”
“Hah,” he chuckles a bit, tilting his head. “Your sore throat tells me there’s nothing little about me anymore, hmm?”
“Shh!?” you look around wildly, as if someone could hear. “It was… just… I was…”
“Aching for my cock in your throat?” He leans low now, where no one in your family can hear him. “I’m a gentleman, sweetheart, I prefer to eat my meals first.”
“Eat your…” you blush now. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” he sighs, aching to brush your hair back, but knowing at that moment how many people were around. “Gonna let me return your favor?”
Before you can answer, your mother's voice – all fucking bright and peppy – cuts through the relaxed atmosphere of the pool party, making everyone look over at her curiously. Oh, except Satoru – he’s stuck looking at you underneath his fluffy damn lashes.
"Look who's here! Hiromi, darling, over here!"
Fuck.
Hiromi!?
You turn and there he is. Your ex who broke your damn heart – Hiromi Higuruma, looking all handsome in a dark linen shirt and shorts, his hair just a little bit of a disaster as it always was. He has this polite, almost apologetic smile on his handsome face, the one you used to ride until he drowned in you.
You almost could forget how bad he hurt you until he was right here.
He's holding a bottle of wine and awkwardly greeting your father, who is clapping him on the back all friendly, steering him directly toward you.
"Hiromi, so glad you could make it!" You wanna die. Satoru’s tense as fuck right next to you.
He wants to kill this man.
He would kill anyone that’s ever even touched you, truly, if he could really get away with it.
Your mother is right behind Hiromi, smiling at you and making you scowl. "I just told Hiromi we were so surprised you two happened to be in town at the same time! It's a sign, don't you think, to reconnect? Even as… friends to the family, right?"
Oh, god.
Your fucking parents.
Higuruma's dark brown eyes find yours, and you feel all that pain all over again, mixing with the drink in your system, the pleasure from Suguru’s best friend – and the heat of the sun. Dizzy, you barely feel Satoru’s warmth against you.
It was not just sucking dick – and that terrifies you – but now, Hiromi is here and confusing the ever loving shit out of you. You thought you’d never see him again.
"Hey," he says softly to you, peering over at Satoru for a moment, before his gaze is back on yours. "Your parents invited me here, I didn’t want to be rude but also… didn’t want…”
He sighs then.
“I just really wanted to see you again.”
Satoru’s pretty blue eyes narrow – there’s no fucking way he’s letting anyone touch the girl that just deep throated his cock, the girl who he’s about to put babies inside. No, he’s not sharing – and Hiromi needs to fucking go – he has a girl he needs to make his.
hehe do we wanna pt 2 bc I can't help myselfff - </333 I was actually inspired when i read @revolvingsaturn's fic about Sugu's mom, ngghhh go check it
Detective!David who starts out annoyed more than anything. Every time Angel hacks into a secure file, David gets the notification, sighs, rubs his forehead, and mutters, “Not this little shit again.”
But over time the annoyance shifts. He catches himself waiting for those pings.
Detective!David who begins to recognise Angel’s coding style like a fingerprint, elegant, obnoxiously clever, and full of little flourishes that feel like they’re mocking him personally.
He won’t admit how impressed he is.
Detective!David who keeps every message Angel leaves in his files, printed out and stored in a locked desk drawer.
It starts as evidence.
By month three, it’s not evidence anymore.
It’s obsession.
Detective!David who starts responding. Not directly, not at first. Just small things, tightening firewalls in ways that feel almost… personal. Leaving traps that aren’t meant to catch, but to challenge.
Angel gets the message.
Detective!David who gets his first reply. It’s not in words. It’s in the code. A bypass so clean it feels like a laugh in his face. And at the end, just a single line:
"too slow."
David stares at it longer than he should.
Smiles, just slightly.
Detective!David who starts staying late. Not because of the case. Because he knows Angel works at night.
Because there’s a pattern now, a rhythm.
Ping. Silence. Ping.
Conversation, without speaking.
Detective!David who finally breaks protocol. He leaves something behind in the system.
Not a trap. Not evidence.
A message.
"If you’re going to keep breaking in, at least make it interesting."
He tells himself it’s strategy.
It isn’t.
Detective!David who gets a response almost immediately. A flicker on his screen. Then:
"you’re getting predictable, detective."
His jaw tightens.
He leans forward, fingers already moving.
“Am I?” he mutters.
Detective!David who becomes dangerous about it. Because this stops being about catching Angel.
Starts being about knowing them.
Their patterns. Their timing. The way they hesitate, just once, before pushing too far.
He notices everything.
Detective!David who realises Angel is doing the same. Because one night, mid-trace, mid-chase—
the cursor stops. Then types:
"you didn’t sleep."
David freezes.
