yuji never understood what personal space meant. well, not when it came to you.
no one batted an eye because everyone just assumed he was your boyfriend due to the constant touching and the way his hands naturally found their way to you and only you.
from the moment you met, he had been all over you. legs pressed together, his cheek was always pressed against your shoulder when you were seated and his hand was always holding yours. if he wasn't leaning on you, he was laying his head on your lap, his face in your stomach, idly tracing patterns on your skin, or rearranging your guts like it was the most natural thing in the world. because it was, wasn't it?
you were best friends at the end of they day. best friends are supposed to be touchy.
you never had a best friend before.
he knew that.
he knew that he was taking advantage of you and your lack of knowledge on how these things actually work. but he told you this was normal, and super close best friends did this.
but he couldn't help it, not with the way you chirp out his name as you entered his dorm after a mission.
"hi yu!"
your arms immediately wrapped around his waist. one of his arms lazily wrapped around you.
"missed you.. how was your day baby?" he whispered, nudging his nose against your temple.
"was okay, I did an exorcise on curse." your vocabulary was a bit limited due to spending most of your life isolated in the village you grew up in before getting scouted by gojo.
"curses died! so many! and nobara helped!"
"so proud of you.." he murmured, hands moving to your waist. he pulled you onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. his touch was far too intimate for friendship.
you went crazy whenever he praised you without having any idea why.
you whined desperately trying to grind on his lap like he taught you to. he chuckled, hold tightening to stop your movements.
"no baby, I don't have any condoms on me."
a pout appeared on your lips. "mean.."
you moved off his lap making him furrow his eyebrows. he sighed before forcing you back onto his growing lap, pushing you down to feel his bulge.
"fucking brat.. take care of this."
"don't have condoms" you mimicked him.
bad idea.
"yu!" you moaned out his name as his thick cock disappeared in and out of you at a fast pace.
"calling me mean.. god, babe, you hurt my feelings."
your mouth was opened, letting sweet and pornographic moans leave all while whimpering out his name like a prayer.
"ya? like my dick without protection? cuz I sure do.." he chuckled, big veiny hands separating your cheeks to see your pretty tight holes. "get to really feel you." your back was arched like a damn cat. his hands reached to grab yours, forcing you to keep your cheeks open for him.
drool flooded the pillow all while your brain was turning into mush.
his eyes were set on the recoil of your ass bouncing as he pounded into you. the room was starting to feel way too hot for winter.
his face leaned down, lips connecting to the column of your neck once he moved your hair away. his wet kisses trailed up to your jaw, biting playfully.
"you have the prettiest, sweetest pussy baby." he pulled back to continue watching you take his cock. a hand went to spank your ass chuckling once you whined. his hips snapped into you with more force.
"look at ya.. moaning cuz of me. moan louder cmon.. make the whole school know that your best friend makes you feel so good."
he could feel himself begin to twitch inside you. "take your head out the pillows. wanna see your face once I cum inside." your head was picked up by his hand pulling on your hair making you arch even more until your back hit his chest.
the hand moved down to your neck, gripping onto it as his other hand snaked down between your legs, rubbing at your clit messily at a fast pace.
your eyes widened when he mentioned finishing inside. you didn't know much but from your understanding, coming inside = babies. his thrusts started getting sloppy as he neared his release.
"you're gonna take my load alright? then we'll be together okay? like boyfriend and girlfriend."
"we go together if you finish inside..?" you babbled curiously.
"mhm.. you wanna be more than best friends, love?"
you nodded.
"good.." he watched as your body went limp after he filled you up, a loud moan left his lips. he pulled out, holding your folds apart as his semen oozed out of you. "love you.." he leaning down, moving your face to the side as he pecked your lips lovingly.
"love you.. more"
of course you loved your best friend. now boyfriend.
⋆˙⟡
thank you all for 600 followers ! here's a link to visualize this scene on x
best friend!satoru who eats you out for the first time as your second birthday gift. you’d joked about needing a second dessert after cake and he’d shrugged, carried you bridal style to the couch, pinned your thighs over his shoulders and said, “you want me to put frosting on it or nah?” you thought he was kidding. you learned he was not.
best friend!satoru who gets painfully hard when you wear his clothes, but doesn’t bother to hide it.
best friend!satoru who lets you borrow anything from his closet, and steals from yours constantly. “mutual property. yours is mine, mine is yours. if you see me decked out in your miniskirt, i don’t want to hear a word,” and he means it—full on struts past you one morning in your crop top, showing off his slutty waist like it’s his god-given right, looking back only to say: “you left it on the floor. you forfeited ownership.”
best friend!satoru who’s your lingerie consultant. even when you’re dating someone else, he always insists on helping you “rate” the pieces you wear for The Other Guy. “7.5. makes your tits look great, but you’re gonna waste that on him?” weeks later, you realize half those sets went missing.
best friend!satoru who feeds you fries off his plate. dips them in sauce and holds them up to your lips. always pretends to miss your mouth so he can press his greasy fingers against your bottom lip and go “oops, messy girl.” and chuckles when you lick or bite his fingers in retaliation.
best friend!satoru who lets you use his card when you’re sad. doesn’t ask what for, just sends you a selfie of him pouting with a “buy smth pretty so you don’t cry” caption. if you don’t spend at least $300, he gets personally offended.
best friend!satoru who showers with you “to save the environment,” but spends more time helping you exfoliate your back and rinse your conditioner out than actually washing himself. you turn around once and catch him palming himself lazily under the stream. “oh,” he says, blinking. “you can keep singing, don’t mind me.”
best friend!satoru who has zero boundaries when it comes to your body. he adjusts your straps, straightens your necklaces, zips you into dresses from behind with such painstaking care that should not be so casual.
best friend!satoru who hasn’t fucked you, but has definitely slept curled around you like a body pillow on many occasions. who dry humps you during cuddles—not even always consciously. sometimes it’s in the middle of a movie, arms wrapped around you, hips rocking languidly against your ass while you eat popcorn. other times he full-on moans in his sleep.
best friend!satoru who is that annoying best friend who accidentally walks in while you’re changing.
best friend!satoru who kisses your forehead chastely. who holds your hand walking through crowds. who likes to pull you into his chest and rest his chin on the top of your head
best friend!satoru who gets hard watching you cry over your ex. not out of cruelty—he hates seeing you hurt, truly—but you’re sobbing into his chest, voice wobbling through half-formed sentences, and it does something to him. part of him wants to cheer you up with takeout and movies. the other part wants to fuck you so good you forget that asshole’s name entirely.
best friend!satoru who keeps saying “it’s not sexual unless you cum” like that’s a rule in the friend handbook.
best friend!satoru who never asks you to be his, because he knows the second you say yes, he’s compromised. you’ll become the one thing he can’t afford to lose. he keeps you close, but not close enough that someone could make you a target. as the strongest, he’s spent his whole life being selfless for the sake of everyone else. but he’s just not sure he’d know how to be selfless with you.
cw - dubcon-ish in the beginning bc you thought Megumi was Toji, Megumi is 19, reader is early 20s, brief toji x reader. This is meant to be silly tbh
You’re half-asleep and needy, wandering through the hallway in nothing but one of Toji’s old hoodies—baggy, worn soft, and smelling exactly like him. You know he just got home, you heard the door close, and heard the heavy footsteps heading to the couch. So naturally, like any good girlfriend, you’re crawling into his lap before your brain’s even awake.
You straddle him without thinking, mumbling something sleepy and slurred like, “Mmm, missed you…” while nuzzling your face into his neck. Your hips start shifting slowly, rubbing your puffy cunt right against the half-hard bulge that’s already tenting in his sweats since the second you sat for friction. “Need you s’bad”.
And Megumi—poor Megumi is completely frozen underneath you, wide-eyed and horrified as your bare thighs squeeze tight around his lap, locking him down in place while your warm heat presses down on his thick erection, grinding down so deliberately he can feel the outline of your pussy dragging over his cock—making him rock-hard and pretty much straining to get out of his pants and into you.
He hisses lowly and gulps because he can feel how warm and damp you feel through the thin fabric. The big tent of his dick is wedged right between your swollen folds, digging into you and practically throbbing against your pussy, and it’s so snug and tight he can barely think. He knew if he allowed this to get any further he might regret it for the sake of him and his father.
“What the hell!” he manages to choke out.
You pause, head snapping up slowly, blinking blearily at the familiar dark hair, the scar, the hoodie you definitely gave Toji this morning—and then it hits you all at once.
This is not your boyfriend.
“M-Megumi??” you squeak, scrambling back in a panic as if the couch is on fire. “What the—Why are you wearing his hoodie?!”
Megumi scrubs a hand down his face like he wants to peel it off and crawl into the wall. “I was cold! I didn’t know you were gonna—God, why would you think I was—?!”
You clap your hands over your face, absolutely mortified. “I thought you were himmmmmm—!”
And just as you both sit there in shared horror, you hear Toji from the kitchen.
“The fuck is going on in there?” And he sounds pissed.
Toji walks in with a paper towel in one hand, a half-eaten protein bar in the other, still chewing. His eyebrows are furrowed, hair messy from work, hoodie sleeves pushed up. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you scrambling off Megumi’s lap like you touched a hot stove, face red and hands flailing.
Megumi looks like he wants to die. Toji just blinks, slowly.
“You good?” he asks, voice low and suspicious. “Why’re you looking like a damn deer in headlights?”
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. You’re vibrating with shame, clutching the hem of his shirt around your thighs like that’ll undo what just happened.
Toji squints at Megumi, then at you. Then back to Megumi.
“What happened…”
“N-Nothing,” you blurt way too fast.
Megumi’s mouth opens—then closes. He doesn’t know how to explain that your soft thighs were just wrapped around his lap and you were moaning into his neck while leaving little snail trails of your slick that steeped through your panties onto the crotch of his sweats like 20 seconds ago.
Toji raises an eyebrow. “Why’s she acting like that then?” he looks at Megumi, dryly curious. “She looks like she just got caught cheating”.
“I—I thought he was you!!” you finally blurt.
Toji freezes mid-bite. “Huh?”
“I thought you were on the couch, and he was in your hoodie, and I didn’t look, and I was sleepy and—!” You groan into your hands. “I humped your son, Toji!!”
“Jesus Christ,” Toji mutters, rubbing a hand down his face.
Megumi groans and practically curls into himself. “I’m gonna move out”.
Toji finally sighs like this is the most exhausting part of his day. “You mean to tell me you couldn’t tell the difference between my lap and his?” He’s smirking now, licking protein bar crumbs off his thumb. “Damn. I know you’re dumb when you’re horny, but shit…”
“TOJI!”
He just shrugs. “Don’t worry, ‘Gumi. She only humps things that smell like me”.
“I’M RIGHT HERE”.
“Uh huh. You gonna shower or you wanna finish what you started—with the right person this time?”
You make a noise somewhere between a whimper and a scream as Toji laughs, loud and obnoxious, already tugging you by the back of your neck towards the bedroom.
Leaving Megumi standing there, clutching the hoodie with a huge boner in his pants.
———
Later that night, Megumi thinks he’s safe. He’s in the kitchen, hoodie long abandoned, face still faintly red hours later, trying to rinse out a mug in peace but peace is never an option in this household.
Toji walks in, shuts the fridge with his hip, cracks open a beer, and leans against the counter like he’s settling in for a chat.
Megumi freezes. Immediately suspicious.
“What?” he mutters, not looking up.
Toji takes a long sip. “You popping wood under my girlfriend today?”
Megumi chokes on air. “WHAT?!”
Toji smiles shamelessly. “C’mon. Don’t act like I didn’t see you hiding it with that ugly-ass pillow”.
“That’s not what—!” Megumi slams the mug down. “She sat on me!”
“Oh, I know.” Toji looks way too entertained. “Lil thing was grinding on you like you were a damn teddy bear”.
Megumi groans, gripping his hair. “I’m gonna kill myself”.
“Relax”. Toji shrugs calmly. “Not like you wanted it”.
“Exactly!” (He liked it though)
“Still got hard though”.
“Oh my God—!”
Toji laughs, loud and cruel. “Don’t worry, I’ll forgive you. S’not your fault your dick’s got no loyalty to your old man”
Megumi turns bright red. “Dude, what the fuck?! Stop talking about this!”
Toji raises both hands, still grinning. “Hey, I get it. She’s cute. Soft. Humps first, asks questions later”.
“STOP”
“To be fair, if I were your age and she crawled on me like that, I’d probably bust in my pants”.
“DAD”.
He claps him on the back, real fatherly-like. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna go fuck the memory outta her real good so she forgets the whole thing.”
Megumi stares at the wall like he’s trying to will his soul into another dimension. But there’s a foreign feeling buried deep within him that he can’t fully grasp.
It was innocent—truly. You just grabbed the first oversized shirt you could find after your showered, the one draped over the back of the couch. You didn’t even check which Fushiguro it belonged to. It was soft, a little too big on you, smelled like detergent and boyish cologne. You assumed it was Toji’s, naturally.
So when you padded into the kitchen in just that shirt and a pair of panties, humming while rummaging through the fridge, you didn’t expect to hear a pause in the doorway.
Megumi’s voice came low and hesitant as if he didn’t even want to ask. “..Is that mine?”
You froze mid-reach, a yogurt cup in hand, and turned around slowly.
Megumi stood there with his brows slightly furrowed, hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed—possibly just woke up from a nap, wearing joggers and a hoodie half-zipped. His eyes weren’t angry but he was staring. Definitely staring.
You blinked like you couldn’t fully comprehend what he said. “What?”
He motioned toward the shirt draped loosely on your frame—his shirt, now clearly recognizable from the tiny bleach stain on the sleeve.
“That’s mine. Not my dad’s”.
Your stomach flipped in embarrassment. “Oh. Shit”. You looked down like it would suddenly change the fabric, as if the realization might make it shrink off you.
Megumi shifted on his feet, voice a little quieter now. “You thought it was his?”
“…Yeah,” you muttered, cheeks already heating up. “I just grabbed it. Didn’t think”.
His eyes dragged down to where the hem barely covered your soft thighs. “Clearly”.
You swallowed. “You want it back?”
He looked away for a beat, jaw tight with a soft sigh. Then shook his head. “Nah. Keep it. Looks—” He stopped himself. “—fine on you”.
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving you rooted to the tile floor, a little flustered, a little too aware of how warm the shirt suddenly felt.
Later, when Toji got home and caught you still wearing it, his eyes narrowed.
“That mine?”
You immediately cringed. “No…it’s Megumi’s”.
Toji just raised an eyebrow, but he smirked, stepping closer. “You comfy in my son’s clothes now?”
“It was an accident!”
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “You better not make a habit of it or he might start thinking you’re his”. A pause “And you’re not. Right?”
You turned pink under his stare, nodding quickly. “I’m yours”.
“Damn right you are”.
His hand tugged at the collar. “Now take this off before I make you take it off in front of him just to give him back”.
the next morning, he noticed it folded neatly on Megumi’s bed.
And Megumi noticed the hoodie he had left on the couch was now missing.
synopsis. the time gojo and megumi decided to crash your date.
contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo roping megumi into his loser activities, timeskips, tw sappy
notes. this drabble has been rotting in my brain for over a year. finally wrote it!
“I’m going on a date.”
It only took five simple words from you to make the world’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer drop to his knees. For the first time in his life, Gojo could swear he was experiencing shortness of breath. And was it just him, or were the walls closing in?
“What?” The word leaves his mouth like a demand rather than a question. He’s trying so hard not to overreact, but your overjoyed face makes it nearly impossible not to succumb to the ugly green monster clawing at his insides.
“Well,” you push his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act so surprised. You’re not the only one that pulls.”
“Don’t I know it,” Gojo mutters under his breath, eye twitching. Don’t you know how hard he works to deter any suitors vying for your attention when the two of you are out? He’s practically a rabid dog growling at anyone who so much as breathes in your direction.
Hell, even Shoko once mentioned to him something about being a “registered pervert” at most establishments you frequent together.
Not his finest moments.
You eye Satoru suspiciously before continuing. That was your first mistake.
“Yeah, he’s taking me to that new Michelin Star restaurant downtown,” you sigh dreamily. “I mean, seriously. Isn’t that so cool?”
Gojo scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “If that’s what you wanted, you could’ve just said so. I know a place that has three Michelin Stars.”
You pout. “Well, it’s different with you.”
Gojo’s eyebrow quirks up. “How so?”
“You’re a friend. And with him…” You trail off, suddenly feeling shy under Gojo’s piercing gaze. Heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you toy with the hem of your sleeve. “It’s a lot more romantic.”
Gojo thinks he could just die.
The word romantic rings in his ears, and it was deafening. It digs into his ribs and squeezes at something raw inside him. He’s the strongest sorcerer alive, yet right now, he feels utterly powerless against the way your voice softens when you talk about someone else. Against the way your lips curve at the thought of another man.
He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Romantic, huh?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to it.
You nod, eyes glimmering with something dreamy, something distant, and Gojo wants to reach out and wipe it away. He wants that look—wants to be the reason for it.
If you wanted romance, he could give you romance.
Better romance.
A grand plan manifests in his head, spinning to life at full speed.
Oh, this poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.
The moment Megumi sees Gojo enter his and Tsumiki’s shared apartment, he knows something is wrong. There’s a certain energy in the air, a distinct lack of peace that Gojo drags with him that makes the eight year old’s stomach churn.
“Fushiguro!” Gojo’s voice rings out, far too enthusiastic for Megumi’s liking. “We have a problem.”
Megumi barely glances up from his book. “We?”
Gojo makes himself at home and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, we. Our dear [Name] here has a date.”
Megumi's grip on his book tightens, his interest sparking at the mention of you. Where Gojo lacked maturity, you balanced it effortlessly. He liked that about you. He liked you.
Megumi blinks once. “And?”
Gojo sighs dramatically. “And we can’t just let her go unprotected, can we?”
