How fratboy sukuna changes after soft!reader and him are togetherá„«áĄ.
This is a reference to this series
Frat king.
Thatâs what they called him, some still do, the title used to live under his skin, when the neon lights beamed off the walls, and girls were hanging off his arms while that smirk cut through the haze like a sharp blade. Attention was easy and addictive.
For a while it served him, it was enough.
The parties still happen, red cups are still littered everywhere, his frat bros still chant his name while he walks into the house late, broad shoulders filling up the doorway, posture still showing
but he doesnât bask in it anymore. It doesnât give him that rush, which used to fill his veins.
Because now,
The king has been conquered,
By you.
And the worst part? He almost lost you before, He makes sure that it never happens again.
He works on it everyday since you got together, who would have thought sukuna would change in such ways.
Heâs attentive in a way that almost feels unreal once you know who he used to be.
Sukuna notices everything now.
Not just the big things either. Not just the obvious , but tiny things. The kind of details people only catch when theyâre looking at someone carefully, constantly.
He notices when your smile starts looking tired instead of happy. Notices when you get quiet in crowded rooms and instinctively shifts closer, big hand settling against your lower back like an anchor. Notices when youâre picking at your nails too much and silently pulls your hands into his lap to stop you.
You mention liking a snack once and suddenly the kitchen is stocked with it.
You say your shoulders hurt after studying and heâs behind you ten minutes later, rubbing slow pressure into the knots without saying a word.
You get cold easily, so his hoodies start appearing around you before you even ask. Thatâs been a thing since the first time you wore his hoodie that night. Draped over your shoulders at parties. Left folded on your dorm chair. Tossed at your face with a muttered, âPut it on before you start shivering.â
And the thing is, he remembers.
Everything.
The old Sukuna forgot names by morning. Forgot conversations five minutes after having them. But with you? He remembers your coffee order, your exam dates, the movie that made you cry when you were twelve, the fact you hate sleeping angry because it makes your chest hurt.
He listens now, really does, because he learned the hard way what happens when he doesnât.
Sometimes you catch him watching you during parties.
Not in the arrogant way he used to look at people, like they existed for his entertainment. His eyes are softer now, With Fondness. Almost disbelieving.
Like he still canât fully process that you chose to stay after seeing the ugliest parts of him.
And Sukuna repays that trust with devotion.
By making sure you eat when you forget.
By charging your dead phone before you notice.
By walking on the outside of the sidewalk without thinking about it.
By memorizing your moods like theyâre coursework he refuses to fail again.
By getting you notes when you miss a class because he knows you work hard.
Heâd rather carve tenderness into his own bones than ever be the reason your eyes lose that softness again.
Yeah, Sukuna wouldnât have it any other way á„«áĄ.
note: this is just whatever, just wanted to write something <3
sukuna was tired of the bitchy girls he always had to deal with â wether they were from a one night stand or a girl that got hooked from his flirty antics, it always ends the same way â he rejects them and they run off to start rumors.
so yeah, he was done with girls. okay,maybe not completely, he still had some late night fucks after a party, but not without making clear that's where it ends. but other than that, he basically quit the game.
imagine his surprise when he fell in love with a stranger not even a week after that. yes, you heard that right, he the playboy himself fell in love. no less than with a girl he didn't even know before.
it wasn't an extraordinary day or night, just their usual frat parties where half the campus would come to drink or make out with someone. except this time, his eyes landed on a woman who couldn't look more out of place â even while being dressed up all pretty, a look on her face like she couldn't wait to get back home.
if someone told him that not even ten minutes after spotting you, he would have a conversation about how he had the perfect nipple atonomy for piercings, he would laugh or look at them like they were crazy. except this time, he's not laughing.
"i'm serious, have you never thought about it? they are like the perfect size and color." he's unsure how to respond â he's not even sure if he should answer at all.
"...no? i mean maybe? like one or two times." his usual confident, flirty voice falters, like it's the first time a girl talks to him without showering him in compliments. like he's expecting you to laugh it off and tell him you're joking.
well, you're not. "you probably should, dude. but don't let the same piercer as the one who did your eyebrow piercing do it. it's really off center." sukuna takes in second to replay your words in his head, and when they finally connect, he looks like he aged ten years.
"excuse me?"
you don't seem to notice his passive aggressive tone, or you just blatantly chose to ignore it. "yeah it should be way over here. yours almost looks like an centered one." you apparently also don't notice the way he genuinly flinches when you reach to point with your finger at the right placement.
he doesn't even try to look or understand where you're poking him â he's just looking at you with a dumbfounded expression. and god knows why, he felt fucking butterflies in his stomach, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.
there's just no way he, out of all people is feeling a spark because a girl is criticising his uneven piercing. he pushes the thoughts aside and a small smirk forms on his lips. "you know, that's not how i thought the conversation was gonna go."
and bless your heart, because you genuinly have no idea what's strange about this conversation. "oh, i'm sorry, did you want to talk about something else?" you sound extremly worried all of a sudden, like you didn't mean to hurt his feelings.
your strange personality doesn't seem to shy away the man infront of you â no, he's even more intrigued now. "how come i don't know the name of such a pretty girl?" it's supposed to be flirty, but sukuna should probaly have known better.
"that's probably because we never talked before. usually people tell you their name when you meet for the first time. otherwise people may think you're stalking them because that's kinda creepy knowing someone's name without asking y'know. but i know you're sukuna, not because im some weirdo who's stalking you it's just you're known as the community dick no offense intended."
the more you ramble on the more sukuna looks like any hope he had to take you to his room left his eyes. he probably should've known you wouldn't take the hint â definetly his fault. after a second of processing your speech his eyebrows shoot up in a mix of confusion and offense?
"...community dick?" his mouth open and closes like he wants to add something to his queestion but he has no idea what to say. the worried look on your face returns for the second time this evening, realising you're talking before thinking.