Detective!David who doesn’t respond right away. Who stares at the screen, something sharp and unfamiliar settling under his ribs. Then, slowly:
"neither did you."
There’s a pause.
Longer this time.
Then -
"don’t get used to noticing things about me."
Detective!David who leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on the screen.
“Too late,” he says quietly.
Detective!David who finally sees them. Not clearly. Not fully. Just a glitch in a security cam, a figure where there shouldn’t be one. Still. Fast. Gone too quickly.
But it’s enough.
Now Angel isn’t just code.
Isn’t just a name.
Now they’re real.
Detective!David who starts waiting differently after that.
Not for a hacker.
Not for a suspect.
For Angel.
Detective!David who meets Angel for the first time and knows immediately. Not because he sees their face clearly. Not because they say anything. But because of the way they move. Quick, precise, like they already know where every camera is, every blind spot.
Like they’ve been here before. His voice is low when he steps into the hallway.
“Angel.” They freeze. Just for a second.
That’s all he needs.
Detective!David who doesn’t draw his weapon. Doesn’t shout. Doesn’t call backup. He just leans against the doorway, calm, controlled, like this is exactly how it was always supposed to go.
“You’re hard to find,” he says.
Angel tilts their head, still half in shadow. “And yet."
There’s something almost like a smile in their voice.
Detective!David who steps closer instead of stopping them. Closes the distance slowly, deliberately, testing. Angel doesn’t run.
That’s the first mistake. Or maybe it’s his.
Detective!David who finally sees their face properly. And it’s… not what he expected. Not softer. Not weaker.
Just real. Too real, after months of code and flickering screens.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
Detective!David who says, almost quietly,
“You’re younger than I thought.”
Angel’s expression sharpens instantly. “You’re more obsessed than I thought.”
That hits. He doesn’t deny it.
Detective!David who circles them like they’re still something to solve. Not touching. Not yet.
“You could’ve disappeared,” he says.
“You didn’t.”
Angel shrugs, careless on the surface. “Maybe I was curious.”
Their eyes flick to his, just for a second. “Maybe I wanted to see if you were as smart as you think you are.”
Detective!David who laughs under his breath. Low. Dangerous.
“Disappointed?”
Angel steps closer.
Now they’re too close.
Way too close.
“Not yet.”
Detective!David who reaches for them, not to arrest, but to stop them leaving. His hand closes around their wrist, firm, grounding, thumb pressing lightly against their pulse. It’s the same position as through the screen, but now it’s real.
Angel stills. But doesn’t pull away.
Detective!David who realises this isn’t a chase anymore. Because Angel isn’t trying to escape. They’re just looking at him. Studying him the same way he’s been studying them.
Detective!David who says quietly,
“I should take you in.”
Angel raises a brow. “Then why aren’t you?”
A beat.
His grip doesn’t tighten.
Doesn’t loosen either.
Detective!David who lets them go.Just like that. Steps back, creating space again, but not enough to undo what just happened.
“Go,” he says. Angel hesitates. Just for a second. Then they slip past him, brushing his shoulder on the way out, deliberate, fleeting.
Gone again.
Detective!David who stands there after, unmoving.
Then exhales slowly.
“…fuck.”
Detective!David who knows this just got worse. Because now he knows what Angel feels like under his hand. Because now he knows the way they look at him. Because now...
˙ ✩°˖🍓🔪 ⋆｡˚꩜ when sukuna returns home, he doesn’t expect to find you — the annoying girl from university with whom he bickers constantly — tutoring his nephew and he is certainly not happy about it.
the second sukuna steps through the front door of his brother’s house, he knows something is wrong.
it’s not the smell— that’s the usual mix of jin’s attempt at curry and yuuji’s strawberry shampoo. it’s not the noise, either, because the house is never quiet when yuuji’s home. the kid bounces off walls like a pinball.
and then he hears your voice, calm and measured, explaining something about quadratic equations. he’d know that all-knowing lilt anywhere. it haunts his lectures, his occasional study sessions, his dreams and not in the fun way.
sukuna’s eye twitches.
he dumps his bag by the stairs and follows the sound to the living room, where the scene that greets him makes his vision go red.
you’re sitting at the kotatsu, yuuji’s math textbook spread out in front of you, a red pen tucked behind your ear like it’s the most normal thing in the world. your posture is perfect, annoyingly so, and you’re looking at yuuji with an expression that’s almost… adoring?
yuuji, his dumb, simple-minded, traitorous nephew, is nodding along to whatever you’re saying, a look of genuine understanding on his face.
“—so if you just move the variable over here, you can see it’s actually pretty simple. you were overthinking it.”
“ohhh,” yuuji says, eyes wide. “so it’s like when sukuna tries to explain something and makes it sound way harder than it is?”
you let out a soft snort. “a surprisingly apt analogy, yuuji.”