“Unprotected?” Megumi repeats, deadpan. “From what? Bad table manners?”
“From heartbreak, Megumi!” Gojo places a hand over his chest, looking scandalized. “What if this guy is a total loser? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he’s a handsy creep?”
Megumi’s expression darkens. He had been indifferent before, but now there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes. He doesn’t like the idea of you being stuck with some no-good scrub who isn’t worthy. In a series of twisted events, you and that white haired idiot had managed to become the only constants in his life. The last thing he wanted was for some random guy to come along and take you away.
“We need to intervene,” Gojo presses, watching the flicker of hesitation in Megumi’s expression. His usual deadpan exterior is cracking, just a little. Gojo knows he has him.
Megumi exhales sharply, gripping his book a little too tightly. “I am not going to ruin their date.” His voice is firm, but there’s a sliver of doubt wedged between the words. Gojo seizes it like a cat pouncing on its prey.
“Ruin?” Gojo gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Megumi, this is purely a background check.” His grin stretches.
Megumi glares at him. “It could be considered stalking.”
Gojo waves him off. “Pfft. Such an ugly word. I prefer ‘protective oversight’.”
“You don’t even know if he’s a bad person.”
Gojo tilts his head, feigning deep thought. “Oh, you’re right. Maybe he’s perfect. Maybe he’ll take such good care of her that we won’t be needed anymore.”
Megumi stiffens, and Gojo bites back a smirk.
“That’s not—” Megumi starts, but Gojo steamrolls over him.
“I mean, think about it. If this date goes well, they might actually start dating. And then what? She’ll start spending more time with him.” Gojo nudges him. “She’ll run off and start a new family.”
Megumi’s jaw tightens. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right,” Gojo corrects cheerfully.
Megumi runs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. He already knows Gojo won’t drop this, and, annoyingly, he’s already planted the seed of doubt in his mind.
Gojo leans in, voice lower, almost serious. “You care about her, don’t you?”
Megumi exhales sharply. “...Yeah.”
“And you’d rather make sure she’s safe than sit around wondering?”
Megumi stares at him for a long moment, then groans. “Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”
Gojo grins, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s go before you start growing a conscience.”
The night was supposed to be perfect. A well earned break. It your first real date in a while. Probably your first since meeting Gojo. Though, strangely, you’d never stopped to question why that was.
The guy sitting across from you was a non-sorcerer, and while his looks had been enough to catch your attention when he first asked you out, the novelty was wearing off fast. His personality was as flat and each word he spoke draining more of your enthusiasm. You found yourself nodding along absently, barely listening, already regretting your decision.
Still, you just had to stick it out until the food arrived. Then you could eat, make an excuse, and be done with this painfully dull evening.
Though, just when you thought the night was starting to get interesting, a familiar voice cuts through the elegant ambiance of the restaurant.
“Mom, who is this strange man?”
Your choke on your wine at the familiar voice while your date stiffens.
You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you come face-to-face with Megumi, standing at your table with his arms crossed. His expression is perfectly deadpan, but you see the flicker of mischief in his eyes, a familiar gleam of mischief that could only be the work of a certain white-haired man lurking nearby.
“E-eh?!” You sputter, glancing between Megumi and your date.
Your date looks thoroughly confused. “Do you… know this child?”
“N-no—I mean, yes, but—”
Megumi doesn’t give you a chance to explain. Instead, he sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “And what will Gojo—Dad—say about this?”
The words slam into you like a truck.
Your date’s jaw drops. “You’re married?”
“N-no!”
“Then why is he calling you Mom?”
You glare at Megumi, but he just shrugs, completely unbothered.
“Come home,” Megumi continues with a sigh. “Tsumiki misses you too.”
“You have multiple children?!”
Your date looks absolutely horrified, like he’s just found himself in the middle of a scandalous affair. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, if you’re going through a divorce or something, we don’t have to do this—”
Before you can defend yourself, another, far-too-cheerful voice joins in.
“There you are, sweetheart!”
Gojo waltzes up to the table, dressed in his finest suit and those damn glasses he only wore on special occasions. He places a hand on your shoulder and turns to your date with an exaggeratedly apologetic expression. “Sorry, buddy, but this one’s a real work. You know it took me two kids to finally tie her down?”
Your date glances between you, Megumi, and Gojo, his eyes wide with pure panic, as if he’s just stumbled into something far beyond his comprehension. His grip tightens around his napkin, knuckles white. “I—I think I should go.”
You lurch forward, reaching out as if that might stop him. “No, wait—!”
But it’s already too late. He’s scrambling for his coat, chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushes back from the table, nearly knocking over his drink in his rush. Without sparing you another glance, he spins on his heel and all but bolts toward the exit, shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.
You sit frozen for a second, blinking at the now-empty seat across from you. Then, slowly, you turn toward the culprits, fists clenched at your sides.
“You two,” you hiss, voice low and simmering with fury, “are in serious trouble.”
Megumi has the decency to look guilty, staring down at his lap, shifting awkwardly in his seat as if he’s just now realizing the full extent of what they’ve done.
Gojo, on the other hand, is utterly shameless. He stands there in all his smug glory, adjusting his sunglasses with a satisfied smirk.
You grab your purse and storm out of the restaurant, with the two trailing behind you like two guilty kids.
“You know,” Gojo muses, “I think that went pretty well.”
You round on him so fast that even he takes a step back. “Pretty well?! You humiliated me! That poor guy thinks I have an entire secret family!”
Gojo snickers. “Well, technically, you do.”
You jab a finger into his chest. “You are not my husband.”
“But wouldn’t it be great if I was?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Megumi lets out a long sigh. “Please don’t entertain him. I’m sorry, [Name].” His blue eyes are trained onto the floor, “I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”
You exhale sharply, some of your anger ebbing as you glance between the two of them.
“It’s okay, Megumi,” you sigh, your frustration softening at the sight of his guilty expression. You could never stay mad at him, not with that face.
Gojo, however, was a different story.
Slowly, you turn to him, eyes narrowing. “You—”
He grins, entirely unrepentant. “Me?”
Oh, he was so in for it.
Although he had been shamelessly unapologetic at the time, Gojo still found ways to complain about that night, even years later, after you were finally married.
“It was an unusually cruel punishment,” your husband whines dramatically, draping his entire body weight onto you as if his sheer presence could sway your sympathy.
“You mean the silent treatment?” you deadpan, eyes still trained on Megumi practicing his cursed technique across the yard. “It was only a week. Could’ve been longer if you hadn’t harassed everyone around me until they practically begged me to forgive you.”
Gojo lifts his head just enough to shoot you an exaggerated pout. “I don’t harass people. I simply exist, and they just happen to find me irresistible.”
“You tend to have the exact opposite effect, actually.”
“Ten years later, and you’re still so cruel to me.” He sighs heavily, as if burdened by the weight of your terrible treatment, before shoving his face into the crook of your neck. “You wound me, wife.”
You laugh, warmth bubbling in your chest as his breath tickles your skin. “You’re impossible.”
A loud thud interrupts the moment, and you both glance over just in time to see Megumi scowling, his stance off from a misstep in his training.
“You are still disgusting after all of these years,” he grumbles, adjusting his form before going at it again.
Gojo beams. “Aww, he likes us.”
You shake your head, smiling. “He tolerates us.”
“Eh, same thing.” Gojo squeezes you tighter, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to your cheek just to be insufferable.
Megumi groans. “Seriously, get a room.”
Gojo smirks, wiggling his brows. “Don’t tempt me, kid.”
gojo satoru had experienced hell before, that one time he lined up to get his favorite manga signed by the author but kept letting people cut in front of him because he was too scared to say something and he’s just nice like that. that was until geto told him off for doing it because he ended up not getting his book signed. he’s so dumb.
but this—this was a different kind of hell. he’s sat on the couch at a house party with.. yeah, you guessed it. the squad: suguru geto, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna… a whole bunch of hotties
it’s not really a pleasant sight to see. 2 girls clinging onto sukuna, fushiguro making out with one and geto talking to a girl who is clearly interested in him..
and then there’s gojo.
sitting there awkwardly, clutching a cup in his hand while sipping on nothing.
sure, he loves his best friend suguru. he just hates how popular he is. at every function, all the girls seem to be magnetised to his mysterious and brooding aura. and gojo’s just there, i guess. he huffs at the thought. he thinks knows that he could treat a girl soooo right if they just gave him a chance!
geto excuses himself to go upstairs with the girl. satoru already knows where this is going, so he brushes it off. he then eyes the group of girls from afar giggling and whispering to each other while looking at the guys on the couch. actually.. it looks like they’re looking towards his direction.
“come on y/n! just ask him!” your friends keep nudging and shoving you towards his direction, and gojo couldn’t help but scowl.
after finally mustering up the courage to come up to him, you fiddle with your fingers before stuttering out a quiet “hi,”
gojo sighs, “if you’re here to ask for suguru’s number, i’m not interested.”
your eyes widen in confusion which makes him confused too.
“oh, uh.. i was actually going to ask for yours..?”
what.
there’s no way.
“it’s fine if you’re not interested, i’m sorry—”
“NO, NO, I AM!” he internally cringes at his response. “sorry, i just.. thought you were gonna ask about suguru.” he puts his palm out, silently asking you to give him the sharpie. you shrug and give it to him, rolling your sleeve up.
you smile after he writes down his number on your forearm, giving you back your pen. “thanks,” he nods at you. “and for the record.. i think you’re way cuter than geto.” gojo’s face heats up as you walk away, burying his face into his hoodie.
you tuck the pen into your pocket, suppressing a grin as you walk away. behind you, gojo groans, burying his face deeper into his hoodie, his muffled voice barely audible.
“way cuter than geto,” he mutters to himself, kicking at the ground. “way cuter. oh my god.”
short mma!toji and his pretty pop star girlfriend being cutesies!
—
“let me see baby!” you rush in pure excitement with your skin tight leather pink dress and white gogo boots, wanting to see your man in makeup for your newest music video release,
it took a while for him to finally agree, because could you imagine having the number one world class fighter to be in his girlfriend’s girly music video? my god, the sports entertainment would probably laugh at him.
but seeing the look in your doe eyes was enough to make him fold. plus, his manager shiu and the PR team thought it would be a great idea anyway.
“he doesn’t want you to see him like this, y/n” the makeup stylist laughs as she opens the door slightly to poke her head out,
you pout at that, tip toeing to see whether or not you can catch a glimpse of him. “well that wouldn’t make sense! because we are starting in an hour! toji, can i come in?”
“i look so ridiculous, ma” he calls out with a grunt, head shaking as he eyes himself in the mirror. the fake bruises and cut lips makes him scoff. “these are so unrealistic, real battered face look way worse than this”
rolling your eyes, you thank the makeup stylist before going in. the moment you see his reflection in the mirror, a gasp flies off your mouth. seeing your boyfriend perched on the small chair, his large muscled body adorned in a black tank and dark jeans. handsome face touched with bits of makeup that makes it look like he had just gotten off a street fight.
oh dear, he look fine as hell.
he notices your stare, causing him to smirk and chuckle. “come e’re baby girl” his hand pats his meaty thigh, waiting for you to come near,
“babyyy” you giggle, practically skipping towards him before wrapping your arms around his neck from behind. “you look so so handsome” a squeal spills from your lips, before attaching them against his cheek. leaving a sheer stain of lipgloss,
his arm circles around the back, resting a hand just below her rear. “do i? i feel ridiculous. i’ve never had a makeup on before”
you nod, perching yourself on his thigh before he secures both arms around your waist. “you don’t ji-ji! you look just like a movie star already!”
he laughs at your compliment, kissing your neck. “thank you, ma”
“are you ready? the director wants us out now” you tilt your head to the side, thumb going up to remove the stain off his cheek,
he nods, running his hand through his hair. “ready as i am doll”
—
toji was in fact, not ready.
because how the hell was he supposed to act right with the cameras rolling when his girlfriend look that fucking good enough to eat?
the cups of her dress pushes her tits upwards to make them look fuller, and her plush thighs were wrapped tightly with white garters that all toji wanted to do was to pull them off with his teeth. his eyes keep falling at the sight of her pretty lips too.
was he supposed to just let it slide and still follow the script?
“toji, for the last time” the director grumbles, feeling irritated at the repeated delay because of the fighter’s mistake. “your hands should be on her face—not her ass”
he emphasizes on the last word while glaring at the man. you could only giggle seeing your boyfriend getting scolded, though you reminded him prior to be on his best behavior,
however toji is known to be a man who hates to follow simple rules,
“can you blame me?” toji’s hands squeeze your ass harder while looking at the director. “my girlfriend is hot as fuck, and you’re telling me you’re not tempted by that?”
“i wouldn’t know motherfucker, i’m gay”
toji could only snort, pulling you closer to his chest. “my bad, man i’m sorry” you reach up to kiss his jaw, and it only makes toji to yearn more of your touch,
“now—what should i do again?” he asks for the hundredth time that day,
the director rolls his eyes, but decides to answer anyway. “look into her eyes, hands on her face. she’s going to sing the lines to—toji fucking fushiguro, hands off her tits! that’s not how it’s supposed to go!”
best friend or baby daddy, one thing's for sure, you're not getting rid of him!
pairings: bsf!Geto x f!Reader
content: MDNI, smut and fluff and light angst, modern AU, mutual pining, heavy yearning, they want each other BAD, friends-to-lovers-to-parents, unprotected piv sex, mating press, creampie, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), lots of teasing and tension, taking pictures during sex, unplanned pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy/marriage, cravings, reader is a lil insecure, Suguru adores her anyway, short Gojo cameo, protective/possessive dilf!Suguru lol, idiots in love
part of this wikihow collab with @neovillains, art by @captainsalsaa divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !
Step one?
Comfort you after you dumped yet another boyfriend.
Or maybe the first step had been one he never meant to take. Falling in love with the girl who pulled on his ponytail on the playground at age five. And at twenty-five? He fell even harder at the thought of what sort of face you'd make if he pulled your hair now, if you'd throw him a glare or a laugh, maybe pout your pretty lips at him before he bent you over his kitchen counter and -
"Suguru," You giggled, glancing over your shoulder, a playful glint shimmering in your eyes as you nudged his side. "Are you actually drunk?"
On you, maybe.
"No," He murmured, a cold hand finding your hip, an excuse, really, to pull you closer, press your body between his and the marble edge of the countertop as he reached over your head to grab the bowls he started keeping on the top shelf so you'd need his help grabbing them.
He caught the way your breath hitched in your throat, spine going stiff for a second, before relaxing into him like it was second nature by now, your head tilting to twist back against his chest and look up at him.
"You don't seem very heartbroken to me," He dryly commented, to which you just made a noncommittal hm, blinking a few times.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah?" He murmured, a little lost in your proximity, how right it felt for your back to be against his chest. "If he lost you, he must be a fucking idiot."
"Oh?" You giggled. "You know, he actually said we were in love with each other?"
"And? Are you in love with me?" Suguru teased, setting the bowls down to cage you in closer, his hand cutting off your chance at wiggling away when it landed on the counter, the fingers on your hips gripping a little tighter, wrinkling your dress.
Wishful thinking or not, he could almost feel the heat in your cheeks from here, your eyes crinkling when you just shrugged.
"What movie do you wanna watch?" You hummed, eyes flickering from his down to his lips, like you wanted to watch him reply, or maybe, hopefully, something more.
The game of pulling each other in just to push each other away at the last second still in swing after two decades.
"Whatever you want," Suguru shrugged back, the steady pop pop pops! of the kernels on the stove filling the background, the half-empty bottle of wine waiting to be polished off perched between two glasses. Yours was nearly full, but there were only a few drops left in his, despite drinking being your idea.
Showing up at his door on a Saturday night, gift bag in hand with tissue paper sticking out, wearing your favorite little sundress, cardigan hanging off your shoulders when you grinned up at him and asked if you could crash for a couple days.
"Boo," You did pout, and he hoped your proximity to his heart didn't mean you could hear it actually skipping a beat. "What if I want you to pick?"
He wished you only wanted him, period.
You stared sometimes and he could feel it there, simmering underneath your smile and living in the lines on your face. But you were always dating some other dark-haired asshole or he'd find himself in someone else's bed (who always looked a little too much like you, sharing the same shade of hair or the shape of your eyes). Living off of lingering touches and secret jokes and the moments where the boundaries blurred, where you'd be snuggled against his side or a kiss on the cheek would stray closer to the corner of your mouth instead.
Both of you waiting for the day the other one accepted defeat, conceded victory and came clean about the festering feelings you shared.
"Fine," He sighed, moving the pot to a different burner, flicking the heat off before taking off the lid, having to smack your hand away before you could snag a still-hot piece from the top before he could add any popcorn salt. "Just go sit down before you manage to burn yourself, okay?"
You rolled your eyes, poking his side before pouring more wine in his glass, carrying both over to the coffee table, too distracted watching him to pay attention to where you were walking, the corner catching your leg and sending you stumbling.
He would laugh at you later.
But now?
He was dropping the bowl back to the counter, hurrying over to help you up, your dress soaked and stained, clinging to your body, broken shards of glass littering the wooden floor.
"Shit, Sugu, I'm sorry," You frowned, chewing on your bottom lip as you pinched the sticky fabric away from your chest. But he caught the little glint in your eyes, the way one corner of your mouth involuntarily tugged up, like maybe you'd done it on purpose.
"Careful," He sighed, grabbing you by the waist to move you away from the safety hazard just to take your wrist anyway after he set you back down, pulling you down the hall to his room. "I'll throw that in the wash. You can just wear one of my shirts."
Sure, you already had a drawer full of your clothes at his place. But you both knew you'd rather wear something of his anyway.
"You're not mad, are you?" You asked, your face still scrunched up in disappointment when he pushed open the bedroom door.
"When have I ever been mad at you?"