"no, yes, kind of? there's like nothing wrong if you like pleasuring women , actually that's like really nice of you, it's kinda empowering y'know like feminist and all."
any sign of seriousness leaves his expression and a rare sight for the fratking â a genuine laugh escaping him at your poor attempt of sweet talking yourslef out of calling him a slut.
there aren't many moments where sukuna actually really laughs when talking to girls â a charming smile being all it takes for most to drop their panties.however, it seemed like you had no interest in dropping anything at all.
except for your drink.
right on his bare chest.
it was an accident â truly, someone shoved you off balance and your drink spilled right on his abs, the sudden cold liquid making him hiss at the contact.
his eyes look down at his muscles seeing them drenched in a sticky substance, the alcohol making it's way down to wet his pants.
you gasp, hand covering your mouth. "oh my god â i'm so sorry. there are like no napkins anywhere nearâ wait i have an idea." he's about to tell you it's no big deal, he was shirtless after all â he could just jump into the pool or whatever but he stops dead in his tracks when you bend down.
right until you're face to face with his stomach.
he's about to ask you what you're doing â but freezes instead the moment your tongue darts out to lick the drink. "wh-what are you doing?" he sounds genuinely at a loss of words. you only answer after making sure no liquid would have time to go under his pants. "all good! your pants are totally save now no worries."
well he is worried â just not about his pants, but the boner he hopes you won't notice. he's unsure if this was supposed to be some kind of seducing tactic â but looking at your innocent expression he discards that idea. you really had just licked a man who you met ten minutes ago and looked like you had no idea how it looked to anyone watching.
there's a rare pink tint at the tips of his ears and he opens his mouth to say anything â but closes it once he realises he has no clue what to say. he also really doesn't know if he should feel as turned on as he is.
"thank you..?" it comes out like a question, like he's unsure if he should be thanking you. you're either ignoring his bewildered expression or you just don't even notice it at all.
"you're welcome. no prob." there's a moment of silence, neither of you knowing what to say until he breaks it.
"so is there a chance i can get your number?" to make sure you understand where he's going with this he adds, " romantically."
yeah he may have not thought the evening would turn out like this, but who is he to complain if his girl got a lil kick to her? after all â he still bagged the number.
Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat â blocked.
He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.
Blocked.
âDamn,â one of the guys laughs. âShe actually did it.â
Gojo scoffs like it doesnât matter. âIâll get her back,â he says cockily.
Like heâs not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.
The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.
So he broke up with you.
Clean and quick.
Two weeks later, heâs drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.
And somehow thatâs when he realizes something feels wrong.
âââ-
The First Attempt
He tries texting.
It doesnât go through. Still blocked.
He laughs to himself. âDramatic much.â
But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.
Except the front desk girl just shrugs. âSheâs not here.â
Gojo frowns, âWhat do you mean sheâs not here?â
âMeans sheâs not here.â
He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.
The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.
Flowers
A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and babyâs breath.
Attached card: âSG <3
He doesnât even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.
The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.
Still no message back.
The Letters
Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.
The first one is simple.
I know you blocked me. I deserve it.
Let me know if you wanna talk
-Satoru <3
No response.
The second one is longer.
I didnât break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.
Please unblock me xoxo
The third one is messy.
He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.
I keep looking for you around campus.
You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You werenât there. Are you avoiding me?
- Toru
Your Favorite Snacks
The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.
Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.
Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.
The desk girl starts recognizing his name. âAnother one from the football guy. I told him you werenât here again like you asked.â
Meanwhile
Gojoâs reputation doesnât change. Heâs still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.
But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isnât there.
The First Time He Sees You Again
Itâs raining. Heâs leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.
For a second he thinks he imagined it.
But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.
The look on your face isnât anger. Itâs worse.
Itâs indifference.
You turn and keep walking. Gojoâs heart drops straight into his stomach. He canât let you escape after all this time of chasing you.
âHeyâ!â
You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. ââŠWhat?â Your voice is calm.
Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. âIâdid you get the letters?â
âYes.â
ââŠAnd?âŠwill you please talk to me?â
You stare at him for a long moment âGoodnight, Gojo.â
Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.
summary. Geto Suguru built a world with hatred, chose conviction over compassion. But when you smiled at himâlooked at him like he could be human, heâs tearing it all down, piece by piece, just to be near you.
word count. 12.9k (whoopsie daisy)
content. mdni fem! reader, canon-divergent au, slowburn, geto being torn between ideology and love, angst, mutual pining, tension tension tension, forbidden romance, emotional whiplash, pet names, fluff, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, cowgirl, praise, creampie, pillow talk, geto falls so hard
author's note. started bawling watching hidden inventory arc again so i thought of this
They infest the world like vermin. Powerless, ignorant, and yet so loud. So demanding. Non-sorcerersâmonkeys, as he calls themâhave always been the root of everything cursed. A plague that breeds more curses with every selfish desire and fear they exude.
Geto Suguru once believed it was his duty to protect them. To save them from the horrors they couldnât see. But experience breeds bitterness. Enlightenment, as he now calls it, showed him the truth: salvation doesn't lie in protection.
It lies in eradication.
A world without monkeys, a world without curses. Itâs a beautiful dream, one he's willing to stain his hands for.
And nothingâno oneâwas ever meant to come between him and that dream.
Until you did.
-
The first time he sees you, itâs by pure accident.
Youâre not supposed to be there. That part of town, that street, that hourâit belongs to his world now, infested with the filth of curses and the chaos of the jujutsu underground. Yet there you are, a non-sorcerer in every sense of the word, standing beneath the awning of a store with a grocery bag in your hand, humming to yourself as if the world isnât rotting around you.
Suguru notices you from across the street. He shouldnât have. He was mid-conversation with one of his followers, something about an exorcism gone wrongâbut then his eyes flicker to you. Just for a second. He looks away.
And then looks back.
Thereâs something about the way you move. The softness. The calm. Youâre not like the othersâscreaming into their phones, laughing too loud, careless in a world that demands caution. No. You're not like them at all.
He canât explain it, but for the first time in years, the word âmonkeyâ doesnât come to mind.
He watches you turn the corner and vanish from sight. His follower asks him if somethingâs wrong.
Suguru only says, âNo. Itâs nothing.â
But it isnât nothing. Itâs the start of the unraveling.
You donât hear him at first.
You're crouched down, trying to retrieve a tangerine thatâs rolled out of your bag and into the gutter, muttering something under your breath about how this always happens when you try to save plastic. You donât even register the footsteps behind you until a voiceâsmooth and strangely calmâcuts through the night air.
âYou. I havenât seen you around here.â
You freeze. Straighten. Turn slowly.
Thereâs a man standing a few feet away. Long, dark hair tied back loosely into a half-bun, strands falling around his face, and dressed in traditional monkâs robes that seem too pristine for the dusty settingâhe stands out, like a figure misplaced in time.