“what,” sukuna says, his voice flat and dangerous, “the hell is this.”
you just glance over your shoulder, and that infuriatingly calm expression doesn’t change. if anything, your lips quirk up just a little. “sukuna. good, you’re here. your nephew was about to fail his math test, but don’t worry, i’ve got it handled.”
“you,” he grits out, “are in my house.”
“i’m aware.” you turn back to yuuji, tapping the textbook. “so, for the next problem, you’re gonna want to—”
“no.” sukuna strides over, planting his hands on the kotatsu and leaning into your space. “no, shut up. get out.”
yuuji looks between the two of you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “c’mon, uncle, don’t be a dick. she’s helping me.”
sukuna is so distraught he doesn’t react to his nephew calling him a dick.
“huh?” his voice pitches higher. “since when?”
“since dad called the university tutoring center and she showed up,” yuuji says like it’s obvious and he is the dumb one. “she’s really good at explaining stuff. way better than you.”
sukuna feels a vein throb in his forehead. he turns to you and you’re just sitting there, looking up at him with that insufferable little smile, like you’re watching a particularly amusing bug twitch on its back.
“you knew,” he says, low. “you knew this was my house. my family.”
“i didn’t since yuuji’s dad has a different surname, although the pink hair seemed familiar.” you tilt your head. “imagine my surprise when i walked in and saw the shrine of baby photos on the wall. you were a very round child, by the way. i’m not sure why i’m surprised.”
“don’t—” he snaps, then stops himself. takes a breath. tries a different angle. “you’re doing this on purpose. this is some kind of— of long-con psychological warfare.”
you blink at him, all innocence. “i’m getting paid twenty dollars an hour to teach a sweet kid how to graph a parabola. if that’s psychological warfare, then call me a general.”
yuuji snorts.
sukuna rounds on him. “shut the fuck up.”
“hey, i just wanna pass math,” yuuji says, unrepentant. “also, dad said if you harass my tutor, you’re making dinner for a week.”
sukuna’s mouth opens. closes. opens again.
you pick up your red pen, clicking it once. “so, yuuji. problem seven. what’s the first step?”
“uh… isolate the variable?” yuuji tries.
“good. see? you’re getting it.”
sukuna stands there, looming, vibrating with rage. you ignore him completely, guiding yuuji through the problem with the same calm, methodical patience you’ve never once extended to him in the two years you’ve been at each other’s throats.
it’s infuriating.
it’s also— he hates to admit it— kind of effective. yuuji, who normally looks at math like it’s a personal attack, is actually following along. his brow is furrowed in concentration, not despair, and when you nod at his answer, he grins like he just won the lottery, wide and toothy.
“yes!” yuuji pumps his fist. “okay, give me another one. i’m on a roll.”
you smile and flip the page. “alright. let’s kick it up a notch.”
sukuna watches for a long moment, arms crossed, jaw tight. then he turns on his heel and stalks into the kitchen, where jin is stirring his curry and pretending he hasn’t been eavesdropping.
“you,” sukuna says flatly.
jin looks up, all innocence. “me?”
“you called the university tutoring center.”
“yuuji needed help,” jin says, stirring. “and you were no help. you tried to teach him and he cried, sukuna.”
“he’s just dramatic. he’s a teenager, for fuck’s sake.”
“he’s sensitive. and now he has a tutor who, from what i’ve seen, is very good at her job. and also,” jin adds, a sly note entering his voice, “very pretty.”
sukuna makes a sound like a dying animal.
“what? i have eyes.” jin shrugs. “you could stand to be a little nicer to her, by the way. she’s doing us a favor.”
“she’s being paid.”
“at a discount because she’s is kind. and because, and i quote, ‘i have a soft spot for kids who try hard even when they’re struggling.’” jin points his spoon at sukuna. “such an angel. sounds to me like you might have misjudged her.”
sukuna wants to argue. he wants to list every single fight you’ve had— the time you dismantled his argument in front of the whole seminar, the time you called his taste in literature “basic,” the time you smiled at him after he thought he’d finally won one and said “cute, but no”— but the words stick in his throat.
because the truth is, you’re not mean. you’re just the only person who doesn’t back down when he goes sharp-toothed and cutting.
and now you’re in his house, teaching his nephew, and yuuji is laughing at something you said, a bright, easy sound, and sukuna feels something in his chest crack just a little.
he doesn’t go back to the living room. he helps jin with dinner— mostly chopping vegetables with more force than strictly necessary— and listens to the low murmur of your voice, yuuji’s occasional questions, the scratch of pencil on paper.
when dinner’s ready, jin calls out, “kids! food’s ready!”
you appear in the kitchen doorway, yuuji behind you, and for a moment, you just look at each other.