He wanted to be, sometimes. When you introduced him to a new guy who would check out other girls when he should be thanking the fucking stars you even looked at him. When he thought about the time you got a little too wasted on your birthday a few years ago and kissed him in the backseat of a taxi just to forget the next morning. But it the hurt could never hold it's shape, the anger could never set in, not when the need for you had engraved itself in his bones, to see you smile and hear your laugh at his jokes. No matter how much it ached to watch you offer yourself to others who didn't even see you.
Suguru went to grab a t-shirt off a hanger, glancing over his shoulder at you to find - fuck.
You already stripped out of your dress, perched pretty on the edge of his bed and staring at him almost innocently, your head tilted to the side as if to ask 'what?'
He shouldn't look, really, he absolutely should not, but his eyes don't know that, drifting down to the pretty swell of your breasts pushed out in a skimpy little lace bra that he was going to be thinking about long after you left, and his throat almost closes then and there.
"Here," He dryly choked out, his jaw clenching as he tossed you the shirt, dragging his attention down to where you discarded your dress.
"Thanks," You caught it, but barely made an effort to cover up your chest, your eyes following him as he bent over to pick it up, something that sounded close to a sigh escaping when he walked towards the door.
Suguru wouldn't crack. His composure couldn't. The only thing worse than you not being his was you not being in his life at all.
He could live with being in love with you. But knowing you didn't feel the same might kill him.
He didn't want a one-time thing, a single night spent in the sheets, but every part of you, every inch of your skin and second of your time. If you fucked him once just to say you couldn't be friends anymore, couldn't be anything, he didn't know what he'd do.
It was hard to know where the line was drawn when both of you had erased it so many times just to hastily scrawl a new one a little further back.
Carefully measuring out the laundry detergent and adjusting the settings on the washing machine before turning it on, the scent of your perfume and the wine clinging to him even after he turned away, glancing back down at the closed bedroom door. You were probably done changing by now, or close, at least.
He still knocked anyway, knuckles tapping against the wood, waiting for your reply.
"Can I come in?" Suguru called out, leaning against the door, trying not to think about what you looked like in his bed, the still image already burned in the back of his brain.
"Uh-huh," You hummed. Twisting the knob, he pushed it open, his stare locking onto you before he could even really process what he was seeing.
You were not done changing.
The hooks of your bra weren't even properly clasped, a tiny little thong hooked over your hips, your back to him while you rummaged through his nightstand. Something was in your hands that he couldn't see.
You glanced over your shoulder, a cute little smirk plastered to your lips that he wanted to kiss off of you, twist into a gasp, a moan of his name. "Hi."
"Hi," He echoed, low and gravelly, one corner of his mouth curling up to match yours.
You knew what you were doing.
And he was so tired of pretending he didn't.
"Say cheese," You giggled, holding up an old camera of his, finger hovering over the shutter while he folded his arms across his chest, his mouth set in a thin line even when you snapped a photo.
"Hand it over," He huffed, his focus straining to stay on your face while you walked over to him, bare feet padding across his floor until you were close enough to push the camera against his chest. The words were on his tongue before he could second guess saying them. "My turn."
The blush coloring your face made him feel warm, the sudden hints of shyness bleeding through when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, like you just remembered how little you were wearing, how close he was.
"Scared?" Suguru mocked, giving you an out he hoped you wouldn't take.
"N-no," You stammered though, a crease forming between your furrowed brow as you protested.
"Back on the bed then," He murmured, wondering if you'd pose for him, if this would be the only picture you'd let him take of you tonight.
You hesitantly perched yourself back on the end, glancing down at yourself then back up at him, swallowing hard as you tried to collect your confidence again. Scooting back, parting your legs just enough that he caught a glimpse of the small damp patch on your panties, chuckling at the realization you were more worked up than him.
"More," He instructed, watching the way your lips parted and froze, how slowly your limbs started to move.
He sighed, sitting the camera down on the mattress next to you before sliding his hands over your soft thighs, spreading them for you, pretending your little gasp at the contact didn't make his cock practically jump in his boxers.
"Lay down for me, okay, pretty girl?" Suguru requested, softer this time, and you nodded, listening as you laid back, your body stiff as it sank down on his comforter. Only starting to relax once his hands slipped higher, the feeling of your bare skin under his palm only fueling the burning need he'd been suppressing for so long.
Hooking two sturdy fingers under the band of your panties and slowly peeling them down your thighs, taking his time and waiting for some squeak of his name to leave your mouth, but you just watched him back, biting down on the inside of your cheek.
Once your underwear hit the floor, you hesitantly shifted, opening yourself up for him. "Like this?"
Suguru wasn't sure he was going to make it out of here with his sanity in tact.
Step two?
He was going to fuck you until you admitted you'd been waiting for this just as long as him.
"Look at me," He quietly said, picking the camera back up to hide the hunger in his gaze as he peered through the viewfinder at you.
Your unsure stare reflecting his own desperation, lashes fluttering as you tried to decide what face to make.
He could help with that.
Returning one hand to the inside of your thigh, tracing a soft path up to the slick on your skin as placed his hand over your entrance, his thumb dipping just barely in to the knuckle while he watched your face for every tiny flicker in your expression. Entranced by how easily he made you squirm, your pretty pout like you wanted more and knowing he wouldn't give it to you unless you asked.
And click!
Of all the candids he'd taken over the years, the collection of your smiles and scoffs saved in photo albums and in his phone's camera rolls, he knew that this would be his favorite.
"Sugu-" You started, the uneven rise-and-fall of your chest only drawing his attention the strap of your bra slipping down your arm.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" He breathed, stuck staring at the sharp edge of one of your canines was tugging on your lower lip, the glimmer in your eyes at how intimate the nickname suddenly felt despite how many times he called you that before.
"Are you sure?" You slowly enunciated every syllable, straining to speak as his thumb dipped deeper. Trying not to give away how much he was affecting you, like he couldn't feel the muscles pull tighter, see the twitch of your hips as they fought to buck up and force him in more.
"Always have been about you," Suguru simply said, pushing his palm down over your clit, watching you gasp at the sudden pressure, eyes fluttering closed as you harshly sucked in a breath.
"God," You hissed.
"Take your bra off," He instructed, and you listened, struggling to prop yourself up enough to reach around with one hand and fumble to undo the clasp, throwing it off with a clatter to the floor.
Fuck.
The way your breasts bounced as you moved, the way the buds of your nipples were already perked up and hard, begging him to roll his tongue over them, to pinch and grope and hold. Mark your chest and your neck with enough kisses to erase the fact that anyone else had ever touched them before him.
He wanted to be the last man who would.
How could he not when you were looking at him like you needed him?
"You wanna tell me what you want?" He hm-ed, slipping his thumb back out, the slick pad dragging up to trace a ghost of a circle over the swollen bud while you whined at the abrupt absence.
"You, please," You whimpered, and he didn't think he'd ever been this hard before. "S-Sugu, I wan' you."
It took every ounce of control not to pull his cock out and fuck you until you cried that out again and again, until pretty tears were collected in your eyes and all you could do was whimper.
He slowly slotted two fingers inside, the stretch making you shudder, thighs struggle to resist the temptation to close on his hand.
He clicked his tongue, once, twice, three times.
"Keep them open for me, baby," He teased, and you just pushed out your bottom lip, weakly nodding as all your muscles tensed again, muscles straining to stay in place when he crooked his fingers all the way in.
"Fuck, fuck, god, there." Your cute moan, the way your breath almost stuttered every time you sucked it in just for him to immediately force it back out, skin he used to try so hard to avoid staring at in swim suits now completely bare in his sheets.
Pumping his fingers in-and-out, the filthy fucking sound of how wet you were for him ringing his his ears, how right it felt to have you squeezing desperately around him, to be the one pushing you closer and closer to cumming on his fingers.
"That's it, pretty," He softly said, feeling you throb at his low voice, pausing to test it out again. "Come on, breathe."
You tried, sucking in a small breath and looking at him with glossy eyes, silently begging him to keep going.
"Use your words, sweetheart," Suguru purred, swiping his thumb back over your sensitive clit and you shivered.
"Please let me cum," You begged out loud this time, trembling at his touch.
He chuckled, dark and low, slotting his fingers back inside, already trying to memorize which spots made you whine louder, thrusting in, out, in, out, until-
"Suguru."
His name ripped from your throat right as his fingers found the spongy spot in the back, fingertips pressing against it just enough for you to cry out his name a second time, your legs snapping shut as you grinded up against his hand.
"Go ahead, baby," He murmured, letting you rut against his palm for extra pressure and friction, readjusting so his thumb was massaging circles over the swollen bud. "C'mon, cum."
And fuck, he never thought you'd looked more beautiful than right now - lashes fluttering, pretty lips parted as your back arched off the bed, his fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt while you came.
"Look so pretty like this f'me," He promised, his thumb rolling over your clit while you blushed and squirmed, still trying to catch your breath when he didn't immediately pull out.
"S-shut up," Your voice was small as you stammered.
"Can I take another photo?" He teased, slipping his slick fingers out, and popping them in his own mouth, needing to taste you on his tongue.
The image of him cleaning the ring of white off his fingers seemed to make you more flustered, your glossy stare searing through his heart.
"You want to?" You swallowed hard.
He climbed on top of the bed, pulling his fingers out with a pop! and grazing over your lower lip with his thumb, caging you in under his broad frame.
"That a yes?" He hm-ed, and you nodded, letting him tug your mouth open. He pushed the same two fingers that had just been in his mouth into yours, your tongue swirling over his knuckles, sucking softly and peering up at him with those pretty eyes.
"Mhm," Your muffled voice purred back.
He fumbled for the camera, holding it back up and hovering his finger over the button as you met his stare through the viewfinder, your own hand reaching up to hold his and push his fingers in deeper while he snapped the photo.
"My pretty girl."
His his his.
Pulling out his fingers while he leaned over to deposit the camera on the nightstand, your lips still open, waiting for a kiss or about to tease him for a sentiment so silly, but a soft smile curled up.
"Yeah, yours."
Suguru Geto was in love. Something he always knew, but only existed in the loops of his mind, the quiet score of his life, playing in the background of every scene. But this, with you here, it was loud. In every look and touch, in every breath he exhaled, the atoms crackling in the air between your bodies.
"I need to fuck you," He heard himself say, hoarse and thick with something caught between desperation and desire.
"Oh yeah?" Your airy little giggle was abruptly cut off with his mouth colliding against yours, wondering if his tasted like wine or you as he sucked softly on your lower lip.
Your hands were struggling to pull his shirt up, only breaking the kiss to shove it up and over his head, your warm palms skimming over his muscles and tracing over each ridge and curve like you'd thought about touching him half as much as he thought about touching you.
"Sugu," You giggled again, letting him pepper your cheek with kisses, his mouth leaving hungry sucks in a line down your throat, marks you'd probably have to wear a scarf or makeup to cover at work in a few days.
He really couldn't stop touching you. Caressing your face and groping your breast and tracing your collarbone and trying to find an excuse to catalogue what every inch of you felt like under him.
"Mm?" He barely paused, feeling your delicate touch start to tug down the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of you unbuttoning them next. He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, groaning softly as he dragged his tongue over it as you managed to slip your fingers underneath his jeans and the band of his boxers to feel how hard he already was. Swiping your fingertips over his leaking tip to collect the pre-cum there and wiggling back out to bring it to your lips for your own taste.
His throat went dry.
More than dry. Actually, it felt like someone stuffed fucking cotton balls down it and his pants suddenly felt two sizes too tight as you dragged your tongue over your fingertips and batted your lashes at him.
"I thought you needed to fuck me," You reminded him with the sort of soft sigh that made his head spin.
He was pushing off his plush mattress to finish what you started, discarding his jeans and boxers in one go, his composure not just cracked but crumbles into a million little pieces he couldn't clean up, the need turning him into the sort of man who couldn't care less about appearances or control if it mean he could fuck your brains out enough that you'd forget about all of that too.
His cock was practically pink, swollen and hard, swinging up to smack against his dark happy trail and muscles, your eyes getting even wider, glued to the thick length.
"Um, S-Sugu," You stuttered, and it was cute to see you lose your own cool, scooting back higher on the bed and propping yourself up on your elbows.
"Uh-huh?" He wryly cocked his head to the side as he climbed back on top of you, pulling you down by your hips as your head fell back on his pillow. Spreading your legs back open, glistening and gorgeous and all his.
"Kiss me again," You quietly requested, and he was more than happy to oblige.
Returning his lips to your own to press a tender kiss there while his tip nudged against your opening, your body jolting when he pinned you down with his weight. Slipping one hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the ridges of your teeth while his other hand held your waist, your wrists wrapping around his neck while you moaned in his mouth, unable to do anything but grind up where his cock was practically twitching against your clit.
Getting more desperate by the second, your muffled moan turning into a whine, bucking up harder to chase your high from earlier.
"Put it in," Your voice was a strained whisper in-between kisses, rolling your hips up again.
"Say please," Suguru taunted, kissing your frown away before he could even really form.
"Please."
He was letting go of your waist to grab the base of his cock, pushing the first few inches in and watching your body tense and stiffen around him, your thighs trying not to close as he pushed past the first ring of resistance, the gasp you attempted to stifle not going unnoticed.
"You okay, baby?" He paused, your body squeezing him sinfully before he hadn't even quite made it halfway in.
"You're, um, bigger, than I imagined," You choked out, and he wasn't sure if it was his ego or his dick that got fucking bigger hearing you admit you imagined him at all.
"It'll fit," He murmured, barely containing the urge to bottom out already, taking his time stretching you out, molding you to each vein and ridge. "Promise I'll take care of you."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locked them there with your heels digging into his back, and the feeling of your soft thighs against his skin, the squeeze of the muscle had him burying himself in fully before he could stop it.
"Shit, Suguru, o-oh, oh," You mewled at him, nails scratching at his shoulder blades while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin, teeth nipping at his collarbone.
He kind of hoped you would bite him. Leave little indents of your teeth on his skin so he could run his fingers over it in the morning.
"Fuck," He murmured, stalling for a second just to appreciate how it felt. The warmth of your body trapped under his, the taste of you still on his tongue while his cock was snugly sheathed inside you, raw and-
Shit, he wasn't wearing a condom.
You hadn't asked him to. And to be honest, he didn't even think he had one. It's not like he'd been seeing anyone recently or even considered the possibility he might need one tonight.
It would probably be fine.
He could just pull out or-
"Baby," Your voice, so needy, distracted him.
Suguru's brain shut off.
All higher reasoning had been abandoned, replaced only by the thought of making you cum again (and again).
Sliding out just to shove himself back in, gentle thrusts growing faster, harder with every one of your whines and broken rasps of his name, your hands running over his back and your mouth on his throat. Eventually un-hooking your legs from his hips to pin your thighs to your chest, angling himself to hit that same spongy spot he had before, half-incoherent murmurs whispered into your skin of how beautiful you were, how badly he wanted you, needed you.
And you were nodding back, tears brimming at your lashes and moaning his name, offering quiet little swears that you belonged to him like it was a secret meant for the two of you to keep.
"Oh, t-there, fuck," You whimpered, his cock practically grinding against your cervix as his hips smacked against your skin, planting another open-mouthed kiss on your lips while you both struggled to stave off your climax. Neither of you wanted it to end. "Suguru, m' so close."
"I know, baby, I know," He groaned, barely holding himself together, all the carefully assembled pieces of his life about feeling like they were about to fracture the second his restraint snapped.
There was no going back after this.
No mask he'd be able to wear now that he knew what this felt like. Knew what you looked like pinned under him in the filthiest fucking mating press imaginable, fucked-out and filled-up by his cock slamming again and again while his thumb made messy circles over your clit, rolling and pinching it just to see what sort of noises he could pull out of you next. Especially not after knowing what face you made when you finished, your shattered gasp and your glazed-over eyes focused solely on him and fuck-
Fuck.
He cumming before he could stop himself, your body wrapped up so warm around him, the sdelicious squeeze like you wanted to draw out every last fucking drop, painting your insides white before he even had enough brain power to start to pull out, but by then, only the last few drops were left to leak onto your thighs. Both dazed, blinking and breathing, his cock still hard in his hand while he stared down at his seed dripping out of you.
You were probably on birth control.
Probably.
Suguru reached over to snag the camera off the nightstand, one hand still pinning your thighs down while the other half the camera back up.
"Say cheese."
Step three?
Show up to your apartment after you'd been avoiding him for what? Two months?
Work stuff, you said, already made plans, you bluffed, feeling sick, you excused.
You hadn't left his place upset - no, you showered and practically stayed in his bed in his bed until you had to go to work on Monday. Kissed him on the lips and brushed his bangs out of his face, but when he replayed the 36 hours of heaven, none of the words exchanged had technically been confessions. Or at least, nothing that would put a name to whatever the two of you were now.
It's not like you hadn't gone a couple weeks without seeing each other in person. But this was ridiculous - and exactly what he'd been worried about in the first place. He knew you were probably overthinking it, probably just as worried as he was that it'd screw everything up, judging by the still-constant stream of texts you sent him every day.
But he couldn't take it anymore - close enough to just calling it like it was and asking you out officially if it meant you'd stop whatever this was. He'd spent more nights by now fucking in fists to the photos he'd taken of you painfully-aware of how much better the real thing was.
He could tell by the sound of some shitty reality show playing too-loud that you were definitely home, but you didn't answer the first time he knocked. Or the fourth.
By the tenth, he was flipping through his keys to find the spare one to your place, his text messages to you left unread as he turned it in the lock, calling out your name as he stepped inside. No answer.
Panic had started to prick at his nerves, glancing around to see your stuff scattered around like you usually left it as he crept through your empty kitchen and living room. There weren't any dishes in the sink though, just a few empty packs of crackers, a small trash can by the couch, a blanket thrown over the side and a crushed pillow like you'd just been there. He heard it then - the sound of retching.