âUh... I donât come this way often,â you say cautiously, fingers tightening around your bag. âJust passing through.â
Suguru studies you. You can feel itâhis eyes tracing every detail of your face, the slight tremble in your fingers, the way you still haven't stepped back even though you probably should. Most people flinch under his stare. Most people recognize something dark in him.
You donât.
And thatâs what makes it worse.
He should walk away. Let you disappear down that alley and never think of you again.
He hums, the sound low in his throat. âThat so?â A small, unreadable smile tugs at his lips. âNot many outsiders stumble this deep into our territory. Especially not alone.â
Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, a chill racing up your spine despite the sun overhead. âDidnât realize this was anyoneâs territory.â
âIt is now,â he says simply, gaze never leaving yours. âYou should be more careful. Not everyone around here is as kind as I am.â
The words land oddly. Kind. There's nothing particularly kind about the way he watches youâintensely, like heâs trying to solve a puzzle you didnât know you were part of.
But still you donât move. Something about him roots you to the spot.
âYou live around here?â he asks.
You nod slowly. âNot far.â
He hums. âStrange. Iâd remember seeing you.â
Thereâs a pause. His gaze lingers just a second longerâheavy, unreadableâand then:
And without another word, he turns and walks awayârobes whispering against the ground, the sound of his steps fading as quickly as he appeared.
You're left staring after him, unsure if you feel safer or more on edge than before.
-
It happens at a gatheringânot loud or chaotic, but something ritualistic in nature. People flock around low fires and soft chanting, incense curling into the air like ghosts. Youâre there again. This time, you linger. You observe. A stranger standing just close enough to the edge to be noticed.
He sees you first.
You havenât spotted him yetâyour gaze is fixed on a group of followers weaving through the crowd, your expression unreadable. Suguru watches you from a distance, arms folded inside the loose sleeves of his monk's robe, hair half-tied and swaying as the breeze catches it.
Youâre back. He doesnât know why that matters to him, only that it does.
He makes his way toward youânot with urgency, but purpose. Thereâs a small pause before he speaks, voice low enough to only reach you.
âCurious little thing, arenât you?â
You turn, surprise flickering across your face before recognition softens your features. You donât smileâbut you donât frown either.
âYou,â you say again, breath catching on the word. âI didnât expect to see you.â
âI live here,â he says, tone even. âYouâre the visitor.â
You donât answer right away. His eyes search yoursâcalm but calculating. As if trying to decide what box to place you in. Friend, enemy, or something else entirely.
âI wanted to understand,â you say quietly, âwhat this place really is.â
He tilts his head slightly. âAnd what do you think so far?â
âIâm still deciding.â
That gets the ghost of a smile from him. Something restrained, but present.
He takes a step closer. âItâs dangerous to linger in places you donât understand.â
âIâve been in worse,â you say, lifting your chin just a little.
His eyes narrow, intrigued.
He nods, gaze lingering a beat too long.Â
And then he turns, leaving you standing there, heart thrumming a little too loud in the quiet.
-
The day is warm. Quiet. The kind of peace that feels too fragile to last.
You take your time along the sidewalk, admiring how the sunlight filters through the trees, the way it paints soft gold over laughing children and weary parents sprawled across picnic blankets. For once, it feels like the world isn't spinning too fast.
But then you see him.
Under the shade of a tree, seated aloneâhim.
That man again.
His gaze sweeps the park slowly, dark eyes sharp and distant, like heâs cataloging each face with a kind of silent disdain. He looks⊠out of place. Not just in posture, but in presenceâsomething about him hums with restrained tension, like a string pulled too tight.
You hesitate, curious. The last time you met, he intrigued you. Now, youâre drawn in by the quiet contradiction of him: monkâs robes draped over a body too tense, too sharp, to belong to someone at peace. A face too beautiful to hold that much bitterness.
Still, you walk toward him.
He notices you when youâre a few steps away. The tension doesnât leave him entirelyâbut something in his expression shifts. His mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. His eyes lose some of that cold edge, replaced by something else.
Curiosity. Amusement. Interest.
He doesn't speak. Not yet. He's too busy trying to figure you out.
Why you? Why does the sight of you not repulse him like the others? Why does your presence settle into his chest instead of rotting beneath his skin like everyone elseâs?
It canât be your faceâno, he isnât that shallow.
âHi!â you greet, voice soft and light. Your smile is easy, unguarded. Like youâve never had to be afraid of someone like him.
Suguruâs heart kicks hard against his ribs.
âSo we meet again,â you add, tipping your head to the side. âQuite the coincidence.â
He hums, eyes still locked on you, like heâs trying to read between your words.
You shift your weight slightly, brows raised, smile unwavering.
âTwice is a coincidence,â you say. âThrice is fate. Maybe we should get to know each other.â
Something tightens in his chest. Normally, that kind of line from a non-sorcerer would have him scoffing, turning away, brushing it off with a sneer. But youâre different. He doesnât want to turn away.
He wants to stay. To answer you. To know why you make the noise in his head quiet down for a moment.
So, for once, Suguru Geto doesnât walk away.
Instead, he shifts, patting the spot next to him on the grass.
âThen maybe,â he murmurs, âyou should sit.â
You blink at his response, a little surprised. You hadnât expected him to entertain you, let alone invite you. But you donât question it. Instead, you lower yourself beside him, settling into the grass, a respectful distance apart.
For a few seconds, you sit in silence.
Then, your voice cuts through it gently, âSo⊠do you come to this park often?â
His eyes flick toward you, amused. âThatâs a terrible opening line.â
You laugh. âMaybe. But it worked, didnât it?â
A soft huff escapes him. Almost a chuckle.
You glance at him from the corner of your eye. âSo⊠what do you do?â
He pauses, considering you. âYou ask a lot of questions.â
âIâm curious.â
That piques him more than it should. His gaze lingers on youâyour open expression, the lack of wariness in your eyes.
âYou wouldnât believe me if I told you.â
âTry me.â
A beat of silence. Then he shrugs, eyes drifting back to the crowd in front of him. âLetâs just say I lead a very... isolated life.â
You smile. âThatâs not ominous at all.â
Another quiet laugh, and you swear itâs the first time youâve truly heard it. Soft. Warm. Like it doesnât belong in someone like him.
âYou have a name?â you ask.
He glances at you again, something unreadable passing through his expression.