“um, i should go,” you say, and sukuna hates how his stomach drops. “i’ve taken up enough of your evening.”
“nonsense, sweetheart,” jin says, already pulling out an extra plate. “you’re staying. you’ve earned it.”
you hesitate and your eyes suddenly flick to sukuna as if giving him the out if he wants to take it. well, he is not so rude as to literally tell you to leave after jin insisted.
he should thouvh. he should say yes, go, get out of my house, should cling to the familiar rhythm of your animosity like a security blanket.
instead, he grabs a bowl and dumps a frankly aggressive portion of curry into it, shoving it across the counter toward you.
“eat,” he mutters, not looking at you. “all that useless arguing must burn a lot of calories.”
there’s a beat of silence. he can feel you stare in bewilderment before you laugh. it’s not your usual sharp-edged laugh, the one that’s half a challenge. it’s soft, surprised, and it does something weird to his chest.
“fine,” you say, sliding onto a stool and nudging yuuji. “but only because jin’s curry smells incredible.”
“it does!” yuuji agrees, already piling his plate high. “dad, this is your best one yet.”
jin preens. sukuna ladles his own portion, trying very hard not to notice the way you’re sitting at his kitchen counter like you belong there, the way your knee is almost close enough to touch, the way you catch his eye and offer a small, genuine smile that he has absolutely no idea what to do with.
dinner is loud. yuuji talks about his friends, jin asks you about your major, and you answer in that measured way of yours, but you keep glancing at sukuna like you’re waiting for him to start something.
he doesn’t. he just eats and listens and watches the way you relax incrementally as the meal goes on.
when it’s over, you thank jin profusely, ruffle yuuji’s hair despite his protests, and gather your things. sukuna follows you to the front door before he can think better of it.
you pause on the porch, pulling your jacket tighter against the evening chill. “so.”
“so,” he echoes.
“for what it’s worth,” you say, looking at the sky rather than him, “i really didn’t take this gig to mess with you. i didn’t even know it was your house until i got here. i’m not that committed to our… thing.”
“our thing,” he repeats, expression deadpan.
“you know.” you wave a hand. “the verbal sparring. the mutual animosity. whatever it is.”
“i never said that.”
“you’ve definitely implied it.”
he can’t argue with that.
you finally look at him, and he finds that your expression is strange. open, in a way he’s never seen before. “yuuji’s a good kid. he works hard. i like tutoring him. so…” you take a breath. “can we call a truce? at least while i’m here?”
sukuna studies you. the way you’re holding yourself, like you’re braced for him to say no and the way your fingers are curled around the strap of your bag.
he thinks about the curve of your smile when yuuji got the answer right. the soft laugh at his terrible joke. the way you looked at him when he shoved that bowl of curry at you, like he’d surprised you for once instead of the other way around.
“fine,” he says and your shoulders drop just a fraction. “but only in this house. on campus, all bets are off.”
your smile returns, sharp and delighted. “wouldn’t have it any other way.” you turn to go, then pause. “also? your brother is a much better cook than you.”
“i—what? you’ve never even had my cooking.”
“i’ve seen what you bring to the shared fridge. i’m extrapolating.”
“that’s not—extrapolating—you can’t just—”
but you’re already walking down the path, and he can hear you laughing, and he’s standing in the doorway like an idiot, yelling at your retreating back about culinary slander.
when he goes back inside, jin and yuuji are both looking at him with identical expressions of smug satisfaction.
“not a word,” sukuna snarls.
“i didn’t say anything,” jin says, in the tone of a man who has said everything without opening his mouth.
yuuji just grins. “she’s coming back on thursday.”
sukuna closes his eyes.
thursday.
he’s already looking forward to it, and he hates you so, so much for it.
—
(you do come back on thursday. sukuna makes curry. it’s actually pretty good. you don’t tell him that until three weeks later, and only because yuuji lets it slip that he’s been stress-testing recipes every time you’re scheduled to come over.
baby!yuji thinks you’re too pretty for sukuna >_< ! (more baby yuji !!)
visiting sukuna’s place sometimes entailed entertaining his tiny, beady eyed, absolutely adorable nephew yuji.
he had the same blush pink hair to match your boyfriend’s, the same eyes, and the same amount of spunk to match sukuna’s grumpy ass.
“hey pretty lady!!”
“hi yuji~” he practically squealed before lifting him up into the air and spinning him around.
he was giggling in your arms, burying his stupidly chubby cheeks into your shoulders before grabbing your face and tugging at it as if it were playdough.
“i swear you only come over for him.” you barely register sukuna’s voice, before he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your neck softly before shooting the smallest glare in yuji’s direction.
“i mean can you blame me? look at him he’s adorable!”
“he’s manipulative that’s what he is.” sukuna says, still glaring at yuji before slowly walking you over to the couch, right before you have yuji seated on your lap, giggling, his hands running through you hair with the fascination only a kid can posses.