Shit. You were sick.
He followed the noise down the hall into the bathroom, the door already cracked open, softly saying your name as he approached so he wouldn't surprise you, but you coughed again, glancing over your shoulder clearly startled anyway.
"What are you-" You weakly rasped, a few stray hairs plastered to your forehead with sweat, tired circles around your eyes before you got sick again. He hurried to hold the rest of your hair back with one hand, the other rubbing little circles on your shoulder blade.
"Hey, it's okay," He murmured, concern replacing everything else he'd been preoccupied with when he showed up. "I was worried about you."
Something that looked like fear flashed across your features when you finished and peeked back over at him.
"Suguru," You slowly said his name, and just speaking sounded like it must hurt.
"Come on, want me to carry you back to the couch? I can go pick up some medicine for you, whatever else you want too," He offered, his thumb rubbing over your your shoulder blade in comforting half-circles. You didn't immediately answer, a small frown still stuck on your face. "You been to the doctor yet?"
"Suguru," You said his name again, more serious this time and he froze.
"Yeah?" He swallowed hard, and you refused to meet his stare.
"I'm pregnant," You murmured, so quietly that was barely audible over the bathroom exhaust fan.
His brain stopped working.
His body too - stuck in place, his thumb still pressing down on the tense muscles of your back.
"You're-" He started, then stopped himself. Each word forming its own separate thought, struggling to piece each of them together when weight of them all combined threatened to crush him. "Is it my baby?"
Fuck, it had to be.
You nodded, just a small bob of your head, and he could barely blink.
Baby. A baby. Yours and his.
"Don't hate me," You whispered sheepishly, shoulders shrinking together. "But I want to keep it."
"I could never hate you," He hoped it sounded reassuring, straining to keep his own happiness in check, struggling to be steady the way you clearly needed him to be. "Whatever you want, I'm here for you. And our baby."
"You mean it?" You turned, just enough that he was able to tug you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you.
"Promise." He pressed a kiss against your hair, cradling you closer.
Your breathing was still shaky, sniffling a few times before your arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed against his shirt.
"Have you been to the doctor yet?" He asked again, although it had an entirely different meaning now, one that still hadn't sunk in all the way yet.
"I called, after, um, I got the positive test," You talked into his chest, voice muffled but you refused to pull away either. "My first appointment isn't for another two weeks."
"I'll go with you," He muttered.
"You don't have-"
"I want to," Suguru chuckled. "Let me take care of you, okay?"
"That's kind of how we ended up here," You reminded him, and he didn't have to see your face to know you were pouting.
He still laughed though, because he'd still do it again.
"Want me to make you something to see if you can keep it down?" He decided to shift the subject, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes, content to play doctor or nurse (or husband) or whatever role you wanted from him.
Playing chef while he made you something warm, masseuse when he rubbed your back while you curled up next to him in bed, and boyfriend when you finally fell asleep, slipping out of your room to complete the chores that had started to pile up that you'd been too exhausted to do.
It was the least he could do when all your energy was already being devoted to his baby.
By the time he finished and crept back into your bedroom, you were still dreaming, the blankets kicked off of your body. The bed creaked as he climbed back in, settling next to your warm body.
His hand slipped down your side, readjusting so his chest was pressed against your back as his fingers drifted slowly over your stomach, just beneath your belly button, trying to picture it.
Would the baby be a boy? Or a girl?
A little mini-version of you running around, maybe with his eyes or hair?
You were already everything he ever wanted. Anything extra was just icing on top.
Step four?
Convince you to move into his place before the second trimester was over, it was bigger, anyway, had a spare bedroom he'd been using as a home gym he already started converting into a nursery. Spending the weekends building baby furniture and taking you out for dates disguised as shopping, buying little onesies and toys mostly so he could insist on treating you to lunch or dinner afterwards.
It was easier than he expected.
What wasn't?
Convincing you to marry him.
You were already carrying his child. Pretty and pregnant, the cute swell of your stomach you tried to hide under flowy dresses and oversized sweaters making his heart throb in his chest every time he saw it. His mouth would go dry, his eyes stuck staring if he caught you in the middle of changing, even when you shyly tried to turn away. Only having sex in certain positions where you could try to avoid letting him see it, although it usually ended up with him flipping you over on your back or pulling you on top.
"We're going to be late," Suguru sighed, throwing on a sweater from the closet.
"I just need a few more minutes," You pouted, halfway yelling from the bathroom.
He crossed over the bedroom, pushing the bathroom door open with two fingers so he could poke his head through. You were frowning at yourself in the mirror, readjusting your dress, like it'd make it any less obvious you were pregnant. Other clothing items were already discarded across the floor.
"Baby," He softly said, wrapping his arms around your waist, running a hand over your baby bump while the other slipped up to cup your swollen breast starting to spill out of your bra. Despite your insistence otherwise, your discomfort with your changing body, he still tried to offer to take you out to buy stuff for you instead of just the baby. "You look beautiful."
You did.
Everything in him ached to touch you constantly, and maybe it was protective or possessive or whatever you wanted to call it, but he hated that you wanted to hide it, the physical proof that you were his.
He wanted everyone to know it, wanted to slide a ring on your finger and have family photos on the fridge because you were carrying more of him with you now than just his heart.
You scowled at him in the mirror.
"I look pregnant," You muttered, like it was a bad thing.
"Yeah?" He chuckled, tracing the subtle curve of your stomach with his thumb. Twenty weeks. That was halfway there, wasn't it? He'd read more than a few parenting books in his spare time - looked up the latest articles on pregnancy and what to expect. He'd pour over the packets you left from the prenatal appointments with, asked off for each one in advance, absolutely refusing to let you go alone.
"I hate all my clothes," You huffed.
"You hated them before you were pregnant," Suguru sighed, pulling you closer and leaning down to plant a soft kiss against your throat. "You should probably wear something else though. Aren't they doing an ultrasound today?"
He phrased it like a question even though he knew they were.
You frowned again, wiggling away from him to slip out of his grip and walk over to the dresser, yanking out a pair of sweatpants.
"Everything fits weird," You complained, pulling your dress up and over your head, and Suguru stared, feeling the way his own jeans started to fit too tight at the sight of your exposed skin.
"We can go shopping for some new clothes after the appointment," Suguru absentmindedly said, still memorizing the pretty outline of your body.
He could kiss you, offer reassurance after reassurance that he did want you, but you were reluctant to believe him.
Your foot was still anxiously tapping the floor of the waiting room when you arrived, gripping his hand like it was a lifeline, your last tether stopping you from giving into the stress.
"It's gonna be fine," He leaned down to murmur in your ear, barely able to squeeze your hand back with how tightly you were holding it.
"What if it's not?" You were panicking, your other hand protectively placed over your stomach like you were shielding it from the rest of the world.
"Then we'll figure it out together."
His answer didn't seem to calm you much, the little circles he rubbed over your knuckles only making your foot tall a little slower.
"They keep looking at you," You eventually craned your neck up to whisper in his ear, frowning even harder than you had when you first walked in.
"Who?" He leaned down to whisper back.
"The other moms," You pouted, cutting a glare over to a woman who was, in fact, staring. She tried to turn away, but not before you both caught her blush.
"So?" He had to resist the smirk that wanted to creep up, lest he faced your wrath too. Like he could ever want anyone else when you were sitting next to him in the waiting room to see his baby growing inside of you, jealousy he probably would've killed to see you show over him six months ago.
"I'm probably going to be prying them off of you at the playground in a couple years," You huffed, and he couldn't help but chuckle picturing that.
But before you could focus your frown on him, a nurse called out your full name, his own forming at the reminder he was barely here as a boyfriend, that his baby might not even have his last name either.
He insisted on helping you stand, a hand on the small of your back even when you didn't really need it yet, following you through the hall and listening to you answer the same questions they always asked at every appointment until they led you to the small room that branched off the main hall. The lights were dimmed down already as he helped you lay back onto the table, the paper crinkling while you readjusted. He pulled the chair against the wall closer, slipping his hand back on yours while the nurse left and reassured an ultrasound tech would be there in a few minutes.
"Last guesses," You mumbled, chewing on your lower lip, breathing too fast. "Boy or a girl?"
"Girl," Suguru replied, although he didn't think it mattered much. Not as long as it was yours.
He did like the idea of the baby being a girl - if she had your eyes and your smile.
"I guess I'll go with boy then," You spoke quietly, eyeing the machine next to you. "I hope our baby looks like you either way."
Suguru didn't expect the way your sentiment made him feel - his heart practically stuttering as the words left your lips. Something squeezing tight in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
But there were two sharp knocks on the door and suddenly it was swinging open, a peppy woman in shrugs stepping in with cheery greetings, waving and taking a seat on the other side of you to get started. Asking questions about names you had in mind and if you wanted to know the gender while she got set up, and it was silly, but it was like he had a crush on you all over again, watching you chat about the baby, how your eyes lit up just to get sheepish and almost embarrassed when you looked back at Suguru to find him staring.
It didn't take long for you to be slowly pulling the band of your sweatpants down, tissues stuck under it to keep the gel from getting on your clothes while you held up your sweatshirt high enough for her to spread the gel over your stomach, pressing down hard with the wand as the image pulled up on the projector. Taking measurements and checking body parts until she paused right as the baby turned.
"You see that?"
Not really.
"Sorta," You squinted, trying to squint and figure out what it is.
"Looks like you're having a girl!"
And all the earlier anxiety had dissolved, melted into the shy smile on your lips when you glanced back at him, your warm palm giving him a quick squeeze and an excited gleam in your eyes.
"We're gonna have a daughter," You talked so quiet, so soft, like you were still holding your breath.
A daughter. You voice, those words played on repeat the drive home, while you traced the outline of your baby's face on the roll of ultrasound photos you got sent home with.
"Suguru, are you even listening?" You snapped him out of his thoughts, the idea of what you'd look like with a little girl swaddled up in your arms, already planning on taking you out shopping again tomorrow for more baby outfits than any kid could actually need.
"Sorry, honey? What?" He apologized, placing a palm on your thigh and rubbing it while you hummed.
"I asked what you thought of the name Kiyoko," You repeated, setting the photos down on your lap to pull out your phone and probably look up lists of baby girl names.
"That's pretty," He hummed, mostly just enjoying hearing your enthused chatter next to him.
"Or Yumi?" He caught a glimpse of you with your eyebrow arched up as you asked, your attempt at a serious expression falling flat from the thrill you couldn't hide.
He never thought he'd be able to love another girl as much as you - but he guessed his daughter was the only exception.
It wasn't until he started to climb into bed next to you that night that he realized you might not know that.
"Um, Suguru?"
There was something off in the sound of your voice, how hesitant you were to roll over and face him.
"Something wrong, sweetheart?" He readjusted, propping himself up on his side as he brushed your hair out of your face.
"Are, um, you," You paused, frowning as you restarted your question. "Do you think you'll-"
He guessed you were giving up on whatever you wanted to ask as you groaned and buried your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.
"Sorry, just, pretend I didn't say anything," Your voice was muffled, clinging to him, fingers wrinkling his shirt and forcing it to ride up higher until a thin strip of skin was exposed.
"You sure?" He stroked your hair, returning your hug as he pulled you in closer with one strong arm.
"Yeah," You huffed, wiggling free and rolling over till you were between his legs.
He was about to slip his hands under your arms to tug you back up, but then you let one finger skim under his boxers, looking up and batting your eyes at him and he paused, the question he was about to ask dying on his tongue.
Yours seemed to have an idea of it's own.
Fingers ghosting over his dark happy trail while you bit your lip, slowly tugging down his boxers just enough to pull his cock out, already hard from watching you undress and ditch your daytime clothes for a thin slip earlier that hugged your swollen breasts before you'd crawled into bed.
"This for me?" You hummed, running your fingers over the thick vein pulsing along the side while he sucked in a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile on its own.
"Always," He murmured, the lump in his throat bobbing as you dragged your tongue along the length of him, mouth slowly wrapping around the tip.
God, it wasn't fucking fair.
How could he control himself when every part of you felt so good?
Head falling back on the pillow, jaw clenched as you slowly took him in inch-by-inch, swirling our tongue over him and down across the vein, traced the ridges until he was pressed up against the roof of your mouth, bumping into the back of your throat.
His hand grabbing your hair to help guide you, careful not to make you gag or bruise your throat, your fingers wrapped around his base to stroke what you couldn't fit in. Your moan when he pulled your hair harder than he meant to almost made him snap them and there.
Opening his eyes was his mistake.
He wished he could take a photo of this, the bob of your head and the way you peered up at him so pretty, his cock throbbing in your mouth and how eagerly your mouth softly sucked on him.
He barely pulled out before warm spurts of cum shot down your throat, meaning to cum on his own hand, but it didn't quite work. The thick almost translucent white coating your lips and making them glossy, half ending up on your face and the rest coating his hand as he roughly jerked long strokes.
"Fuck, sorry, I-"
You giggled, licking a little off your lips before wiping away at your cheek.
"It's fine, Sugu," You laughed, wiping your face off on his boxers, nose nuzzling through the fabric against his thigh. "Little warning, next time?"
"Yeah," He muttered, still dazed as he studied your face.
It seemed keeping it together wasn't something he could do when it came to you.
"Wanna shower?" You offered, getting off the bed, the bounce of your breasts as you carefully pulled your little nightdress off reminding him how badly he wanted to repay that favor.
"Sure," He shrugged, standing up after you and stepping out his boxers off before tossing them into the laundry basket.
He watched you get the water started, humming to yourself as you grabbed a new bottle of body wash from the cabinet underneath the sink and checked the temperature.
"Hey," He softly said, distracting you before you could step in.
"Yeah?" You paused, glancing over your shoulder at him.
"Wanna get married?"
You didn't react. Or maybe your lack of reaction was one in itself. A blank stare. A blink. Your hands still on the shower curtain.
"What?" You eventually choked out.
Suguru panicked - or came as close to panic as he could. Falling back on logic, all the facts you couldn't argue with.
"I was paying the bill for the last appointment, and you know, your insurance is terrible," He reasoned, keeping his expression serious, stoic, like you'd have to see his side. "I just think it'd make more sense for us to get married, use my insurance and save our money for the other important stuff."
He actually couldn't care less what the appointments cost or how much he spent on the baby - because he would make absolutely fucking sure you were both spoiled but, he wanted you to say yes.
"I can just pay for the appointments if that's the problem," You quietly murmured, a look on his face he'd never seen before he barely caught before you turned back around and stepped in the shower.
Shit.
He didn't have to guess to know that was a no.
Step five?
Try not to maim every guy that ever looked at you.
It had to be something instinctual - how it made his skin crawled whenever someone's shoulder brushed against yours on the street or a stare lingered too long on your face. Fuck, even Gojo sitting too-close to you had started to get to him, the easy way he slung his shoulder over the back of the couch and blabbered to you about his day while you laughed.
Normally, Suguru would not be silently struggling to maintain his polite smile when you offered to let Satoru feel the baby kick, new cracks starting to form in his facade as his best friend eagerly out his hand on your stomach.
"That's freaky," Gojo scrunched up his face, pulling his hand away at the first flutters of the kick.
"Jerk," You huffed, smacking his arm before struggling to readjust the pillows under your back, your own brows knitted together in frustration.
"Need something?" Suguru interrupted.
"I'm fine," You muttered, despite your discomfort.
"So, like," Gojo started, squinting down at your stomach before glance between you and Suguru. "Am I like, the godfather or-"
"Why not?" You shrugged right as Suguru shook his head no.
"Why not?" Gojo repeated in a whine, cutting him a look that only ever worked if you were the one directing it at him.
"I'd prefer my daughter lives off of more than chocolate and candy," Suguru sarcastically dismissed, scooting closer to you in the couch to slip the pillow that had been beside him underneath your back to help support it.
"I can cook," Satoru defensively protested, looking to your for support Suguru hoped he wouldn't received. "Besides, I have a great dentist so even if-"
"Shit, do we have to find her a dentist too?" You were ignoring the rest of his rambling, glancing back at Suguru with a frown at yet another task on the growing list of items to take care of.
"We can worry about that when she's actually here," Suguru shrugged, a hand settling on your shoulder and massaging the tense muscles there. "And has teeth."
"Okay," You sighed, still chewing on your bottom lip. You turned to your other side, your attention focusing again on your guest.
"You guys pick out a doctor yet?" Satoru asked, spreading his legs and leaning over to grab one of the still-warm cookies you baked after dinner. The sun had already set aside, only the glow from the TV and the kitchen light still on.
"Yeah, think so," You hummed, a hand resting on your stomach when you tried to get one too, pouting at your body's refusal to do what it used to until Suguru reached over to get the cookie for you.
"Got your hands pretty full, huh?" Satoru mumbled with his mouth still full, cookie crumbs sticking to his face.
"Suguru says we should just go ahead and get married," You sighed, taking another small bite before talking again. "For insurance stuff, I guess."
It was the first time you mentioned it in the past couple months since he first brought it up.
Satoru threw him a look like he was the biggest idiot on the planet before actually laughing.
"Just for insurance?" He cocked a brow up, an annoying glimmer of amusement flashing in the blue of his eyes while throwing Suguru a look that made him consider strangling his friend on the spot. "You know, my insurance is really-"
"Don't even think about it," Suguru shut him up before he could continue.
But you were glancing between them, a small frown weighing your lips down and a subtle crease between your brow. Were you actually disappointed?
"I'm actually pretty tired, guys, I, uh, think I'm gonna crash for the night," You mumbled, pushing up off the couch and ignoring Suguru's outstretched hand to stand on your own.
He could feel it sinking in his chest before you disappeared down the hall.
Another misstep. Pushing you away when he was trying to pull you closer.
"Insurance? Really?" Satoru snickered once you were out of earshot.
"Shut up," Suguru groaned.