ââŠSuguru.â
You repeat it quietly. âSuguru.â
The way it rolls off your tongue makes his chest tighten.
âAnd you?â he asks, almost cautiously.
You give your name, and something strange happens when he hears it. His gaze sharpens for a momentâlike heâs locking it into memory. Like itâs important.
And then, like the sharpness never existed, he relaxes again, leaning back on his palms. The sunlight filters through the trees, catching on his dark hair, the soft sway of his robe.
âDo you always talk to strangers in parks?â he asks.
âOnly the ones who wear monk robes and look like they have secrets.â
He huffs a quiet laugh again. âYouâre strange.â
You smile, eyes on the sky. âSo Iâve been told.â
And beside you, Suguru thinks maybeâjust maybeâstrange isnât so bad after all.
-
Itâs late when the fire dies down. Most of the followers have retreated to their quarters, leaving only ash and silence in their wake. Suguru remains seated, legs folded beneath him, back straight despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs.
But he canât rest. Not with you on his mind.
He shouldâve known this would happen. Shouldâve turned you away the second he saw that spark of curiosity in your eyes. Shouldâve told you to run, to stay far from places like thisâfrom people like him.
Instead, he let you stay. Let you speak. Let you look at him like thatâlike he wasnât some twisted, broken thing. Like he could still be good.
Foolish.
He exhales slowly, pressing his knuckles against his lips, as if trying to physically restrain the thoughts crawling up his throat.
He doesnât even know you. And yetâ
The way your voice softens when youâre unsure. The slight tilt of your head when youâre thinking. The way you listenânot just to respond, but to understand. He remembers all of it.
Why do I care?
Inferior. Helpless. A breeding ground for curses. The root of everything heâs come to despise.
But you?
You make him hesitate.
That alone is dangerous.
Suguruâs hand tightens into a fist, jaw clenched. He closes his eyes and tries to smother the thought before it fully bloomsâbut itâs already too late.
What am I doing? he thinks. Why does it feel like Iâm slipping back into the person I used to be?
A person who protected people like you.
He tells himself itâs weakness. A fleeting curiosity, nothing more. Itâll pass. It has to.
But when he pictures your faceâgentle, confused, lit by firelightâit doesnât feel fleeting at all.
It feels like the beginning of a crack.
One that threatens to ruin everything heâs built.
-
It had been happening slowlyâso slowly he hadnât even noticed it at first.
The way his feet wandered to the same park when he had no reason to be there. The way he scanned faces in a crowd, hopingâno, expectingâto see that familiar smile again. That warm, soft voice still echoing faintly in his mind days after their last meeting.
And Manami noticed.
She always noticed.
âSuguru,â her voice cuts into his thoughts one evening, when the sun is dipping behind the rooftops and the village has quieted. âYouâre different now.â
He barely glances her way. âHow so?â
She scoffs. âYou know what I mean. Youâve been zoning out during gatherings, missing details, forgetting things. You hardly speak unless spoken to. And itâs been happening ever sinceââ she pauses, eyes narrowing, ââever since you met that monkey at the ritual two weeks ago.â
Thereâs a sharp shift in his energy.
His brows draw in, eyes narrowing. âDonât call her that.â
That alone is enough for her to raise her brows, a slow, sardonic smile tugging at her lips. âOh? Her, is it?â
Suguru doesnât respond. His jaw ticks. His posture grows stiff and tall.
âOh, please,â Manami drawls. âDonât tell me youâve caught feelings for someone like her.â
His silence is louder than a scream.
Manami crosses her arms, unimpressed. âSheâs a non-sorcerer, Suguru. A human like all the rest. You said it yourselfâcurses are born of them. They are the root of all evil. Have you forgotten?â
His voice is low. Cold. âI havenât forgotten.â
âThen what is this?â she snaps. âYou think youâre subtle? You think we donât see the way you soften when sheâs mentioned? The way youâve started hesitating?â
His lips part as if to defend himselfâbut there are no words.
Because sheâs right.
Because he is hesitating.
Because something in him fractures every time he hears you laugh, or watches the way your eyes light up when you speak. You were supposed to be like the rest. But youâre not. Why arenât you?
And worse than that⊠he doesn't want you to be.
-
It was quiet here. Tucked away behind the village's outer border was a secluded hillside where the wind whispered through tall grass, the sun dripping gold over the landscape. A rare pocket of peace in a world Suguru had deemed far too polluted.
He stood at the edge of the hill, arms crossed, eyes far off into the horizonâbut his thoughts weren't on the view.
They were on you.
Every smile, every word, every accidental brush of your fingers against his arm played like a loop in his head. He hated it. Hated the way you lingered.
He was a leader. A savior. A visionary. What would his followers think if they saw how his mind driftedâwho it drifted to? A non-sorcerer. A monkey. The very thing heâd sworn to cleanse from this world.
He shouldnât feel this way.
And yetâ
âOh,â your voice cut gently through the breeze. âI didnât realize you would be here.â
He turned, eyes catching yours.
You were smilingâbut it faltered the moment he said nothing.
He should ignore you. He should walk away. But he didn't. Couldn't. And when your expression shiftedâconfusion curling into something softer, something hurtâsomething twisted painfully in his chest.
âAre you okay?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. âDid I⊠do something wrong?â
He shouldâve stayed silent.
But his voice came out low, harsh. âYou have no idea what youâre dealing with.â
You blinked, caught off guard. âWhatâŠ?â
âYou donât belong here,â he said, sharper this time. âNot in this part of town. Not around people like me.â
Your face crumpled with the force of the words, confusion morphing into disbelief. Why did it sting so much?
Youâd only spoken a handful of times. Just simple conversations, nothing deep. So why did it feel like your heart had dropped into your stomach?
âWhat do you mean by⊠donât belong?â you asked quietly, voice trembling.
But he didnât answer. He couldnât.
His jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and walked away.
Each step felt like a betrayal.
Each step felt like a dagger he drove into his own chest.
Because the further he got from you, the more unbearable the distance became.
And he couldnât help but thinkâ
If he looked back even once⊠he wouldnât be able to leave.
-
The temple was quiet.
The kind of silence that weighed heavy on Suguruâs shoulders as he stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, candlelight casting flickering shadows across the walls.
Heâd been pacingâhe didnât realize it until he stopped, breathing uneven, fists clenched at his sides.
What heâd said to you echoed in his mind.