“he’s a kid, kuna.”
“he has you fooled already, woman.” sukuna’s grumpy expression has yuji bursting into a fit of laughter in your lap, hiding in your arms the second sukuna scoffs in his direction.
soon enough, the tree of you are huddled on the couch, your eyes glued to the tv screen trying to follow the plot of shitty movie yuji decided to pick out for the three of you, unbeknownst to you, the two pink haired menaces were having a staring contest—every moment sukuna tried to wrap his arms around you, yuji would bite down on them like the little gremlin he was.
“watch it brat, you’re on thin ice.” he warned, only to have the pudgy toddler stick his little tongue out at him.
“both of you. QUIET.” you whisper-shouted, and that’s exactly what got the two of them to have their mouths shut. momentarily, of course.
but the moment you yelled—they couldn’t keep their eyes off of you. sukuna was absolutely enamoured, he loved you, and everything about you was absolutely far too good for someone like him. yuji on the other hand, believed with the entirely of his tiny heart, that you were a princess. you always wore flowy dresses, your hair accessorises to match, your hands were always soft, and your smile was only something princesses possessed.
“k..kuna she’s toof pretty for you.” yuji mumbled in your grasp—and that’s exactly had you hysterically giggling while sukuna was utterly baffled that his little brat of a nephew had the balls to say that.
“i’m gonna kick him out.”
“you’re not kicking out a child, kuna.” you say between breathy giggles, and for a moment, sukuna agrees. you are too pretty for him, but guess what? that’s exactly why he was never going to let you go. you’re so far from his universe, but you’re still here, holding his nephew in your arms, giggling on his couch, curled up by his side.
“issok y/n, if you leave uncle kuna, you’ll still love me, okay?” yuji says almost pouting at you, his puppy eyes almost teary while he juts his lip out.
“don’t worry, i’m never leaving, yuji.” you looked right at sukuna while saying it, your eyes soft, your smile almost dangerously softer. you didn’t say it like it was a stupid joke, you said it like it was a promise. that you’d always be here, stuck by his side.
and for a split second, sukuna’s grateful for the stupid brat and his antics. and even if he’d never admit it out loud, he wouldn’t trade the two of you for the world. and before you knew it, the three of you were cuddled up on the couch, dead asleep, with yuji snuggled up in your arms while while sukuna had you tucked in his.
you really were like a princess. yeah, and you really were too pretty for him. but oh well, you were stuck with him for the rest of your life.
do we miss fluff. do we still like fluff. hello.
all work belongs to @liliklei , do not copy, repost, translate or feed into AI !!
A/N. We agree this would be funny as hell right? Nanami & Hiromi shall be inc in part 2.
The studio lounge smelled like cheap coffee, protein shakes, and the faint regret of every male performer who had ever signed a contract with this production company Cursez.xxx. The bright overhead lights buzzed while a couple of crew members wheeled in fresh lighting rigs for the next scene.
In the corner sat Satoru Gojo, legs kicked up on the coffee table, white hair messily pushed back under a backwards cap, scrolling through his phone with the dramatic sigh of a man who had seen too many bad scripts.
He had done the generic step-bro / delivery-boy nonsense for years. Easy money. Fake moans. Quick cum shots. In and out. But ever since you took over as lead director the entire vibe had shifted into this soft, sensual, chemistry-heavy territory that actually made people in the room stop breathing sometimes. The kind of porn that looked like art if you squinted. The kind that required actual acting and eye contact and slow builds instead of just jackhammering for the camera.
And the boys hated it. Mostly because you were a perfectionist bitch about it.
"God not y/n today," Satoru groaned loudly, tossing his phone onto the couch cushion. "I swear if she makes me do another twenty takes of 'meaningful eye contact while I thrust soulfully' I'm gonna walk out mid-scene and go sell insurance or something."
Suguru Geto lounged on the opposite couch, long dark hair tied back, looking far too elegant for someone who was about to film a scene where his dick would probably be the main character. He smirked around the straw of his iced matcha. "You're just mad she called your thrusting 'mechanically inadequate' last time."
"It was adequate!" Satoru protested, throwing his arms up. "I hit all the marks. I even moaned with feeling. She wanted me to 'convey emotional vulnerability through my pelvis' or whatever pretentious shit she says."
Choso stood nearby nursing a cup of something that smelled suspiciously like herbal tea for his nerves. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like he had already been through three emotional scenes today. "She made me redo the cunnilingus close-up fourteen times last week," he muttered. "Said my tongue work lacked 'poetic rhythm.' What the hell does that even mean?"