"Just tell her you love her already and put a ring on it," He shrugged, leaning over to flick his arm. "Unless you want your kid to have a stepdad some day?"
Okay, Suguru really wanted to strangle him for suggesting that.
And it was his own fault for offering excuses, he knew that, still he didn't want to tell you he loved you and you think it was just because of the baby, or that was the only reason he was trying to tie you down to him. He wanted you to know he meant it.
To know he'd been waiting for the moment he could claim you his entire life, to call you his in every form, sign the paper and hear the word husband leave your lips.
Just being your boyfriend the past few months when you were having his baby was torture, enduring your unsure glances, the unease he tried and failed to kiss away.
What were you so scared of? And why was it him?
He still hadn't figured out by the time Satoru left, or when he eventually got in bed next to you, careful not to disturb your sleep - even if he suspected you were already awake.
Suguru was pretty sure he'd never been scared in his until he woke up to an empty bed. Cold sheets, no lingering body heat or even the scent of your shampoo clinging to your pillow when he rolled over to the empty space you should be.
Stumbling out of the bed still half-asleep himself, squinting as he rubbed his eyes and pushed open the bathroom door, but no, the lights were off and it was also empty. Calling out your name and crushing the budding anxiety clawing up his throat as he padded through the hall into the living room, the dim light from the kitchen hurting his eyes as they adjusted to the yellow glow.
His ears caught up first.
The faint sound of your sniffling reaching him as he rounded the corner to find you on the floor by the entryway, struggling to slip on your shoes, wearing t-shirt and sweatpants that didn't do much to hide your baby bump as you wiped at your cheeks with one hand. Dressed like you were planning on going somewhere, purse laying on the floor next to you, phone and keys hanging halfway out of it.
"Baby," He yawned, trying to speak softly as he glanced over at the clock. "It's three in the morning. What are you doing?"
"Can't sleep. I want a slushie," You mumbled, blinking a few times, clearly just as exhausted as him. There was a faint shine to your eyes, a few teardrops still clinging to your lashes.
"You should've woken me up," He murmured, gently squeezing your shoulder.
"It's just a stupid craving," You dismissed, rubbing your own eyes as you gave up and threw your shoe back on the ground.
It was the first one you'd told him about. He wasn't even sure you even had any, but maybe you'd just been taking care of them yourself.
"I'll get you one," He stifled another yawn while he talked. "Let me get a coat and my keys."
You grabbed onto the hem of his pajama pants to hold him in place, peeking up at him with a pout.
"You don't have to."
"You think I'm going to let my pregnant girlfriend go out by herself to get one?" Suguru retorted.
Your pout only got deeper at the word girlfriend.
"Forget about it," You murmured, letting go of his pajamas to push off the floor, once again ignoring his outstretched hand to try and stand by yourself. "Let's just go back to bed."
He knew he could ask if you were sure and you'd grumble something sarcastic back before going to sleep upset.
"Hey," He paused, stopping you with a hand on the curve of your waist, pulling you into him, until your baby bump, his daughter, was pressed against the firm muscle of his own stomach. "Let's go together, okay?"
"You really wanna?" You hesitated, clearly wanting to say yes despite the streak of stubbornness that usually won out over your softer side.
Suguru pressed a kiss against your forehead, his hand appreciatively running over your stomach just for the mini-you inside to kick, the flutter under his fingers only reminding him how easily the two of you had him wrapped around your own.
"It's you," He'd remind you however many times you needed. "Course I do."
Step six?
Get you whatever craving or late night treat you wanted - even if he felt like he was sleepwalking.
Still groggy, he threw on his own shoes and grabbed his stuff, helping you over to the couch so he could get down on his knees and help you get your shoes on, tugging one of his sweatshirts over your head, although you didn't drown in it any more, he thought it was cuter now, stretched over your baby bump like this.
Rubbing his eyes with yet another yawn while he insisted on holding open the car door for you and driving you to the nearest gas station/convenience store combo that had a functioning slushie machine, keeping his mouth shut about the terrible food dyes in it while you picked out a cup and pulled the dispenser down on the blue raspberry flavor. It was nice. Your head resting on his shoulder and happily sipping through the straw while he paid the equally tired cashier, your hand in his after he pocketed the receipt while you walked to the car, his thumb rubbing over the bare spot beneath your knuckle where a ring should be.
The one that had been tucked inside a box in his closet, buried under photo albums and souvenirs of a lifetime you'd already spent together. One he'd seen through the window of a jewelry store on the street, the glittering stone and the thin band, the little offset gems, something about it that made him think of what it'd look like on you. He bought it even though Satoru laughed at him the entire drive home.
"You're not even dating her."
Who else would you marry if not him?
He glanced back over at you as he turned the key in the ignition, your sleepy eyes and your pretty smile, the way your other hand was settled over the swell of your stomach.
His girls.
The drive back home was filled with the sort of chatter that used to be casual for you two - your happy giggle ringing in his ears while you talked about some reality show you wanted to watch with him, swearing it was stupid but he'd still like it anyway, your hand drifting over to his leg, pausing on his thigh while you asked what him and Satoru talked about after you went to sleep.
Your slushie was almost empty by the time you made it back, taking the last few sips before tossing it in the trash in the kitchen and giving him a little look like you wanted him to help get your shoes off but didn't want to ask.
He did it for you.
Following behind you to the bedroom, tossing his stuff on the nightstand and flicking the lamp back on to bathe the room in low light.
"Thank you, Sugu," You softly said, yawning as you peeled the sweatshirt off first, shuffling out of your pajama pants until you were just in a thin t-shirt and panties, and all he could fucking think was how could you be thanking him? When you were giving him his dream on the prettiest platter he'd ever seen?
"You're so-" He started, but you weren't finished, shyly avoiding his gaze as your mouth opened again. The mood had shifted again, your face scrunched up like you were sad.
"I just feel bad, you know?" He didn't. "You're just, so, perfect, and so you, and you got stuck with me and a baby you didn't plan on."
"Stuck with you?" He echoed, blinking blankly at you while you kept stumbling over your words.
"I just, uh, I want you to know you don't have to marry me just because you feel obligated to, you know, if, um, you met someone else-" You looked like you were going to be sick just saying it.
Was this what had you so worried?
"There isn't ever going to be anyone else," Suguru bluntly cut you off.
"You don't know that," You argued, struggling to be the better person, not to be greedy when that was exactly what he'd waited years for.
"I'm in love with you."
You froze.
Glossy eyes wide with surprise, your lips parted and stained blue still, shoulders tense.
He turned back to the closet, snagging the box of the shelf and tossing it on the bed, shuffling through loose photos and little gifts you'd given him through the years he couldn't bear to break or lose until he found the velvet box at the bottom.
Getting down on one knee was the second-easiest decision he ever made in his life. The first was choosing you to begin with.
"Sugu," Your voice quivered, breath hitching in your throat.
"I bought this for you three years ago," He admitted, dark eyes piercing through to you, studying the way your face seemed to glow from the light of the lamp. And sure, of all the ways he'd imagined this moment going, he never once pictured it like this. But that didn't matter. Because this was real. Raw. "I love you. I did then, and I do now, and if you ask me again in fifteen years, I'm sure I will then too."
He popped the ring box open, and he didn't think your mouth could drop open any more but it did, your cute little gasp making his pulse thrum louder in his ears while your attention flickered back-and-forth between his sharp stare and the ring he hoped you'd accept.
"Marry me."
It wasn't quite a question, or a plea. An open statement of affection, a quiet promise of a lifetime of it.
You swallowed, barely bobbing your head up and down in a nod at first, a slow smile taking shape on your lips like you still couldn't believe it.
"O-okay," You stammered, an airy laugh slipping out while you tried to blink away the disbelief. "I-"
He grabbed your left hand where it was still hanging by your side, plucking the ring out of the box and slipping it on your finger, swiveling it a little around the knuckle for it to sit snugly at the base.
"You're really serious? No take backs, okay?" You murmured, holding your hand up to admire the way it glittered even in the low light while he laughed. You tugged him up to his feet by his hand, pressing yourself against his chest and glancing up at him, a hint of something unsure still lingering in the lines of your face. "You're mine."
That was supposed to be his line.
Then. Now. Always.
"We can go sign the paperwork Monday if you want, or a wedding, before or after the baby-"
"I don't care how we do it," You interrupted him this time, reaching up to cup his cheek. The gentle touch, your soft fingertips, the adoration in your eyes when you got up on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"I always kinda wanted to see you in a white dress," He chuckled, grabbing your chin between his fingers to give you a proper kiss back, sucking on your lower lip, the taste of blue raspberry still on your tongue.
"Yeah? Seven months pregnant?" You laughed back when you broke away for a breath.
"You seriously have no idea what you do to me," He breathlessly murmured into your skin.
"You could show me," You tilted your head to the side, but your eyes flickered back to the ring on your finger, the proof of it already there.
"Tease," He muttered as his lips ghosted over your cheek, pulling you back over to the edge of the mattress. He used his free hand to tug the box back down to the floor, nudging it away with his foot.
Half past four in the morning and he was taking his fiancèe to bed instead of his girlfriend.
He made sure you were comfortable first, readjusting you until the pillows were nestled under your head, ignoring your giggles while he moved the blankets aside and climbed up after you, hooking a leg over his shoulder after he peeled your underwear down your thighs.
"I was kidding," You laughed while he licked a long stripe up the inside of your thigh, the sound turning into a pretty gasp when he dipped his tongue inside.
"I wasn't," His voice was muffled into your skin, fingers dipping against the soft flesh on your thigh and hip as he held on tighter, his tongue slipping inside deeper, dragging the muscle along the inside of your walls.
A taste he missed, too long since you last let him try it.
Your fingers tangled into his hair, moaning as he practiced steady patterns, pulling him closer into your heat while he used your hips like handlebars to refuse to let you squirm away from him again.
You still tried, writhing under the weight of his palms, although he knew his clipped nails wouldn't leave a mark.
"Oh," You squeaked, a cute strangled noise escaping when he dragged his tongue out and ran it over your clit, tracing small shapes with the tip of it.
"Better get used to being mine, baby," He hummed, peeking up to watch the way you still shivered at the sound of his voice, how you were finally about to be his in every sense of the word.
"I always was," Your lighthearted laugh cut off by another lewd moan, your hips still trying to arch up.
Planting open-mouthed kisses along your swollen bud while your fingers tugged at his scalp, your gasps of his name cut through the quiet.
Your thigh still up on his shoulder to give him easier access, the muscles pulling tense under his grip and the way your breath had started to stutter let him know you were close before you managed to barely stammer it out.
"Please, please, please."
Your legs were trembling, soft whimpers that were almost incoherent imprinting themselves in his memory while you unraveled underneath him, his tongue cleaning you up like it hadn't caused it. Teasing you before you managed to piece yourself back together, sucking softly on your oversensitive bundle of nerves just for you to let out a whine of his name.
"Tired, baby?" He couldn't help his smirk, leaving a kiss on the inside of your thigh before climbing off the bed to snag you a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser, slipping it up your legs for you so didn't have to do the awkward shuffle of getting it back on.
"Maybe," You admitted, rubbing your eyes as you patted the spot next to you for him to lay. "I am growing your baby."
He smiled.
"We can sleep in, alright?" He could feel his own eyes crinkle, flicking the light off on the lamp, the faint moonlight cutting the dark of the room. He pulled the covers up as he got in his side of the bed, readjusting until your head was resting on his chest.
Suguru usually got up before you, made breakfast and brewed the coffee and started the laundry, but tomorrow (or today, technically)? He would spend the sunrise holding you close and wait for you to wake up to take you out for brunch or lunch or whatever you wanted.
"Hey, Suguru?" You murmured, stifling a yawn as you peeked up at him through heavy lidded eyes.
"Mhm?" He stroked your hair back, admiring his future wife snuggled up in his arms.
"I love you."
want more dilf!Suguru with his post-partum wife? here!
summary — you're the star cheerleader who can't solve an equation to save your life. he's the brilliant physics student who can't figure out how to talk to girls. but when he becomes your last hope to save your failing math grade, you discover there's more to him than theorems and thick glasses. between tutoring and cheerleading, you find yourself falling for the nerd who gets flustered at a simple hello but kisses like he's studied the subject for years. turns out love might be the most complex variable either of you has ever tried to solve.
word count — 9.2 k
genre/tags — college AU, friends to lovers, opposites attract, tutor/student, nerd/cheerleader, academic setting, slow burn, protective!satoru, implied virgin!satoru, mutual pining, sweet fluff, idiots in love
warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, mentions of unwanted advances/harassment from a side character
author's note — hey lovelies ! surprise early valentine's day gift, because what's better than falling for your adorably genius tutor? grab your headphones, play "so high school" by taylor swift, and enjoy this story of sweet pining and study room makeouts. sending love to everyone spending their evenings with textbooks and studying. may your grades be high and your tutors be hot <3
masterlist + support my writing + art credit: @/3-aem
Satoru Gojo dealt in hard numbers, precise calculations and proven theorems. He could solve complex differential equations in his sleep and had memorized pi to a hundred digits just for fun. But there was one variable he could never quite figure out,
You.
You were everything he wasn't — popular, athletic, the kind of person who lit up a room just by existing. As captain of the college cheer squad, you moved through campus like you owned it, laughter and admiring glances followed you like a natural.
Satoru, on the other hand, preferred the quiet of the physics lab, the hushed rustle of pages in the library stacks. Quantum mechanics made more sense to him than the messy equations of human interaction.
So when Professor Nanami assigned him to be your maths tutor, Satoru thought it must be a glitch in the Matrix, a logical impossibility. You needed to maintain your GPA to stay on the squad, and apparently, he was the department's best shot at making that happen.
You recognized him the moment you walked into the study room — that quiet guy from your math class who always sat in the back, the one who seemed to solve complex equations like they were simple addition. You'd seen him around, of course, but you'd never really paid attention before. He was just... there. Part of the academic backdrop of college life, like migraines and coffee stains.
But now, as he looked up from his meticulously organized notes, something shifted. Maybe it was the way the afternoon light caught his white hair, or how his round glasses couldn't quite hide the startling blue of his eyes. Had they always been that blue? And when he spoke, his voice was deeper than you expected, rich and warm like honey.
"Uh, hi," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'm Satoru. Nanami-sensei said you needed a tutor. Maths, right?"
He stood from his chair, nearly knocking over a stack of textbooks in his haste to shake your hand. His hand, when you took it, was surprisingly warm and soft, though his grip was a little too tight, and you couldn't help but notice how he towered over you even with his slightly hunched posture.
Up close, you found yourself noticing things you'd somehow missed during all those lectures — like the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of his stubble, or the way his hand swallowed yours whole. Even the sweater vest he wore (which should have been insanely uncool) somehow worked for him in a way you couldn't quite explain.
"So… where do you want to start?"
And just like that, it began. Twice a week, tutoring sessions, afternoons that slowly evolved into something neither of you could quite solve for. Because here's what Satoru's calculations hadn't accounted for — the way you'd scrunch your nose when concentrating, the sudden brightness of your smile when you finally understood a concept, or how your perfume would make it impossible to focus on derivatives.
And your variables? They never included the endearing way he'd push his glasses up when flustered, how his eyes would light up when explaining complex theories, or the fact that beneath that nerdy shell lurked a wickedly sharp sense of humor.
But perhaps some equations weren't meant to be solved. Perhaps they're meant to be experienced, one tutoring session at a time.
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"Okay, explain to me again why I can't just try random numbers until something works?" You were sprawled across the library table, exhausted after hours of studying. Your head ached from staring at equations for so long, textbooks and papers strewn about in complete chaos.
Satoru rubbed his own tired eyes behind his glasses, but his voice remained patient as ever. Even after spending the entire afternoon explaining the same concepts, he hadn't shown a single sign of frustration. "Because that's not how calculus works. You need to understand the underlying principles—"
"But the underlying principles hate me." You dropped your head onto your textbook with a groan. "Can't we just agree that whoever invented all this shit was a sadist and call it a day?"
"Newton invented calculus," he said, then immediately regretted it when he saw your expression. "Though, uh, Leibniz developed it independently around the same time, which actually led to a controversy in the mathematical community—"
"Satoru," you cut him off, but there was fondness in your voice. "You're doing the thing again."
"What thing?" He pushed his glasses up.
"Your nerdy thing where you get all excited about math history." You sat up, propping your chin on your hand. "It's cute, but it's not helping me understand why this limit doesn't exist."
He nearly dropped his pencil. Had you just called him cute? No, you'd called his nerdy rambling cute. There was a difference. Probably. He'd have to analyze that later.
"Right, um, the limit." He cleared his throat, trying to remember how to form coherent sentences. "Think of it like a cheerleading routine."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Just... bear with me." He sketched a quick graph. "When you're doing a flip, there's a point where you're neither going up nor coming down, right? That's kind of like this limit—it's approaching a point where the function isn't quite doing either thing."
"Did you just... learn cheerleading terms to explain calculus to me?"
Heat crept up his neck. "I may have watched some videos. For educational purposes."
"That's..." you trailed off, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite calculate. "That's actually really sweet."
"Oh... uhm, I'm just trying to be a good tutor," he said, but his heart was doing something strange, something he'd never felt before. It definitely defied all known laws of physics.
"Well, Mr. Good Tutor," you leaned closer, and he caught another whiff of your perfume, "explain it to me again. Using more cheer analogies."
And so he did, drawing parallels between derivatives and tumbling passes, using formations to explain functions, and somehow, the math started making sense. By the end of the session, you'd not only grasped the concept but had also taught him the proper terms for various stunts. A fair trade, he thought, even if the librarian had shushed you both multiple times.
As you packed up your books, you paused, twirling your pencil in a way that completely distracted him from his thoughts. "Hey, we have a big game this Friday. Against State. I'll be cheering, obviously."
"Oh." He began cleaning his glasses, a nervous habit you'd come to find oddly endearing. "That's... good luck?"