You donât belong here.
A lie. One wrapped in truth, but still a goddamn lie.
You did belongâat least, you did to him. Somehow. Somewhere between those small, accidental conversations and the way your voice softened just for him. Youâd become the only thing that made him feel real. Not a leader, not a prophet, not a killer. Just⊠a man. A person.
And now you were gone.
He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping the strands at the roots like the pain might anchor him.
He had to push you away.
Had to protect his ideals, his vision, his purpose.
Curses wouldnât vanish if he let himself fall for a non-sorcerer. The world wouldnât change if he let himself be selfish.
Butâ
Was it worth it?
Suguru stared blankly at the altar before him, its presence suddenly meaningless. Cold. Hollow.
Was it worth pushing away the only person who made him feel human again after nearly a decade of drowning in blood and faith and fury?
His throat tightened.
And for a brief, broken secondâŠ
He wasnât sure anymore.
You try.
Every time you see him, you try.
A soft âhiâ that gets ignored. A hesitant smile met with indifference. A greeting that dies in your throat as he walks past you, eyes trained ahead like you donât exist.
And still, you try.
Sometimes, you catch him looking. Just for a second. A flicker of something in those dark eyes before he schools his face and turns away like it never happened.
The confusion eats at you. The pain makes a home in your chest.
What did you do?
Why wonât he even look at you?
-
Itâs maddening.
The way you keep seeking him out. Like you havenât realized yetâlike you still think thereâs something good in him. Something worth reaching.
He wishes youâd stop.
He wishes he had it in him to be cruel. Maybe then youâd let go.
But you donât. You keep smiling. You keep trying.
And it breaks something in him.
Because every step you take toward him feels like it drags him further away from who heâs supposed to be.
-
The day is quiet. The air hangs heavy with tension as you find him once again, standing beneath a shrineâs shaded archway.
His jaw tightens when he sees you, but he doesnât walk away this time.
Not this time.
âI want to talk,â you say, voice soft.
He exhales slowly. âWhat do you want?â
You blink. Your mouth opensâthen closes. You hadnât expected him to ask that. Not after everything.
But you gather the courage. Youâve held it in too long.
âI want to know why youâve been pushing me away,â you say, voice trembling. âI want to know what I did wrong.â
Silence.
The kind that stretches and suffocates.
Suguruâs eyes fall shut. He stays like that for a moment, shoulders stiff, hands clenched at his sides. Heâs thinking. Battling.
When he speaks, itâs low. Almost a whisper.
âYou didnât do anything.â
Your breath catches.
âThen whyââ
âBecause Iâm not the person you think I am.â
His voice hardens. Cold. Controlled. But thereâs something beneath it. Something cracked.
âI used to believe jujutsu existed to protect people like you. But now⊠I know better.â His eyes meet yours, and theyâre not empty. Theyâre burning. âThe world is rotting because of non-sorcerers. Because of monkeys who canât see whatâs crawling around themâwhat we have to fight.â
You flinch at the word.
âBut then you came along,â he bites out, like the confession tastes bitter on his tongue. âAnd I donât know why, but I canât hate you. I should. Everything in me says I should.â
A pause. His voice drops, quieter, more raw.
âBut I canât.â
You say nothing. The ache in your chest is too loud. His eyes flicker, searching your face for somethingâmaybe disgust. Maybe fear.
But youâre still there.
And he hates that too.
You take a shaky breath, eyes never leaving his. Heâs expecting you to run, you can feel it. Expecting you to look at him the way everyone else eventually didâwith fear. With disgust. Like heâs a monster beyond saving.
But you donât.
Instead, your voice comes out quiet. Soft. âIt doesnât have to be like this.â
You take a step closer. âYou donât have to do all of thisâcarry this weight alone, live with this hate. IâI donât know how to convince you. I probably canât. But I know you have it in you to see the bright side of things.â
He laughs, but thereâs no humor in it. âThe bright side?â he echoes, voice sharp. âThere is no bright side. There never was.â
âBut you used to believe in one,â you say. âYou wanted to protect people. That has to mean something.â
He shakes his head, almost violently. âIt meant something when I thought people like you were worth protecting. When I thought they deserved it.â
âAnd now?â
âNow I know better,â he says coldly. âThe world doesnât deserve jujutsu. It never did. Curses exist because of you. Because of all of you.â
âThen why not hate me?â you whisper.
That silences him.
You step closer. âIf itâs so easy, if weâre all the same to youâthen why not hate me too? Why not get rid of me like you would the others?â
His lips part, but no words come out.
âIâll tell you why,â you say, softer now. âBecause you donât believe all of that. Not deep down. Because if you did, you wouldnât be standing here trying to convince yourself itâs true. You wouldnât be struggling so hard to push me away.â
He flinches. Barely noticeableâbut you see it.
âI donât know what happened to you,â you whisper, âor how much it hurt. But I know what I see when I look at you. And itâs not a monster.â
His hands curl into fists. He looks away. âYou donât understand.â
âThen help me,â you plead. âLet me understand. Let me be there for you.â
His throat bobs with a hard swallow. You donât know if heâs trembling or just trying not to. The silence stretches again, thicker this time.
When he speaks, itâs barely above a whisper.
âYouâll get hurt.â
âMaybe,â you say. âBut maybe itâs worth it.â
Thatâthatâmakes him look at you. And this time, his eyes donât burn with hate. They shimmer with something unbearably human.
Fear. Guilt. Longing.
And beneath it all, something heâs too scared to name.
His eyes donât leave yours now.
Thereâs something in them that wasnât there before. Something soft. Fragile. Like the dam heâs built for so long is beginning to crack.
You take one tentative step closer, careful not to startle the moment.
âCan IâŠ?â You donât finish the question. Your hand lifts gently, hesitantlyâjust high enough to reach for his. Youâre not sure if heâll take it, swat it away, or disappear entirely.
But he doesnât move.
And thatâs an answer in itself.
Your fingers brush his knuckles.
He inhales sharply.
Theyâre calloused, strongâbut they twitch under your touch, like your skin burns him in a way he canât fight. Still, he doesnât pull away. If anything, he leans closer.
Your hands donât fully link. They just rest there, barely touchingâjust enough to feel the tremble in each otherâs palms.