Toji Fushiguro leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, massive frame taking up way too much space, looking like he could not possibly care less about the conversation. He had a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and the dead-eyed stare of a man who had eaten worse things than bad direction for money. "Yeah she's a real bitch," he grunted around a mouthful. "Always barking orders like she's directing a goddamn Oscar winner instead of us sticking our dicks in people."
The lounge door swung open with purpose and the temperature seemed to drop five degrees. You stepped in, clipboard in hand, headset around your neck, wearing a simple black outfit that somehow screamed "I will make you cry if the lighting is off by half a degree." Your expression was calm, professional, and terrifyingly focused.
"Glad you're all so enthusiastic this morning," you said dryly, eyes scanning the room. "Gojo, you're up first. Soft sensual brother-sister reunion scene with the new girl. I want chemistry, not your usual porn-face. And try not to look like you're calculating your paycheck mid-thrust this time."
Satoru threw his head back with an exaggerated whine. "See? This is what I'm talking about. She's gonna make me whisper sweet nothings while I'm balls deep. I hate it here."
Suguru chuckled quietly. "At least she makes the final product look good. Last director had us doing doggy for forty minutes straight with no cuts. My hips still haven't forgiven him."
You turned your gaze to Toji, who was still chewing his protein bar like it had personally offended him. "Fushiguro, you're on deck after. The milf-next-door scene. And before you complain, yes we're doing the slow build-up again. The audience likes when it looks like you actually enjoy eating pussy instead of treating it like a race."
Toji snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Whatever you say, boss. I'm the professional here. Just point me at the cunt and I'll lick it."
The room went dead silent for half a second before you raised one perfectly arched brow.
"Oh?" Your voice dripped with sweet venom as you stepped closer, tapping your clipboard against your thigh. "Well you're the professional cunt licker, Toji. So you tell me. How exactly do we make it look like you're not just vacuuming for the camera? Because last time your technique was giving 'starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet' instead of 'skilled lover savoring every drop.' Enlighten me, big guy."
Toji's eyes narrowed but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. The man respected a good comeback even when it came from the director he loved to bitch about. "Maybe if you stopped micromanaging every flick of my tongue I'd have room to get creative."
You smiled, sharp and dangerous. "Creative? Last time you got 'creative' the actress tapped out because she thought you were trying to French kiss her cervix. We're going for sensual, not tonsillectomy. Capiche?"
Choso nearly choked on his tea. Satoru was grinning like Christmas had come early. Even Suguru looked mildly impressed behind his matcha.
"Damn," Satoru laughed, pointing at Toji. "She got you there, old man. Professional cunt licker my ass."
"Shut it, pretty boy," Toji shot back without heat. "At least I don't need seventeen takes to remember how to moan without sounding like a dying cat."
You clapped your hands once, cutting through the budding roast session. "Alright children, save the dick measuring for after we wrap. Gojo, on set in ten. I want soft lighting, lingering touches, and actual eye contact that doesn't look like you're reading the script off her forehead. Make me believe you two have unbearable forbidden tension. If I see one lazy thrust I'm stopping the scene and we'll do it again until your hips file a complaint."
Satoru stood up with a dramatic groan, stretching his long limbs like he was heading to his execution. "This is why everyone hates when you're directing. You turn porn into a goddamn drama class."
"Quality over quantity, Gojo," you replied smoothly, already flipping through your notes. "The last director gave us quantity. Viewers fell asleep halfway through. My scenes make people rewind. You're welcome."
As Satoru trudged toward the set with Suguru trailing behind to offer moral support, Choso gave you a small, tired nod. "Try not to make me cry during aftercare direction again."
"No promises," you said with a wink that was somehow both reassuring and threatening.
Toji pushed off the wall, tossing the wrapper of his protein bar into the trash with unnecessary force. He paused as he walked past you, voice low enough that only you could hear. "Keep talking to me like that and I might start enjoying these shoots, director."
You didn't miss a beat. "Careful, Fushiguro. I direct the scenes, not your personal kinks. But if you lick half as well as you talk shit, we might actually get something usable today."
He barked out a short laugh and kept walking, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "pain in my ass" under his breath.
You watched the group head toward the set, the familiar mix of complaints and reluctant respect hanging in the air. Another day, another round of turning these overgrown man-children into something that looked like actual erotic cinema.
"Places everyone!" you called out, voice carrying through the studio with practiced authority. "And Gojo, if I hear one more complaint about emotional thrusting I'm writing it into the script as your safe word."