"I'm inviting you, dummy." You rolled your eyes, but your smile was warm. "You should come watch. See how the other half lives."
"The other half meaning...?"
You gave him a look. "People who don't spend their Friday nights solving equations for fun."
"I... um..." A faint blush rose on his cheeks as he fumbled with his glasses. "I've never really been to a game before."
"Then it's time you finally have the full college experience." You shouldered your bag, then leaned down to write something on his notebook. "Here's my number. So you can text me when you get there. I'll make sure to wave at you during our halftime routine."
Before he could manage a response that wasn't completely pathetic, you were gone in a swish of pleated skirt and floral perfume, leaving him staring at your phone number like it was a problem set from the deepest reaches of abstract algebra.
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Satoru spent the next three days debating whether or not to text you, writing and rewriting messages that never got sent. What was the protocol here? Was there a specific formula for how long to wait? Should he reference tutoring to keep it professional?
In the end, you'd asked someone in his physics course for his number and texted him first,
You: Hope you're still planning to come to the game tomorrow! Look for me in the front of the formation.
He stared at his phone for so long his screen went dark. Then, taking a deep breath, he typed:
Satoru: Should I bring my textbook to study during halftime?
Your response was immediate: NO omg spare me! No books allowed! Just come watch me flip through the air.
Satoru: I'll try to come. Is there a dress code?
You: Great! Promise I'll make it worth your while & No dress code. But if you ask me, I'd say wear something blue. It suits your eyes.
Suits my eyes? he thought, a strange warmth spreading through him as he starred at the text. He’d never considered his eyes particularly noteworthy. They were just…blue. Nothing like yours, which were…well, yours were something else entirely. He couldn't quite describe them, but they were captivating, drawing him in like an infinite decimal, endlessly fascinating and impossible to fully comprehend. His own eyes, by comparison, felt plain, almost…functional.
Stop. He was overthinking this. It was just a game. He was just going to watch you cheer. That was all.
And that's how Satoru found himself standing in front of his mirror on Friday night, wearing the only casual clothes he owned — dark jeans and a blue button-down his sister had forced him to buy. Though he kept his favorite sweater vest over it. He'd even attempted to style his usually messy white hair, but it still fell in his eyes no matter what he did.
Walking into the packed stadium felt like stepping into another world. He had never been to a college game before — his weekends usually involved physics journals and quiet library corners, not roaring crowds and marching bands.
He found a seat near the front, as your text had instructed, and immediately spotted you warming up with the rest of the team. The energy you brought to math was nothing compared to this. Your movements were precise, athletic, stunning. Your uniform shimmered under the stadium lights and your smile could have lit up the entire campus.
When the game began, he tried to follow the action on the field, he really did. But his eyes kept gravitating towards you, leading your squad through each cheer. He found himself analyzing the physics of your movements — the perfect parabolic arc of your jumps, the calculated precision of each flip, the way you seemed to defy gravity itself when thrown into the air.
But it was during halftime that his brain truly short-circuited. Your squad took the field for their main routine, and there you were, front and center, exactly as promised. He watched in awe as you were lifted into complicated formations, your movements so graceful they made his carefully ordered world tilt on its axis. When you pulled off a series of flips that seemed to defy gravity, he actually found himself calculating the rotational velocity in his head, just to make sense of how you'd done it.
You spotted him in the crowd during one sequence, flashing him a smile that made him forget every equation he'd ever memorized from his mental hard drive. Your eyes met his just before you were launched into another stunt, and he swore his heart momentarily flatlined, a zero on the number line of his existence, until you landed safely.
Even from the bleachers, he could see how the effort brought a lovely pink blush to your cheeks, and yet you made it all look so effortless. You were radiant, breathtaking in a way that no mathematical formula could ever quantify. And in that moment, watching you shine in your element, Satoru realized he was in serious trouble.
After the routine, you broke away from your squad and made your way up to where he sat. Your face was still flushed, loose strands of hair clinging to your neck, and even slightly out of breath, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"So?" you asked, dropping onto the bench beside him. "How'd I do? Any notes on my rotational mechanics, professor?" Your attempt at a teasing smile turned into a slight wince as you rolled your shoulder.
"Are you okay?" His hands hover uncertainly near your shoulder.
"Just a bit sore. That last lift was..." You rolled your shoulder again, grimacing.
Without thinking, Satoru shrugged off his sweater vest and draped it over your shoulders. "You'll catch a cold." He noticed how the cooling sweat had left your arms covered in goosebumps. His vest was ridiculously large on you, but something about seeing you wrapped in his clothes made his heart do strange things in his chest.
"My hero." You smiled tiredly and pulled the vest tighter around you. It smelled like him, like clean laundry and whatever subtly pleasant cologne he wore. "But you didn't answer my question. What did you think?"
"I think you broke all known laws of physics out there. Your trajectory during that last flip sequence was..." He caught himself rambling on about angles and momentum and quickly changed course. "You were amazing."
You leaned your head against his shoulder, the simple gesture making his breath catch. "Thanks for coming. It's nice to see a familiar face in the crowd."
"You have plenty of people watching you," he said , hesitantly letting his arm settle around your shoulders when you shivered slightly. "The whole stadium was cheering for you."
"Yeah, but..." you paused, and he could feel your smile against his shoulder. "Somehow, seeing your face out there made me the happiest. Especially since I know this isn't really your scene."
"I'm glad I came," he said. "Though I did bring flash cards, just in case."
Your laugh was warm against his neck. "Of course you did, you giant nerd." There was unmistakable affection in your voice that made his pulse quicken.
"Someone has to keep your GPA up." He was proud that his voice remained steady, even as you snuggled closer into his side.
"Mmm, about that..." You stifled a yawn. "I might need extra help with derivatives next week."
"Of course." Satoru tried to ignore how right it felt to have you leaning against him. "Same time as always."
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The following week, something had shifted between you. Maybe it was because he'd seen you in your element, or because you were still wearing his sweater vest (which you'd "forgotten" to return), but the usual study room felt different somehow. Warmer. More intimate.
You'd chosen to sit closer to him than usual, close enough that your arm brushed his whenever you reached for your calculator all while the light, floral scent of your shampoo kept pulling his focus away from the equations.
"So, if we take the derivative here…" he began, but lost his train of thought when you leaned closer to see what he was writing, your ponytail brushing against his shoulder.
"Like this?" You picked up your pencil to attempt the problem, your free hand absently playing with the sleeve of his sweater vest you wore.
He had to clear his throat before speaking. "Almost. Here, let me show you." His hand covered yours as he guided your pencil through the correct steps, and he couldn't help but notice how soft your skin was, or how neither of you pulled away even after the equation was solved.
"You're a really good teacher, you know?" you said quietly, your hand still beneath his. "I actually understand this stuff now."
The proud smile you gave him made his heart flutter in his chest. Somehow, making you understand calculus felt more significant than any academic achievement he'd ever earned.
"You know," you said, finally pulling your hand away from his to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "you help me so much with all this. I feel like I should do something for you in return."
His glasses fogged up slightly as he rushed to respond. "Oh! No, you don't have to—I mean, this is... I enjoy—"
"Come on, there must be something." You turned in your chair to face him. "Oh! Do you need help meeting someone? Like, dating-wise?"
Satoru nearly chocked on air. "What?"
"Yeah! I mean, I could introduce you to someone! Actually, Sarah from my squad was just saying how smart guys are totally her type—"
"I'm not—" he started, then stopped, his cheeks flushing. "That is…I'm already…there's someone I…"
"Oh? Tell me! Who's the lucky girl?" You tried to keep your voice light and cheerful even as something heavy settled in your chest. You weren't sure why the thought of Satoru being interested in someone made your stomach twist so uncomfortably. After all, it made sense — he was brilliant, kind, and underneath those sweater vests and thick glasses, he was actually really handsome. Of course he'd have feelings for someone.
"It's... complicated. She's way out of my league. Popular, athletic, beautiful..." He trailed off, adjusting his glasses.
"Satoru Gojo," you said, poking his arm, ignoring the way your heart seemed to sink with each word he spoke about this mystery girl, "are you holding out on me? Come on, spill! Who is she? Maybe I can help—" Even as you offered, you realized you really, really didn't want to help him get together with anyone else.
"We should probably get back to derivatives," he cut in quickly, his face now completely red. "Don't you have a exam next week?"
"Right. Yeah. The exam." You turned back to your textbook, trying to focus on the equations that suddenly seemed blurry.
You found yourself stealing glances at him as he explained the next problem, wondering about this girl who had caught his attention. Was she in one of his advanced physics classes? Someone who could actually understand all the complex theories he got so excited about? The thought made your chest ache, like a bruise blooming beneath your ribs.
Satoru seemed equally distracted. His usually clear explanations were interrupted by nervous pauses whenever your hands accidentally brushed. He kept adjusting his glasses, and somehow managed to knock over his pencil three times in the span of five minutes.
"Sorry," he mumbled after the third time, both of you reaching for the pencil at the same time and quickly pulling back when your fingers touched. "I'm not usually this... I mean, I should be more..."
"It's okay." You smiled, even though your heart felt heavy. "We all have off days. Even brilliant tutors."
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and in his blue eyes, you saw a question hanging in the air between you. For a moment, it seemed like he might voice it, but then he quickly looked away, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Maybe we should call it a day." You needed to get out of there, needed space to process why knowing he liked someone hurt so much. "I think my brain is full of derivatives anyway."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Was it your imagination, or did he sound disappointed? "Same time next week?"
"Yeah," you managed, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You were still wearing his sweater vest, you realized. "Oh, I should give this back—"
"Keep it," he said quickly, then immediately looked like he regretted speaking. "I mean, if you want to. For studying. It might help with... derivatives."
"Derivatives. Right." You hugged the vest closer. "Well, thanks for today." You hesitated at the door, fingers playing nervously with the soft fabric of the vest. "Oh, um... we have another game next Friday. Against Eastern. If you're not too busy, maybe you could come? You don't have to, obviously, but it was nice having you there last time."
"I'll be there." And those simple words made you feel lighter than air.
"Great," you said. "And good luck with... you know. Your crush and everything."
You hurried out before he could respond, missing the way he watched you leave with a longing expression, or how he whispered "You have no idea" to the empty study room.
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The next Friday came quickly, and true to his word, Satoru was there in the same spot as last time, his blue eyes following your every movement. The game was going well, the energy in the stadium electric, and your squad was nailing every routine.
Then came the halftime show.
Everything started perfectly — the music, the formations, the stunts all flowing together just as practiced. You caught Satoru's eye just before your final sequence, his presence somehow both calming and exciting at the same time. But then something went wrong.
Your base thrower put too much power into the toss. You felt it the moment you left his hands. Too much height, too much force. Your trained body tried to adjust in the air, but the angle was off. Instead of landing cleanly in the waiting arms of your teammates, you came down awkwardly, taking most of the impact on your left side.
The crowd gasped. You bounced up immediately, muscle memory and pride making you finish the routine with a smile, even as pain shot through your shoulder and hip. Your squad mates shot you concerned looks, but you waved them off.
But as soon as the music ended and the crowd's attention returned to the game, you felt the full effect of the fall. Your vision swam slightly, and your left arm didn't want to move quite right. Still, you maintained your smile, not wanting to worry anyone.
After the game, you tried to slip away unnoticed, your shoulder still hurting from the bad landing, when Jake — your base thrower — cornered you near the locker rooms.
"Hey, wait up!" Jake had been trying to get your attention for weeks, his throws getting more aggressive as if he wanted to prove something. "You okay? That last stunt was pretty intense."
"I'm fine," you said curtly, taking a step back. "Though maybe next time try not to throw me into orbit?"
He moved closer, using his height to crowd your space. "Come on, don't be like that. I was just trying to make you look good out there. You know I'd never hurt you on purpose." His voice dropped lower as he leaned in. "Maybe I could make it up to you? There's a party at my place tonight..."
"I said I'm fine." You tried to step around him, but he blocked your path with his arm against the wall. "Jake, back off."
"Why are you being so cold? Everyone knows you're the best flyer on the squad, I was just trying to show that off. Besides," his eyes narrowed slightly, "I've seen how you've been spending time with that nerdy tutor. What's his deal anyway?"
"That's none of your—"
"Is there a problem here?"
Satoru's voice cut through the scene, surprisingly firm for someone who usually stumbled over casual greetings. He stepped between you and Jake, and for the first time, you realized just how physically imposing Satoru actually was. His usual oversized sweaters and shy demeanor had always made him seem smaller somehow, but standing next to Jake, you could see that Satoru was actually taller, his shoulders just as broad. Something about the way he positioned himself — protective, solid, unmovable — made your heart race.
"This is none of your business," Jake snapped, but you noticed how he took a small step back, clearly reassessing the situation now that he was face-to-face with someone who matched him physically.
"When you throw my friend at dangerous velocities and then proceed to intimidate her?" Satoru's voice was cold in a way you'd never heard before. "That makes it my business."
"Your friend?" Jake scoffed. "Since when does a nerd like you—"
"Back. Off." Each word was precise, and though Satoru's voice remained quiet, there was steel beneath the softness. He shifted slightly, making sure you were completely shielded behind him.
Something in his tone must have registered because Jake finally stepped back, holding up his hands. "Whatever, man. Didn't realize she had a bodyguard." He shot you one last look before walking away. "See you at practice."
The moment Jake was gone, Satoru turned to you, his stern expression melting into concern. "Are you okay? That landing looked bad, and now this... Do you need to report him? I can go with you to—"
"I'm okay," you said. "Just sore. And annoyed. Jake's been... difficult lately."
"He shouldn't have thrown you like that. The angle was completely wrong and the force way too much. I calculated the trajectory and it was at least thirty percent more power than necessary for—" He caught himself rambling and adjusted his glasses. "Sorry. I just... I was worried."
You couldn't help but smile at how quickly he'd switched from intimidating protector back to your adorably nervous tutor. It was also…endearing. And it did something strange to your insides, a fluttery sensation, like a thousand tiny butterflies had suddenly taken flight in your stomach. It was a feeling you couldn't quite name, but it made you want to lean closer to him, to thank him, to…something. You weren't sure what.
"Don't apologize. It's cute when you get all mathematical about things. And... thank you. For stepping in like that."
He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered by your praise. "Um, are you... hungry?"
You smiled. "Starving, actually."
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You and Satoru headed to the diner around the corner from the stadium, a cozy, retro place you loved — all chrome and neon, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox humming in the corner. You slid into a booth while Satoru ordered milkshakes and burgers for both of you, and somehow you weren't surprised that he remembered your favorite flavor from that one time you'd mentioned it during a study session weeks ago.
You talked about everything. Silly stories, your cheerleading, his lab accidents and he even revealed that he rock climbed in his spare time, which, you realized, explained a lot. You found yourself laughing more than you had in ages, and every time you made him laugh in return, that warm feeling in your chest grew stronger.
Before you knew it, two hours had passed, your milkshakes long empty and the burgers nothing but crumbs. The diner had mostly emptied out, the neon lights outside casting colorful shadows across your table.
"Is that what you want to do?" you said as your eyes fell on the physics textbook peeking out of Satoru's bag while you stole one of his remaining fries, "After college, I mean? Something with physics?"
"Yeah, I'm hoping to get into the quantum physics program. They only accept a few students each year, but their research on quantum entanglement is insane. They're working on this project with superconductors that could change how we think about wave function collapse. And their particle accelerator facility is one of the best in the country, so I really hope to..." he trailed off, suddenly looking shy. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you."
"No, not at all!" You found yourself genuinely interested in the way his whole face brightened when talking about physics. "It's nice seeing someone who knows exactly what they want."
"What about you?" he asked softly, pushing another fry your way. "Any plans?"
You sighed, slumping back in the booth. "Honestly? I have no idea. Something that doesn't involve math, that's for sure." You tried to laugh it off. "Maybe communications? Or business? I just... sometimes it feels like everyone else has it all figured out."
"You're actually better at math than you think. You just approach problems differently. More creatively. Like how you connected those derivatives to your cheer routines last week? That was smart."
You felt your face warm at his words and fidgeted with your straw wrapper. "You're just saying that because you're my tutor."
"I'm saying it because it's true." The firmness in his voice made you look up. His blue eyes met yours with an intensity that made you feel truly seen. "And whatever you choose to do, you'll be amazing at it. You're brilliant in ways that can't be measured by math."
Something in your chest squeezed at his words, at how completely sincere he sounded. No one had ever looked at you quite like that before, like they could see past the cheerleader uniform to something more. You opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself at a loss for words. Seeming to sense your nervousness, Satoru cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So, um... about earlier. Does that happen often? With Jake, I mean?"
You let out a heavy sigh. "Jake's been... persistent. We went on one date last semester. Probably the worst decision I've ever made. He spent the whole time talking about himself and got angry when I wouldn't kiss him goodnight." You stirred your melting milkshake absently. "Ever since then, he's been acting like he has some kind of claim on me. Using our stunts to show off, getting too close during practice."
"Has he hurt you before? During practice?"
"Not exactly, but..." you hesitated. "Sometimes the way he throws me feels more like he's trying to prove something than actually do the routine right. Like today."
"You should report him. What he's doing isn't safe. If he's letting his personal feelings affect—" Satoru's hands tightened around his milkshake glass. "Sorry, I just... I don't like the idea of him putting you at risk."
You paused at the sudden intensity of his words, and somehow they made your heart melt like ice cream on a summer day. "You're so sweet," you said quietly.
"I'm just worried," he replied, then quickly added, "As your tutor, I mean. Can't have my student getting injured."
"Right. As my tutor," you echoed, trying to ignore the strange ache at his words. "Of course."
The walk back to your dorm was quiet but comfortable, the night air cool against your skin. Satoru walked close enough that your arms occasionally brushed, sending little sparks through you each time. You found yourself walking slower than necessary, trying to stretch out these last few moments with him. When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly nervous.