âI shouldnât be doing this,â he murmurs. âYou donât know what youâre getting into.â
âMaybe,â you whisper, âbut I think I want to.â
His eyes fall to your lips, then dart away like heâs ashamed of even thinking about it. Like heâs afraid that giving in, even for a second, would shatter everything heâs builtâhis ideals, his anger, his carefully crafted distance.
But he doesnât step back.
You shift, just slightly, to be closer. The space between you is barely there now. Your faces just inches apart, the air shared, electric.
Neither of you moves in.
Neither of you moves away.
A breath. A beat. A heartbeat too loud.
And then, his voiceâhoarse and low, like gravel under his tongue.
âThis is dangerous.â
You meet his eyes. âI know.â
And for a moment, just one flicker of a second, his forehead tips forward. Barely brushes yours. You donât know if itâs accidental or notâbut it sends your pulse into chaos.
He lingers there. Breathing you in.
Still not kissing you. Still not letting go.
And somehow, that restraint is more intimate than anything else could be.
His hand shifts in yours, and you almost think heâs going to pull away.
But he doesnât.
Instead, his fingers tighten around yoursâjust for a second. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to tell you everything heâs trying not to say.
And then, he lets go.
The absence of his touch feels like a hollow echo down your spine.
âI should go,â he says quietly, almost like it pains him.
âOh⊠oh, alright,â you manage, voice softer than you intended.
He takes a step back, but his eyes donât leave yours. Thereâs a war in themâbetween the man whoâs supposed to hate you and the one who just held you like you meant something.
And still, he stares.
Until he finally looks away.
Turns.
Walks.
And youâre left standing there with the ghost of his touch clinging to your fingers and a heart that refuses to slow down.
-
You lie awake that night, eyes tracing the ceiling in the quiet of your room, but your mind is somewhere elseâwith him.
The look in his eyes when he held your hand lingers like smoke in your lungs.
Heâs not a kind man. Not anymore. You know that. Heâs said as much, shown it in the way he speaks about the world. About people like you.
Monkeys, he called them. You.
But when he looks at you⊠itâs different. Softer. Torn.
And for some reason, you believeâyou knowâthat the boy he used to be is still in there somewhere. Buried under the weight of bitterness and pain, but not gone.
You saw it.
You felt it in the way his hand tightened around yours like he was scared to let go.
Thereâs light in him still. Flickering. Struggling. But itâs there.
And maybe youâre foolish for thinking you can coax it out of him. That your presenceâyour wordsâcould ever be enough to untangle the darkness thatâs wrapped around his heart like a vice.
But hope is a stubborn thing.
And you have so much of itâfor him.
Because no matter how much he pushes you away, how much venom he spits when he speaks of your kindâŠ
You know heâs capable of more.
Youâve seen it.
And youâre not ready to give up on him yet.
-
He sees you before you see him.
Or maybe you notice him firstâhe doesnât know anymore. All he knows is that this time, you donât smile. You donât wave. You donât walk up to him like you always do, like heâs something familiar and safe.
No. This time, you look away.
You stand your ground where you are, eyes fixed on something elseâanything else. Your shoulders are squared, posture firm, but he knows better than to think youâre unaffected.
Because he can feel the shift. The distance.
Youâd always been the one to reach out. Always the one to bridge the gap. But not today.
And he hates the silence more than he thought he would.
Suguru stays still for a moment, watching you from across the space. The wind brushes through your hair, and for a fleeting second heâs struck by the quiet resolve in your expression.
Thereâs no malice there. No bitterness. Just⊠a calm understanding. Like youâd come to terms with something.
And that unsettles him more than your presence ever did.
Because heâs thought about you. More than he shouldâve. More than he wants to. And when he walked away that day, heâd told himself it was for your own good. That he was protecting you from someone like him.
But now he wonders if heâs only succeeded in pushing away the one person who saw him for more than what heâd become.
He wants to go to you. Say somethingâanything. Break the silence thatâs eating at his chest like acid.
But what could he even say?
That he misses the sound of your voice?
That your absence feels like a wound he doesnât know how to treat?
That heâs afraid of what he feels when he looks at you?
Instead, he just stands there. Still. Silent.
And you donât look back.
Not even once.
He wonders whatâs changed.
Why you wonât look at him. Why you wonât smile.
But the truth isâyouâve been wondering too.
Youâve thought about him more times than youâd care to admit. About the way he looked at you that night, how his touch lingered just a little too long, how it meant something. And then how he leftâcold, distant, like none of it mattered.
You realized then: heâs pushing himself away from you. Building those same walls you tried to gently tear down.
And it hurts.
Of course you still want him to change. To see the beauty in things, the warmth, the light. To remember what it feels like to hope. But you donât want to force that change onto him. You donât want to be a burdenâa non-sorcerer girl clinging to an idealistic dream of saving a man carved from tragedy.
You know he can be better. Youâve seen itâin those brief moments when his gaze softens, when his voice lowers just for you. Itâs there. Beneath all the anger and grief and resentment⊠thereâs still something left of the kind boy he used to be.
But you want him to find that boy on his own.
Not for you. Not for anyone else.
You want him to choose himself.
So you stay where you are. You donât look at him. You donât approach.
Because if he wants to changeâif he truly wants to be betterâ
Heâll come to you.
And he does. He takes a step toward you.
Then stops.
Your back is turned, your shoulders stiff. Youâre not smiling. Youâre not laughing. Youâre not youânot the version of you heâs grown used to. And for a man like him, who once craved solitude, the silence now feels suffocating.
He swallows hard.
Why arenât you coming to him?
Why arenât you trying anymore?
Because deep down, he knowsâhe knows he doesnât deserve it.
Not after the words he said. Not after he looked you in the eye and tore down every glimmer of connection you built between each other. He told himself it was the right thing to do. That keeping you away was protecting his ideals, his world, his mission.
But now⊠with you just a few feet away, still and distant⊠it doesnât feel right anymore.
He stares at the back of your head, fists clenched at his sides.
He wants to go to you. To say something, anything. But what would he even say?
"Iâm sorry I made you believe I cared, just to shove you away?"
No. That would be a lie.
He does care.
Too much.
And maybe thatâs the problem.
You glance over your shoulder, just onceâand the look in your eyes is like a dagger to the gut. Not angry. Not cold.
Hurt.
It shatters him.
Because even now, even like thisâyouâre not trying to make him feel guilty. Youâre not yelling or demanding anything from him. Youâre just standing there, brokenhearted but still kind. Still hopeful in that quiet, selfless way.