Satoru's distant "You're evil!" echoed back, followed by laughter from the rest of the guys.
to the one who dares deny me her presence, you left without permission. return at once.
your lord, ryomen sukuna.
the third letter, arrives in a much longer scroll.
how troublesome. you forget yourself, woman. there is no place you may go that is beyond my reach. had i wished it, you would have been returned to my side before nightfall. consider it generosity that you were not. do not ignore my scrolls.
your lord, ryomen.
the fourth letter,
since i cannot imagine there is much in those lands to interest you, i can only suppose your continued absence is due to your ever prolonging distaste with me.
i urge you: come be angry at a nearer distance.
your husband, R.S.
the fifth letter,
you are in no mood for games. very well. i am in no mood for them, either.
let me say it outright: there are moments brief, and increasingly frequent in which i reach for you without thought. this displeases me, i am not accustomed to such absence from you, nor restraint.
you have forced both upon me.
come home and shout at me. come home and fight with me. come home and break my heart, if you must. it has become yours only to break. just come home.
your husband, sukuna.
the next letter,
not even responding to my missives is ridiculous and beneath you and i hate it.
atleast inform me of your health.
ryomen sukuna
and then finally, your reply,
stop writing to me, at once. my wedded lord you have trespassed much and caused me such nuisance, it is quite enough now.
i am well. but do not pretend as if you may not already know that. you think i am not aware of my new lady’s maid keeping an eye on me, certainly appointed to report back to you?
consider it my generosity that i let her stay, and consider it my ignorance towards your repetitive letters for my lack of response.
if i receive any such scroll from you, i shall burn it.
signed, yours.
and his response,
surely if your lovely eyes may not grace my lowly epistles, then i shall speak freely.
to my most willful wife, you command me to cease, and yet you write at length. i had not realized i occupied you so thoroughly. as for your lady’s maid, you give me too much credit. if she watches you, it is because you are worth watching. i would hardly entrust such a task to another. although i cannot speak for what ways uraume employs to update me on your health..
i have been told it is unbecoming to repeat oneself so, i will not ask you to return again. you may remain where you are, in whatever peace you have convinced yourself you prefer. i will not contest it.
and yet, i find myself wondering: why you will not come back of your own accord. have you no consideration, for your neglected husband?
the hand you force, your husband.
to my most theatric husband, you mistake response for preoccupation. do not flatter yourself, i write only to correct what you insist on misunderstanding.
as for being “worth watching,” you dress surveillance in pretty language, you always had a knack for that. for such sweet talk will not work on me, do not expect gratitude for it.
if your husband is neglected, perhaps he should consider why.
signed, your wife, unfortunately.
to my most contrary wife, “unfortunately,” and yet you take such care to sign it. i wonder if your hand hesitated at all.
as for your refusal of gratitude, keep it, i did not ask for it. you suggest your husband reflect on his neglect. i have. thoroughly. i apologize for everything end this torment for me wife, for i can bear it no longer.
you insist my words hold no effect on you now. how curious, has distance made you bold, or merely forgetful? i recall a time not long past, when your resolve was far less reliable. how easily it would slip from you, how quickly your protests would soften when i would indulge you, a little more closely. 𓀐𓂸
have you truly forgotten? or are you simply daring me to remind you?
very well. do not worry, i will remind you, not behind these papers this time. consider that a courtesy, one last chance to brace yourself or do you prefer to test me?
i would find it entertaining, either way.
your lord and husband, R.S.
my lord, you are most unfair!
do not be naughty, ryomen. i warn you, what you speak of this “reminder” it is highly improper. and what if someone else were to see it? consider your poor wife’s reputation!
your teasing is relentless, and i am most vexed. you threaten of your arrival, yet remain absent, perhaps one day, your threats will find action..though i dare not hope it too loudly.
if you intend to test my resolve, i suggest you waste no more time. come, then, and take me with you, lest i change my mind.
apology accepted, your wife.
a shorter note, in refined handwriting,
lord ryomen sukuna will be arriving soon.
his subject, uraume.
firefly; this is probably my first fic where i have worked SO hard on formatting it, i hope you guys enjoy ❀ུ͏
inspo: by cardan’s letters to jude from the folk of the air series.
who woulda thought you'd end up sharing a last name with Ryomen Sukuna? not you!
synopsis: in a last ditch effort to save your family's failing ranch, your father arranges your marriage to a man you've never met. now you've got an even bigger problem - a six foot something one who clearly can't stand you either. looks like navigating newlywed life is going to be a little tough when he's already talking about divorce!
pairing: cowboy!Sukuna x rancher's daughter!Reader
content: mdni, fluff and angst, marriage of convenience, farmer au, jealousy all around, Sukuna is down so incredibly bad someone please give him a bite of the cookie, mutual pining, he wants us so bad, problems communicating
"Sukuna?"
It was sick how much he liked hearing you saying his name.
How pretty he thought you looked in his bed, sun shining on your face, a strap of your tank top slipping down your shoulder and a tiny string of drool on the corner of your mouth you wiped away when you sat up.
"Sorry," You yawned, swinging your legs off the side of his bed, bare feet padding past him towards the door. "Your mattress is comfier than mine."