"Thanks for everything tonight. The rescue, the dinner, just... everything."
"Anytime," he said softly, the streetlight catching his blue eyes, making them seem impossibly bright beneath his white lashes.
Before you could overthink it, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm under your lips, and you could feel him freeze at the contact. When you pulled back, his face was completely red, one hand touching the spot where you'd kissed him like he couldn't quite believe it had happened. His glasses were slightly fogged up, and something about how adorably flustered he looked made you brave.
"Can I ask you something?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "Have you... I mean, do you have much experience? With girls?" You immediately wanted to die of embarrassment. "Sorry, that's so personal, you don't have to—"
"No!" he blurted, then winced at how loud that came out. "I mean, not really. I've been... focused on academics mostly. And girls don't usually..." he trailed off, adjusting his glasses in that nervous way of his. "Why do you ask?"
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "Can I..." You swallowed hard, gathering every bit of strength you had. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?"
His eyes widened behind his glasses, lips parting in surprise. For a moment, he seemed to be running calculations in his head, processing your words like data input. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
Rising on your tiptoes again, you gently pressed your lips to his. He was completely still at first, seemingly frozen in shock, and for a terrifying moment you thought you'd made a horrible mistake. But then his hand came up to cup your face, surprisingly steady for someone who'd been so nervous moments before, and suddenly he was kissing you back.
And oh — for someone with "not really" any experience, he kissed like he'd been thinking about this for ages. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss with a confidence that made your knees weak. Your hands fisted in his sweater vest as his thumb stroked your cheek, and you couldn't help the small sound that escaped when he gently caught your lower lip between his.
When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathing hard. His glasses were completely fogged up now, but you could still see the intensity in his eyes behind them. He hadn't moved away completely, his hand still cupping your face, your bodies close enough that you could feel the slight trembling in his breathing as you tried to process how your adorably awkward tutor had just given you the best kiss of your life.
"See you at our next tutoring session?" His thumb brushed your cheek one last time before he slowly pulled back.
You could only manage a nod, your mind still fuzzy from the kiss. As you watched him walk away, occasionally glancing back at you with that sweet, slightly dazed smile, you realized math had suddenly become your favorite subject.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
You'd been staring at the same equation for ten minutes now, but none of the numbers made sense. How could they, when all you could think about was that kiss from the other night? The way Satoru's hand had felt on your face, how confidently he'd pulled you closer, the soft brush of his thumb against your cheek—
"Are you okay? You seem distracted."
His voice snapped you back to reality. You were in your usual study room, but everything felt different now. The space seemed smaller somehow, more crowded. The fact that it was unusually warm for spring didn't help. Satoru had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down to his elbows, his sweater vest abandoned over the back of his chair. You'd never realized how distracting forearms could be until now.
"I'm fine!" you said too quickly, forcing your eyes back to your textbook. "Just... struggling with this problem."
"Here, let me show you." He leaned closer and reached for your pencil, his hand brushing yours in the process. You both froze at the contact, the air between you growing thick with unspoken thoughts.
"Sorry," he murmured, but didn't move away. This close, you could see the faint freckles dusting his cheeks and nose, how his blue eyes darted briefly to your lips before returning to the textbook.
You weren't sure who was actually more distracted. You, who couldn't stop thinking about that kiss, or him, who kept adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat whenever your hands accidentally touched. The usual comfortable silence of your study sessions had turned electric, charged with everything neither of you were saying.
"Maybe we should take a break," you suggested, your voice coming out slightly breathless when he reached across you to grab an eraser, his arm brushing your shoulder.
"Right. Yeah. Good idea." He leaned back in his chair, both of you falling quiet. You could practically see him thinking, the way he always did before solving a complex problem, while your own thoughts kept drifting back to that kiss, to how surprisingly confident he'd been—
"About the other night—" you both started at the same time, then laughed nervously.
"You go first," he said, adjusting his glasses.
You took a deep breath. "I liked it." Your face felt hot, but you forced yourself to continue. "I mean the kiss. It was good. Like, really good. Which kind of surprised me because you said you didn't have much experience, and I was wondering..."
"If I lied?" He gave a small, self-ironic laugh. "No, I meant what I said. I haven't... I mean, there haven't been many girls. Actually," he cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at you, "there haven't been any. Girls, I mean. Before."
Your eyes widened. "Wait, was that your first kiss?"
"No! I mean… I've kissed a few girls before, but nothing serious. I was always too focused on academics to really... pursue anything."
Pursue anything? What did that even mean? Your mind was already racing with thoughts of how much you wanted to pursue everything with him. The study room suddenly felt too small, too warm. You stood up abruptly, needing to move, to do something with this nervous energy coursing through you.
After pacing a few steps, you turned back to him. "Would you... want to kiss me again?" The words came out in a rush, and you immediately wanted to take them back when you saw his stunned expression. "Sorry, that was probably too forward. If you don't want to, that's totally okay, I just thought—"
Your rambling stopped as Satoru stood and walked to the door behind you. He turned the lock with a soft click that made your breath catch. When he turned back to you, there was that confidence again, the kind that made you weak in the knees.
And then you were against the bookshelf, his hands cupping your face as his mouth found yours. This kiss was different from your first — more urgent, less hesitant. One of his hands slid into your hair, the other dropped to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.
You gasped against his lips, your hands gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he'd been thinking about this all day — which, based on how distracted you'd both been during studying, he probably had.
He pressed your back further against the bookshelf, the force of his kiss sending several books tumbling to the floor. Neither of you paid any attention. You were too focused on his hand tightening in your hair, the surprising strength of his grip on your waist.
Then, without warning, his hands slid down to your thighs, and he lifted you effortlessly. You gasped in surprise. All those times you’d wondered about the strength of his broad shoulders hidden beneath his sweater vests… turns out you hadn't been imagining things. He carried you to the study table, setting you gently on the edge.
You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively as he stepped between them, one of his hands bracing on the table beside you while the other cupped your face. His kiss deepened, his tongue tracing your lips before slipping inside. "Is this okay?" he murmured against your mouth, always thoughtful even in moments like this.
You nodded, pulling him closer by his shirt. "More than okay."
"Would you want me to—I mean… can I... try something?"
Try? What does he want to try? Your pulse quickened and you simply nodded, not trusting your voice, already breathless from how he said 'try' like you were his favorite research subject.
His lips found yours again as he gently pressed you back against the table, your math notes scattering forgotten to the floor. His mouth moved to your neck, drawing a soft gasp from you while one hand traced down your side with surprising confidence, his body fitting perfectly between your legs. And you began to wonder, for someone who claimed to be inexperienced, Satoru seemed to know exactly what he was doing — and if this was him being inexperienced, heaven help you when he gained some confidence.
His mouth then traveled lower and lower, lifting one of your legs up over his shoulder so that he could kiss down your inner thighs and your last coherent thought, before his lips were on you, was that some lessons were definitely best learned outside textbooks.
Everything that followed were barely contained curses and moans as Satoru pushed two fingers inside, pressing deep and slow while his tongue worked on you. It wasn't long before you came, you back arched, pressing closer to him as you reached your climax, your thighs involuntarily closing around his head. But he was quick to react, grabbing your thighs and spreading them apart, his tongue still on you, drawing out every last shudder of your orgasm until you thought you couldn't take it anymore, your fingers tightening in his hair, not sure if you wanted him closer or to pull him off you.
It took you a few moments to come back to reality. Your breathing heavy, body still trembling as you tried to process what just happened. Your brilliant, sweet, cute, nerdy math tutor had just made you cum on that table in the study room of your college in a matter of minutes — and it was better than any long sex you'd ever had with anyone else.
Satoru slowly eased his fingers out of you and kissed your thighs again, as if he couldn't get enough of you. You didn't say anything for a long time, so he must have been getting nervous, because then he asked, "Was that... okay?"
You pushed yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He adjusted his glasses, which were clearly covered with something liquid you were sure came from you, in that adorably nervous way of his.
"Okay?" You let out a breathless laugh. "How are you so... I mean, where did you learn to...?"
"I'm good at… studying."
You were silent.
"Hah?"
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
The days following your tutoring session in the study room felt like walking through a dream. Neither of you had explicitly talked about what happened — what it meant, what you were to each other now. Your study sessions continued like always, like he hadn’t made you cum on this precise table with his mouth just a few days before. So much for being inexperienced.
Satoru remained surprisingly composed, if a bit more touchy than before. His hand lingered on your lower back when he leaned in to check your work, his fingers brushing strands of hair behind your ear when you concentrated. You caught him watching you with that intense blue gaze more often, though he'd quickly look away and adjust his glasses when you met his eyes.
You figured he was waiting until after your upcoming exam, not wanting to distract you more than he already did. Though honestly, how were you supposed to focus on math when all you could think about was his hands, his mouth, the way he'd— okay, let's not go there.
At least cheerleading practice had gotten better. Jake had done a complete 180° shift in behavior. No more aggressive throws, no more hovering around after practice, not even the usual suggestive comments. It was almost unsettling how quickly he'd backed off, though you weren't about to question the peace.
It was during one of your regular study sessions, while you were working through practice problems for your upcoming exam, that Satoru finally brought it up.
"How has Jake been lately?"
"Oh, uhm… actually, really good. Well, not good exactly, more like... absent?" You tapped your own pencil against your textbook thoughtfully. "He barely speaks to me anymore, which is weird considering how persistent he was before. It's like someone scared him off or..." You paused, the pieces suddenly clicking together. "Satoru, did you say something to him?"
He pushed his glasses up, a tell you'd learned meant he was either nervous or hiding something. "We may have had a conversation."
"A conversation," you repeated flatly.
"About physics." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Specifically about force, momentum, and the potential consequences of their misuse."
"Satoru!"
"What?" He finally looked up at you, and there was that flash of confidence again, the kind that made your heart flutter. "I simply explained some basic principles. Like how someone with my understanding of applied physics could theoretically calculate exactly how much force it would take to—"
"You threatened him with physics?" You weren't sure whether to be horrified or impressed.
"It was more like an educational discussion." His blue eyes met yours, surprisingly serious. "I don't like seeing people I care about being put in dangerous situations."
Your heart stuttered at his words. People he cared about. That was... something. Maybe not a definition of what you were to each other, but definitely something.
"So," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite your racing pulse, "you care about me?"
His hand stilled on the page. For a moment, he just looked at you, and the intensity in his gaze made you forget how to breathe. "Didn't what happened in this room last week make that fairly obvious?"
Heat rushed to your face at the memory. "We haven't really talked about that."
"No," he agreed softly. "We haven't."
The air between you grew thick with longing. Your practice problems lay forgotten as you both gravitated closer, drawn together like opposing charges in one of his physics equations.
"I wanted to wait," he admitted. "Until after your exam. I didn't want to..." He swallowed hard as you shifted closer. "To distract you."
"You're always distracting," you whispered, close enough now to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "With your stupid glasses and your physics metaphors and the way you explain math like it's poetry."
His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek in that way that made you melt. "We should probably talk about this properly."
"Probably," you agreed, already leaning in.
"After your exam," he murmured against your lips.
"After my exam," you echoed, and then his mouth was on yours, and for a while, neither of you did much talking at all.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
You almost floated through the library's quiet halls, clutching your exam results to your chest. The paper was slightly crumpled from how many times you'd unfolded and refolded it, just to make sure the grade was real. Third highest in the course. You. In maths. It felt surreal.
The library was nearly empty, everyone else either at the game or starting their weekend celebrations. You should have been there too, in your uniform leading cheers, but your shoulder still hurt slightly from that bad landing last week. As much as you hated missing a game, the forced rest had given you extra time to study, which clearly paid off.
Besides, you knew exactly where to find him — the same spot where he always studied on Friday nights, tucked away in the far corner between the physics and mathematics sections.
Sure enough, there he was, surrounded by his usual fortress of textbooks. His white hair caught the warm light from the desk lamp, falling into his eyes as he bent over what looked like quantum mechanics homework. He hadn't noticed you yet, and for a moment you just watched him, feeling your heart swell with affection for this brilliant, ridiculous man who had somehow made you understand derivatives.
"Guess who got an A?" you announced, dropping into the chair across from him.
Satoru's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening behind his glasses. "You got your results?"
You slid the paper across to him, unable to contain your smile. "Third highest in the course. Can you believe it?"
He scanned the paper, and the pride that bloomed across his face made your chest tight. "I can absolutely believe it." His smile was soft, genuine. "You worked so hard for this."
"I had a pretty amazing tutor," you said. "Thank you. For believing I could do this even when I didn't."
"You did all the work. I just helped you see what was already there." But as he spoke, you noticed something in his expression — a tightness around his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders. Now that your excitement was settling, you could see his exhaustion.
"Are you okay? You look... stressed."
He let out a long breath, running his hand through his already messy white hair. "That obvious, huh?" He gestured to the complex equations covering his notebook. "I've been working on this quantum mechanics assignment. There's this one problem that's just..." He trailed off, frustration evident in his voice.
"Wait, something the great Satoru Gojo can't solve?" you teased gently, but your smile faded when you saw the genuine worry in his eyes. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Since..." He glanced at his watch and winced. "Before sunrise?"
You looked at the dark windows, realizing the sun had long since set. "You've been here all day?"
"Had to get it right." He stifled a yawn. "It's an important assignment and I just can't seem to get it right."
"You need a break."
"But I'm so close, I can feel it. If I just—" His words cut off as you disappeared under the table. He looked down, eyes widening behind his glasses as you crawl under the table to his side and settled between his legs.
"What are you..." His voice caught as your hands slid up his thighs. "Someone could—"
"The library's empty." Your fingers were already working on his belt. "And you need to relax."
"This is a terrible idea," he said, but his breathing had already grown uneven.
"Then tell me to stop." You looked up at him through your lashes, enjoying how his pupils dilated. Instead of answering, his hand slid into your hair, and you took that as permission to help him forget about quantum mechanics for a while.
His breath hitched as you undid the button of his pants, the zipper sliding down with a soft hiss. His cock was bigger than you'd thought, and your eyes widened slightly as you took in the sight, your fingers tracing the length, feeling his veins beneath your touch. Why is it always the quiet guys with the biggest cocks?
You moved slowly at first, wanting to give him the full experience if this was to be his first blowjob ever, your breath ghosting over him before you finally took him into your mouth. You started with just the tip, your tongue swirling around it, tasting his precum, before licking along the sensitive underside of his shaft, and then sealing your lips around him.
"Oh god, that's... that's—fuck it’s so good." His head tilted back, eyes closing, his voice strained with the effort of keeping quiet.
His hand tightened in your hair, not pushing but holding, gently guiding your movements. With his other hand, he gripped his math notes on the table, the pages crinkling under his tight grasp as if they were his last hold on sanity.
You took him deep and Satoru swore he could see stars. His moans became more urgent, less restrained. "Yes, just like that, oh fuck, feels so good." His words broken by throaty moans that he tried to muffle with his free hand pressed against his mouth. "You're going to make me—oh god, so close."
His thighs tensed under your hands, his breathing becoming ragged. You could feel every shudder, every twitch of his body. "I'm gonna— I'm—" His words cut off as his orgasm hit, his body tensing, his hand holding your head firmly but gently as he spilled into your mouth, his cum hot against your tongue. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," he gasped, a series of curses tumbling from his lips and amidst the swearing, you swear you caught a fragment of a mathematical theorem, though you might have misheard.
Afterwards, his body trembled, his breathing heavy and uneven, his grip on your hair loosening as he slumped back in his chair, completely spent. "God, that was... fuck, that was amazing."
"Still thinking about that assignment?" you asked innocently, emerging from under the desk to find him looking like a mess, with his face flushed, glasses askew, and his white hair a bit damp around his forehead as he tried to regain his breathing.
"I... I can't even remember my own name right now." He pulled you into his lap for a kiss. His thumb traced your cheek as he kissed you gently, making your heart flutter in your chest.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
A few weeks later, your head rested comfortably in Satoru's lap as you watched him read through his graded quantum mechanics assignment. Warm sunshine filtered through cherry blossoms above, casting dappled shadows across your shared blanket beneath the old tree on a lazy spring afternoon on campus. A gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh grass and early flowers, ruffling his white hair as he studied the papers held above you.
His glasses caught the sunlight, making his blue eyes look like summer sky caught in glass. Your own textbook lay forgotten beside you on the blanket. You were more interested in watching Satoru and the slight smile that played on his lips.
"So?" you finally asked, reaching up to poke his cheek. "How did you do?"
He looked down at you. "Perfect score." He tilted the paper so you could see the bold A marked in red at the top.
"I knew you could do it!" you exclaimed, reaching up to cup his cheek. "My brilliant quantum genius." You sat up, turning to face him properly, your knees brushing his thighs on the blanket. "I am so proud of you. But I didn't expect less from my tutor."
He leaned into your touch, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "Speaking of tutoring, have you checked your final grade for the semester?"
You had, actually — multiple times, still not quite believing it. "A solid A. Turns out I'm not so bad at maths."
"You were always good at it," he said softly, brushing a fallen petal from your shoulder. "You just needed someone to help you see it differently." He paused, adjusting his glasses in that endearingly nervous way of his, the lenses catching the golden afternoon light. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little sad our tutoring sessions are over."
"Who says they have to be?" You leaned into him. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "I'm taking Advanced Calculus next semester."
His eyebrows shot up. "Voluntarily?"
"Well," you played with the collar of his sweater vest, "I heard the TA for that class is really cute. Bit of a nerd, but in a hot way. Plus, I have it on good authority that he's dating this amazing cheerleader…"
"Is he now?" His hands tightened on your waist. "Sounds like a lucky guy."
"Oh, he is." You leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Though not as lucky as she is."
He caught your chin and tilted your face up to his. "I love you," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't just made your heart stop with those three words.