You deserve better.
And he hates that he might be the reason you stop believing people can change.
But heâs not ready yet.
So he turns.
And walks away.
And each step tears something inside him apart.
-
Itâs raining. Hard.
Cold droplets soaking through your jacket, clinging to your skin, chilling you to the boneâbut you donât care. You just needed air. Space. Somewhere to think, to breathe, to try and forget the ache thatâs been lodged in your chest since the last time you saw him.
You donât know why youâre walking in this part of town.
Maybe you hoped to see him. Maybe not.
But the moment you do, every thought stutters to a stop.
Heâs there.
Standing just under the edge of a narrow awning, soaked anyway, like he didnât bother to move when the rain started. His hairâdark and long, tied up looselyâis drenched and clinging to the side of his face. His monkâs robe sticks to his frame, heavy with water. He looks like a ghost.
But his eyesâthose weary, haunted eyesâlock onto you like youâre the only thing still real in this world.
You stop walking.
Your heart skips.
He opens his mouth, hesitates, then takes a step into the rain toward you.
âWhy are you out here?â he asks, voice low, roughâlike he hasnât spoken in hours.
You shrug. âI could ask you the same.â
He runs a hand through his wet hair, exhaling harshly. âYou shouldnât be out here. Itâs freezing.â
âIâm fine.â
You say it too quickly. He notices.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The rain keeps falling between you. Loud. Unforgiving. Thenâ
âI didnât want to hurt you,â he says suddenly, his voice trembling in a way youâve never heard. âBut I thought if I pushed you away, Iâd stop feeling whatever this is.â
You blink, stunned. âSuguruâŠâ
âIâm not a good person,â he goes on, stepping closer, slow but desperate. âIâve killed people like you. I still believe the world would be better without non-sorcerersâbut I canât make myself believe it when it comes to you.â
Your breath hitches.
Heâs standing in front of you now, so close you can feel the warmth of his body even through the downpour. His fingers twitch at his sides. Like he wants to touch you. Like heâs begging himself not to.
âIâm not asking you to forgive me,â he whispers, rain dripping from his lashes, âI just⊠I needed you to know.â
Your heart breaks.
And heals.
And breaks again.
You take one small step forward, tilting your head up to look at him fully.
âI know,â you whisper. âIâve known.â
Then your hand reaches for his.
And this timeâhe doesnât pull away.
His fingers close around yours, almost hesitantâlike heâs still not sure he deserves this. Deserves you. But when you donât pull away, when you step in even closer until thereâs barely an inch between you, something in him cracks.
You look up at him, rain clinging to your lashes, sliding down your cheeks like tears you never shed.
He breathes your name. Like a prayer. Like a curse.
You donât even know who leans in first. Maybe itâs both of you.
And thenâ
His lips press to yours. Soft. Careful. Like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he touches you too roughly.
Your hands curl into the soaked fabric of his robe, gripping onto him like heâs the only steady thing in this storm. And he is. He always was, even when he pushed you away. Even when he hurt you.
The kiss deepens. Itâs not perfectâitâs desperate. Messy. His lips are cold but the way he kisses you is warm. Feverish. Real. You feel every inch of his restraint shatter beneath your fingers, every breathless exhale like a confession he canât bring himself to speak.
When you finally pull apart, youâre both gasping. Rain dripping off your faces. His forehead rests against yours.
âYou should hate me,â he whispers. Broken.
You shake your head, voice trembling, âNo. Stop giving me reasons to.â
And he kisses you again. This time harder. Like heâs sorry. Like heâs trying to make you understand everything he canât say.
Itâs rougherâless careful. Like heâs trying to memorize you. Etch the shape of your mouth into his soul before his ideals take him too far again. Your back hits the wall of the temple just behind you, the cold stone forgotten under the heat of his touch. His hands tremble where they hold your waist, like even now, heâs scared of crossing a line.
You pull back just enough to look at himâlips kiss-bitten and wet from the rain, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes full of conflict.
âWhy do you keep doing this?â you ask, breathless. âWhy do you keep coming back if youâre just going to leave again?â
His eyes close like your words cut deeper than any blade. âBecause I donât want to hurt you,â he breathes.
âThen donât,â you whisper. âStay.â
Itâs such a simple word. But to him, it sounds like an entire world he's no longer a part of.
âI canât,â he says, barely audible.
You swallow hard. âBecause of them? Your followers? Your mission?â
His silence is answer enough.
You shake your head slowly, eyes searching his. âYouâre still human, Suguru. You still have a heart. Iâve seen it.â
He lets out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against yours again, clinging to this moment like itâs the last warmth heâll ever feel.
âI wish I never met you,â he says.
You flinch.
âBut I did. And now everythingâs falling apart.â
You press your hand against his chest, right over his heart. âMaybe itâs not falling apart. Maybe itâs just⊠changing.â
He stares at you, throat tight, and for the first time in years, he doesnât know what he believes in anymore.
Because in your eyes, he sees something terrifying.
Hope.
His lips brush yours againâsofter this time. Less frantic. Like heâs trying to apologize with every slow pull and part of his mouth. His hand cradles the back of your head, thumb grazing your cheek as he murmurs against you, âIâm sorry⊠Iâm so sorry.â
Each kiss is a confession.
A plea.
A goodbye that he doesnât want to say.
You feel it in the way he holds youâso tightly, like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go.
And thenâ
A sound.
Far off, muffled at first. Laughter. Chatter. Footsteps on gravel.
His entire body tenses.
He freezes, then pulls back just enough to listen. His jaw clenches. You watch the warmth in his expression flickerâreplaced by that practiced calm, the cold calculation of the man you know heâs tried to be.
âTheyâre coming,â he murmurs, glancing toward the temple entrance, voice low and urgent.
He takes your hand, leading you around the back of the temple, behind the high wall where the moss grows thick and the shadows stretch long.
When he turns back to you, heâs not just Suguru.
Heâs the man hiding a war behind his eyes.
âYou should go,â he says quietly, but firmly. âBefore they see you here.â
You open your mouth, unsure what to sayâyour heart still thudding from the closeness. From everything.
âButââ
âPlease.â His voice cracks. âI canât protect you if they find out. You donât belong in this world.â
Your breath hitches. And for the first time⊠you donât argue.
You just nod, slowly, even though it hurts.