You were both full of fucking excuses lately.
Finding reasons to brush against each other, thighs touching on the couch, nightmares that resulted in sharing beds, bullshit that he knew you didn't actually think he'd believe.
But neither of you would say what you were skirting around. Would address the fact you knew what the other looked like naked. Felt like.
He couldn't fucking forget it.
Time with you had a habit of slipping by. Sneaking away from him the way you usually did in the mornings. A couple months drifting away in the breeze, butchering attempt after attempt to admit he was crushing on (falling for?) you.
Waking up before you to make breakfast? You'd sleep in an extra hour just so it'd be cold. Trying to go grab groceries with you? You'd pout and ask if he thought you weren't capable of doing it yourself. Suggesting to go see a movie just for you to sigh and say you already went to see it, tilting your head and asking if he'd seen the charge on his card.
You made it difficult.
He wouldn't really want you any other way though.
And yeah, he was dying to touch you again. Dying to kiss you and call you his wife without having to see your mouth twitch like you were ready to correct him, to add an addendum that there'd be an ex in front of it eventually.
He was making due with the nights you'd crawl under the sheets next to him, where he could pretend to be asleep and throw an arm over you. Afternoons where you crept out to join him on the farm, weekends he spent tending to farm animals where you'd brush out the horse's manes and pet the barn cat that had decided that you were good company.
But he'd been having to meet with his lawyer and an actually reputable accountant more frequently, trying to help tie up loose ends for your family. It was hard when he had to do it behind their back, to not tip off your asshole uncle so he would be able to make sure he was arrested for how much he'd stolen.
Something still felt off about the whole thing. But he hadn't been able to put his finger on it yet.
The idea that if things had been a little different, that if Satoru Gojo had heard about your family's financial trouble first, that you might be walking around his place in next-to-nothing instead, it made him physically fucking ill. He'd probably get you pregnant just so you couldn't leave. Just to make sure you were stuck with him. Nausea rolling over in his stomach until you glanced over your shoulder at him.
"M'hungry," You murmured. "Are you?"
"I picked up your favorite when you were sleeping," He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
You smiled, and all the stupid shit he'd been worrying about dissolved.
"You didn't have to do that," You bit your bottom lip, like you were trying to stop yourself. To tame it into something smaller.
"Whatever," he shrugged his shoulders, rolling them back as he followed you back down the hall.
He had set up everything up in the living room, boxes of takeout on the coffee table, blankets piled on the couch, the TV turned to a stupid streaming service he signed up for so you could watch your favorite shows.
You giggled when you saw it.
Looked up at him with that pretty glimmer in your eyes, grinning when you purred his name. "Kuna."
God, he was so fucked.
"I thought you were hungry," He muttered, face flushing as he half-stomped over to the couch just to plop down and take up more than half of it.
"Did I say I wasn't?" You joked again, slipping over to join him. You fit into the spot by his side like you'd been made for it.
Your hip against his, your hand brushing against his before you leaned over to grab your box.
Sometimes he wondered if your touch was designed to torment him. Staring at you instead of your show, the way your face shifted from expression to expression. How your mouth moved when you ate, the little crinkles by your eyes when they lit up, or how the lines by your lips when you laughed.
And by the time both your boxes were scraped clean, when you had pulled a blanket over you, your head resting against his shoulder, while he tried to make his hand drifting closer to your thigh casual. His fingers trembling as they brushed over your soft skin, where the edge of your shorts.
You giggled at some bad joke.
He scoffed, just out of habit, earning your elbow in his side. But you didn't knock his hand off of you.
"If you don't like this, you don't have to watch with me," You hummed.
"Show sucks," Sukuna grumbled, but he didn't get up either. He wouldn't until you did.
He liked the way how much you softened. There were still moments where you avoided eye contact, stared down at the floor or out the window when he tried to flirt. But it was far from the first night you'd spent here, where you were just a ghost he was living with.
"You're gonna miss me when I'm gone," You teased, winking at him with another light laugh.
It would've hurt less if you hit him. Actually, he would've preferred it.
"When we get divorced, what are you going to do?" He almost said if.
"Maybe get an apartment. Look for another job that might pay more," You slowly said, like you hadn't been really considering it before. That until he brought it up, you hadn't thought about it in months, if at all. "Guess I only have a couple years before my parents expect me the run the farm without them."
You'd do it better than they did.
You were smart. Capable. You'd be fine. But you wer.en't passionate about it. Only really cared for it because it was being passed down to you.
"Do you want to?" He heard himself ask, his voice low, gravelly. He wasn't sure what he wanted to hear from you.
You hesitated. Chewing on the inside of your cheek and exhaled.
"I don't know," You honestly answered.
Sukuna didn't want to rob you of the life you wanted. He wanted to be the one you chose.