"I love you too," you whispered back, and when he kissed you, it was sweet and warm like the spring sunshine itself, perfect and precious as the moment suspended around you, there beneath the trees where your love had grown from equations into something far more beautiful.
You intertwined your fingers with his, loving how perfectly they fit together, and couldn't help but smile at how perfectly everything had worked out. Who would have thought that one failing grade in maths would lead to this? To finding love in derivatives and fun in mathematics, to discovering that the quiet genius in the back of class would become your everything?
But then again, maybe it was all just simple math: one struggling student plus one brilliant tutor, multiplied by countless study sessions, divided by shy laughter and hesitant kisses, equals a love story that even mathematics couldn't complicate.
And that was an equation you were more than happy to solve.
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author's note — thank you so much for reading !! to be honest, i've been feeling pretty stuck lately with my longer series, doubting my writing and wondering if i'd lost my spark or so. but i think this story is quite cute and i had so much fun writing it. there's just something so sweet about those library crushes, and falling in love between the pages of textbooks. hope you enjoyed it too !
for more stories check out my masterlist. your support means the world to me. until next time, lots of love & happy early valentine's day <3
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tattoartist!suguru losing nonchalance when reader flirts with him?
im down bad for him holy hell
Oh, he's falling to pieces, got it bad for the girl he just met 'n he's gonna make a drunk little bet — y'think he's crazy enough to get your name tattooed on him? Or crazy enough to ink his name into your skin?
ㅤ★ wc; ~3k
ㅤ★ note; continuation of tattoo artist Suguru Geto!
ㅤ★ an; aaa!! you got my brain whirring like a laptop... tysm and i hope this makes u blush and kick ur feet as much as i did while writing!! 🍰✨
“So, was she joking, or am I your type?” Suguru asks, black eyes staring right into your soul.
“Mm, well…” you hum, giving his form a look-over – god, if only you could feel how hard his heart’s beating when you do this. “Maybe.” You reply teasingly.
“Aw, just ‘maybe’?” he groans, now leaning his hip against the edge of the display case that housed the studs and gauge earrings.
“Yeah, just ‘maybe’ – I’m teasing. No, she wasn’t joking; I’ve always had a thing for the black hair, black nails, bad boy look…”
“The ‘bad boy’ look…?” he questions, recalling what your friend had said earlier about bad boys being just your type.
“Yeah, the ‘bad boy’ look.” You giggle.
His heart beats even harder, muttering a naughty little “Well, lucky me.”
“Nah, not so fast – I’m a smart woman.” You warn.
“Oh, are you?” he clicks his tongue in defeat, “Damn, would you believe that my type is smart women? No, no I’m serious… I’ve got a thing for smart women.”
Your cheeks grow hot, the heat spreading to your ears.
“I can assure you that the ‘bad boy’ look is just an aesthetic; I’m really an artsy dork making a living off doodling on people’s bodies.” He shrugs.
“Hm… maybe, maybe not.”
You rub your lips together. He briefly licks his bottom lip. You look him up and down. He looks you up and down. Body language open and alive with attraction, the both of you stand in this air of electric tension that Shoko spies from the other end of the room.
She watches as the two of you giggle like little flirts, observing how totally absorbed the two of you are in each other’s company. When you catch her eye, Shoko gives you a wink and points at her wrist, mouthing “five more” – fair enough, the two of you have promised to get pizza.
Pizza first, boys later, right?
Five minutes more go by – adding to the total of four hours spent at the tattoo & piercing parlor. But despite her discomfort and need for a change of scenery, Shoko decides to linger around just a little longer so that the two of you can indulge in each other just a little more.
But now you're getting nervous – Suguru has you breathless, holding you in a battle of who can flirt harder? which you're starting to lose.
He's captivated by you. This 6’3, tattooed, goth-grunge, slightly dorky man chuckles and smiles like he hasn’t had this much fun talking flirting with someone in years.
It's going well, then your smile trips him up. I know, it’s always the smile, huh? If you see enough of it, you slip… and that’s exactly what's happened to Suguru. He quickly grows obsessed with the way your cheeks look when you smile – the image burns into his memory without him even realizing it in the moment.
No, in the moment he doesn't realize the magnitude of your effect on him. He's just thinking about himself, about you, about —
“I’ve gotta go,” you say goodbye finally, “I don’t want to keep my friend waiting. But you’ll probably see my face here again… she loves dragging me along for these kinds of things.”
He stutters, “Oh! Oh… yeah – yes. Of course. Looking forward to it… maybe next time, you’ll be the one getting ink in your skin.”
“Yeah right.” You smile.
It’s your French exit that makes his heart throb in need.
No, don’t leave yet… I like you – don’t you ever wonder how many acquaintances in your life have thought this when leaving your company? And you’ll never even know.
Oh, Suguru was thinking so hard about asking you to exchange numbers or to meet up for coffee, but he didn’t want to come off as too forward – no, no… he had to maintain his mysteriousness. Or at least, he had to cling to whatever was left of it after revealing his inner dorkiness to you.
*****
After you leave, he wanders in and out of his studio, has small interactions with his co-workers, and doodles ideas for tattoos down.
Throughout all of these things, your face is at the forefront of his mind. Your voice echoes in his head as he recalls every detail of the conversation you two shared. Then he starts smiling softly as he applauds himself for being so gutsily flirty with you… a stranger, just someone, who he probably won’t see again…
A girl with no name.
God, why was he so slow? He didn’t even ask for your name. Suguru groans.
Yes, he probably won’t see you again… not unless your friend brings you along for her next visit. How long does he have to wait? Weeks? Months? That’s insane.
Suguru stops doodling, stares at the scrap of paper, and then looks up at the wall displaying his works. He rubs his fingers back and forth across his mouth.
I gotta.
He looks over to his phone. He reaches for it, takes it into his veiny hand, unlocks it, and scrolls through his list of contacts.
And then he dials his client’s number. Shoko Ieri.
*****
Now, it’s been just under an hour since you and Shoko left the tattoo parlour. She’s complained three times about the pain because exactly three times she has leaned back on the seat – squishing the fresh ink wound against her chair. You just cruelly laugh at how her eyes twitch in pain and each time.
The two of you sit eating pizza.
“He liked you. Why don’t we go back and you ask him for his number?” she teases.
“No way… he’ll think I’m too forward.” You shake your head.
Then three minutes later, Shoko's phone goes off. She reaches into her backpack. She looks at the caller ID, then at you, then at the caller ID, then –
“… is that him?”
“It’s him.”
“What’s he calling for! Me?”
“Absolutely he’s calling for you – I can bet gold on that.”
It stops ringing. She tells you she’ll text him back but guess what? She doesn’t even need to, because he calls again.
“Relentless.” She giggles. “I’m answering.”
“Pretend I’m not here!”
She winks at you and answers, “Hey, Suguru, what’s up?”
The two of you lean in until your foreheads press together – it’s still hard to make out every word.
“Yo.” You hear his smooth voice coming from the other side, “Sorry to bother you… (muffled)… your friend (muffled)… so embarrassed, so don’t tell her that I’m calling… (muffled)… what was her name?”
You clap your hand over your mouth when you hear those snippets.
She gives you a devious look before saying, “Oh! Well, she’s right here with me, actually, so you can ask her yourself.”
Mouth full of pizza, you freak out and X your arms to signal a fat NO WAY SHOKO! and fall to pieces all with the taste of pepperoni on your tongue.
But she just hands the phone over to you anyways, then proceeds to silently laugh as you spit out your pizza before talking.
“Hehlooo?”
“H-hey.”
You get right to the point. “My name’s Yn…”
“Oh… I like that… I’m Suguru.”
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Suguru. Suguru Geto.” He raises his voice.
Cheek hot against the screen of his phone, Suguru is silently freaking out at the tense silence. He can feel his stomach starting to flip. His mind blanks.
“Anyways! Um, that’s all.”
No. That’s not all. He has a novel’s length worth of things to talk about with you.
At this point, Shoko rolls her eyes at the two of you being so awkward on the phone and decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands.
So she snatches the phone from you.
“ – Suguru? Say, you wouldn’t be free on Saturday, would ya? Yeah, I’m going on a date with this guy… and I’d love to make it a double date with you and Yn if you’d like to –”
You hear him stutter out a yes, absolutely before Shoko can even finish her sentence. She grins.
Suguru can sense that the two of you are smiling and giggling. He can predict that the two of you are probably going to gossip about him being the 'dork from the tattoo parlor that called not once, but twice for the name of a girl he just met' – but he doesn’t care. He’s been presented an opportunity and taken it.
To hell with seeming too eager.
When the call ends, Suguru blows out a breath through his lips. Then he promptly texts his best friend. Dark strands of hair slip out of his sloppy bun as he puts his face over the screen, thumbs swift and eager.
Toru 🤞😜
lol bravo... but i thought u said she was out of ur league??
Sugu
i mean... yes. she's way too pretty and smart for me. but i'm not gonna pass up this opportunity
Toru 🤞😜
still can't believe u called ur client just to get her friend’s name... lol
Sugu
you would understand if you met her ok
Toru 🤞😜
damn she must be something else
Yes, yes you are something else — Suguru can’t even begin to describe why. Translating his thoughts into words isn’t his thing; he translates them into art.
****
It's later in the day. You're lazing around Shoko's apartment.
She confirms the time and place of the double date, and cackles on her couch while kicking her feet, teasing you for being so crazy about a guy you just met – her tattoo artist.
You just couldn’t stop talking about Geto Suguru.
“Shiiit, should I even let you and a bad boy like him be alone in a room together?”
“I can control myself.” you assure her.
She slowly shakes her head at you.
“Yeah right… but can he? I don't trust neither of you... miss crazy and mister crazy... you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”
You giggle to yourself, biting your thumb. “Maybe…”
“Oh girl…” she groans, causing you to giggle into yourself, “You’re gonna be licking the tail of his dragon tattoo by the end of the date tomorrow.”
“H-h-he has a what? And where?” you stuttered, lashes quivering.
She shakes her head at you. “God, you’re screwed…”
*****
It's Saturday night. The bar's more alive than ever.
You've learned that Geto Suguru does, in fact, have a dragon tattoo inked up his toned arm – and a tight-fitting black tank top that shows it off along with his martial artist’s physique, too.
He’s got a glint of the devil in his black eyes. Softly-delivered dirty jokes ready to roll off his pierced tongue. A habit of tilting his head and looking hungrily at your lips and neck.
“Martial arts, huh?” you ask with stars in your eyes.
“Mhm, I could teach you a few things.” He purrs in reply.
Your stomach starts squeezing and flipping – that’s got to be the flirtiest 'mhm' that you’ve ever heard in your whole life.
“You think so?” you purr back.
Now it’s his turn to feel that squeezy, flippy feeling in his stomach.
Fuckfuckfuck is all he could think when he looks into your eyes.
I’m gonna fall to pieces. You’re gonna be the death of me.
“Uh… do you two need some privacy?” Shoko teases.
Oh. It’s a double date. How could you forget? Shoko is literally sitting beside you at the bar with her date. But for a second there, it really felt like it was just you 'n this deliciously tattooed bad boy.
“Maybe.” Suguru chuckles coyly.
“There’s a hotel just next door…”
“Shoko!” you scold, playfully shoving her arm.
She giggles into herself, sipping down her cocktail innocently as if she didn’t just electrify the air between you and Suguru. His throat’s tensing, foot’s tapping up and down on the bar stool – boy’s got long spider-legs, huh?
Now after that, Suguru grins wider – showing off his pretty canines – his posture assuming something self-soothing; he holds his elbows, arms squished against his ribcage, which just makes his biceps more pronounced. Oh why, why did he have to wear a tank top like that? Surely he’s aware of the effect it has on girls. Or maybe he’s oblivious…
Nah. He's not.
*****
“Did it hurt?” you ask, trying to blink out the tipsiness from your love-drunk eyes but you’ve got three cosmopolitans surging through your veins.
“Not really… I’ve got great pain tolerance.” Suguru replies.
“Oh really?” you blink up at him again and his mind goes blank.
“Look at that...” He murmurs softly, not breaking eye contact with you. Where’s your friend and her date? Who knows. It’s just you and him now – and that’s all he wanted.
“Hm?”
“Not every day I see eyes like that…”
You widen your lips into a smile, “You’re laying it on thick.”
“Am I? Sorry – see, this is what happens after you feed Suguru too much rum. I just can’t keep my mouth shut.”
“That’s terrible… need someone to shut ya up?” you flirt.
He tilts his head at you, loose strands of hair shifting across his cheek. His left brow quirks up – he’s so taken aback by your forwardness but he falls right into it.
You just giggle flirtatiously after making that comment and pull the straw of your drink between your lips, sucking the remnants of a cosmopolitan into your mouth as sensually as you dare to in front of a bad boy who’s got bedroom eyes on you.
“I think I could do with some shutting up…” he admits.
“Mm,” you hum, “y’think by our third date you’re gonna snap and kiss me hard like we’re in a movie?”
Suguru smiles bashfully and looks down into his drink, swirling the melting ice cubes with a straw – slowly, round and round, they clink. Then he draws his gaze back to you, catching you with a sultry side-eye, and now it’s not just the ice cubes that are melting.
“Nah-uh…”
“Nah-uh?” you question.
“… I think it’s you who’s gonna snap first.” He says.
“Wanna bet?” you tease.
“Sure. What’ll be at stake?” he asks.
He keeps his sultry gaze on you as you look off to the side in thought for a moment. Your friend’s joke echoes in your mind.
“… you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”
Then you look back to him – his heart throbs but he’s trying to keep it together here, pulling his straw to his lips to get a sip of whatever rum still exists in his glass.
“Loser gets a regrettable tattoo?” you suggest.
He looks at you with a little bit of disbelief at your boldness.
“How regrettable?” he questions, one eye squinting shut in suspicion. He's wondering just how wild you actually are.
“Like my name on you? Or vice versa.”
He covers his mouth and lets out a chuckle hearing this. “You want me to tattoo my name on ya skin?” he teases. “Sure, I’ll bet on that.”
You can’t believe that he’s matching your crazy.
You stutter, replying only after a lingering moment of hot eye contact, “… there’s no way I’m gonna snap first…” you say boldly, proceeding to pop the cherry of your drink into your mouth and eating it right in front of the poor boy’s eyes. “ ‘m gonna have you walkin’ around with my name on you.”
Eyes glued on your lips, his breath catches in his throat.
“Yeah?”
Ooh, there it was. That feeling. That body singing electric songs feeling… that tummy-tightening, blood-rushing, skin-flushing feeling – it hit him all at once. He knows that if he were standing, his knees would have buckled now for sure, or at least he would have felt the tremor of your words under his feet.
He’s unsteady – smiling uncontrollably, looking dishevelled and softly drunk. Those rouge lips are begging to be kissed.
The bar grows quieter and quieter.
You’re hardly able to call each other anything more than strangers, and yet you’re leaning into him, closing the distance.
The tips of your noses are just inches apart now. You’re in each other’s air. He eyes out your lips, feels your hot, liquor-scented breath tickle his face.
But when you try and close the distance, he raises his hand and presses his thumb against your soft lips, stopping you.
“What happened to that bold statement, huh? Keep it together, baby; the bet’s on.” He feathers against your face.
*****
Tumbling into Shoko’s apartment after a night out drinking, you smile and giggle into the pillows of her bed.
She’s letting her hair down and swapping out her tight dress for jammies when she looks at you in your gleeful state.
“Someone’s in love.” She teases, coming over to tickle you.
“I’m not in love!”
“Oh, quit the act; I saw how the two of you said goodbye – you could barely hold yourself together. Drunk or not, I ain’t seen two adults giggling like that before.”
“Sh!” you swat her, “Not! In! Love!”
She takes a look into your eyes and observes your smile, then shakes her head. You're drowsy, so you make a dive into her bed and fall asleep almost instantly.
Shoko pulls a blanket over you, affectionately ruffling your hair.
loser boyfriend!nanami who decides to take you, his gorgeous girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, on a date to a fancy restaurant for your anniversary. he ensures that he leaves work as soon as the hour hand on his watch hits 6. maybe he'll even leave the office a minute early.
loser boyfriend!nanami who combs his hair back with his fingers and tightly fastens his tie for the umpteenth time before knocking on your door. shakily wiping his sweaty palms against the sides of his slacks, he reveals a large bouquet of flowers when you open the door.
loser boyfriend!nanami who can barely keep his cock from straining in his pants when he sees the tight dress you're wearing for the date. he subtly adjusts the front of his pants, the tips of his ears flushing a bit as he speaks, "you look beautiful, sweetheart."
loser boyfriend!nanami who tries to ignore the feeling of his length twitching when you stand on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, breath warm against his cheek and your deliciously sweet perfume weighing heavily on him.
loser boyfriend!nanami who can't help the way his gaze lingers on you as he drives to the restaurant, not without noticing the way your own dart towards his obvious bulge.
loser boyfriend!nanami who guides you inside with a hand on your lower back like a gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pushing it closer to the table before taking a seat across from you. he watches your glossy lips form a small smile, pretty eyes reflecting the light above your heads. how did he get so lucky?
loser boyfriend!nanami who only just realizes how impossibly hard he is when he feels a foot nudge his thighs further apart. his slightly narrowed eyes flicker down to your lips, where the smile once was, a faint smirk now adorning them.
loser boyfriend!nanami who sends you a glance when you continue trailing your foot up his inner thigh in a torturously slow manner. but, of course, he knows better than anyone else what you're asking for. he should've guessed with the way you stared at him earlier.
loser boyfriend!nanami who holds in a groan when your ass brushes against his bulge as he helps you out of your chair. sucking in a sharp breath, he holds your hips and pulls you taught against his chest for a moment.
loser boyfriend!nanami who finds himself giving into your sickly sweet pleas and takes you to the bathroom because he can't ever say no to you. you really do have him wrapped around your finger and eating out the palm of your hand.
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