He watches you for a second longerâlike he wants to memorize you. Burn the sight of you into the back of his eyes.
And then you slip away into the trees, and he turns, just as the voices draw nearer.
The mask returns. But his hands still shake.
-
Each time you find yourselves alone, itâs the same.
A glance across the market crowd. A brush of hands as you pass by the temple walls. A meeting in the still hours of dusk, behind shrines where the wind carries whispers and incense smoke.
And when your eyes meetâitâs over.
No words.
Just his mouth on yours, desperate and gentle all at once. Like heâs searching for salvation in the curve of your lips. Like heâs asking for forgiveness without saying a word.
Every kiss is stolen. Every moment borrowed.
Thereâs no room for forever hereâonly fragments.
But itâs in those fragments that something begins to bloom. A quiet understanding. Mutual. Unspoken. Heavy.
You both feel it.
In the way his fingers linger on your wrist after pulling away. In the way you hesitate before leaving, always turning back for one last look. In the way his voice softens whenever he says your name.
It gnaws at you bothâthis thing. Because itâs real. Itâs there.
But the world you come from, and the world heâs built⊠they were never meant to touch.
Still, you touch.
Still, you reach for each other like youâre defying the very stars that set your fates.
And every time, it hurts more.
Because even loveâespecially loveâisnât enough to fix a broken world.
Not yet.
-
Itâs late.
The halls of the temple are silent, dimly lit by flickering candles that cast long, wavering shadows along the walls. Outside, the world sleeps. But Suguru doesnât.
He sits alone in the meditation room, eyes heavy, thoughts heavier.
And for the first time in a long while, he lets himself wonder.
What if?
What if he never looked down on them?
What if heâd held onto that old, crumbling idealâthat jujutsu sorcerers existed to protect, not condemn? That their power was meant to shield the powerless, not judge them?
What if heâd stayed?
Stayed beside Satoru. Beside Shoko. Beside the boy he used to be.
The one who looked at the world and believed it could be saved.
His fists curl.
Because he knows itâs too late. He knows too much nowâabout how vile humans can be. About how curses breed from their ignorance, their hatred, their selfishness.
And yetâŠ
Yet thereâs you.
Smiling, despite the darkness around you. Kind, even when faced with cruelty. Looking at himânot with fear, not with disgustâbut something gentler. Something he doesnât deserve.
You make him wonder if he was wrong.
And god, that scares him more than anything.
Because if he was wrong⊠then all of thisâall the blood, the death, the convictionâwas for nothing.
He exhales sharply. Runs a hand through his hair, tugging it back as if he can wrench the thoughts out of his skull.
But your face wonât leave him.
Your voice. Your warmth.
The quiet question that lingers in his chest like a bruise:
What if I had stayed?
What if I still can?
-
The sound of the creek is the only thing filling the silence.
Suguru walks with no real destination, hands tucked into the sleeves of his monkâs robe, the cool breeze tugging gently at loose strands of hair that fall from his half-tied bun. Heâs restless againâwandering, thinking, searching.
And then he sees you.
Youâre seated at the edge of the creek, knees pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them as you stare at the water. Thereâs a calm smile on your lips. A peaceful kind of smileâthe kind that looks rare, like you donât wear it often.
It tugs at something in him.
You glance up, sensing someone near. When you see itâs him, your eyes brighten. The smile stretches just a little more, as if his presence has shifted something inside youâlike it made your quiet moment even better.
âHi!â you say, like youâre genuinely happy to see him.
Suguruâs chest tightens.
He wonders how you can still smile like thatâhow it always looks like the world isnât as cruel as he knows it to be. He doesnât know how you do it. Or why it makes him want to stay.
âDidnât think Iâd see you here,â he murmurs, stepping a little closer, but not sitting down. Not yet.
âWell, I live around here,â you say, nudging your chin toward a modest house visible just beyond the trees. âSo I come here pretty often.â
âYou live alone?â he asks, the question slipping out more protective than intended.
You nod. âYep.â
His eyes drift toward the house, then back to you. For a moment, he says nothing. He just watchesâthe way the sunlight dances on your hair, the way you look at him like heâs just Suguru. Not the man whoâs built a cult. Not the sorcerer whoâs abandoned his own kind. Just⊠him.
He sits beside you.
Quietly. Close enough that your shoulders almost brush, but not quite. His eyes stay on the creek, though heâs only half-seeing it.
âYou shouldnât be here alone,â he says finally, his voice quieter. âItâs not always safe.â
You hum, like youâre not entirely sure if he means the world⊠or himself.
But you smile again anyway. âYouâre here though. So I feel safe.â
And that just wrecks him.
The two of you sit there for a while.
Not talking. Just existing.
The water trickles past in a lazy rhythm, birds chirp overhead, and the wind carries the scent of earth and flowers and something sweet he canât quite name.
Suguru doesnât know how long itâs been since heâs felt this. Stillness. Like time isnât chasing after him with bloodied hands and whispered curses. Like the worldâs not crumbling under the weight of its own cruelty.
You tilt your head toward him, watching him with soft curiosity.
âYou donât talk much, do you?â you tease lightly, bumping your shoulder into his.
He huffs a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath, but itâs real.
âI talk when I have something to say.â
âOh? So youâve had nothing to say this whole time?â You raise a brow at him, smile tugging at your lips again. âIâm wounded.â
He glances at you then, and for a split secondâjust a secondâhis expression softens. âYou talk enough for both of us.â
âRude,â you murmur, though youâre grinning now, looking back at the creek.
Itâs quiet again, but this time it feels warmer. Like something unspoken is beginning to bloom between the silence.
Suguru speaks, his voice quieter now. âWhy here?â
You blink. âHm?â
âThis place. The creek. Why do you come here so often?â
You pause for a moment, thoughtful. âBecause itâs quiet. Peaceful. And it feels⊠safe, I guess.â
Thereâs a slight pull in his chest at that word again. Safe.
âAnd you?â you ask softly. âWhy are you here?â
His lips press into a thin line.
âI donât know,â he admits. âMaybe I was looking for peace, too.â
You donât say anything to that. You just look at himâreally look at himâand thereâs something in your gaze that feels too knowing. Too tender. And Suguru finds he canât quite meet your eyes anymore.
So you change the subject.
âI had a dream last night,â you say, voice lighter now. âYou were in it.â
His head turns, curious. âOh?â
âYeah,â you nod, smiling at the memory. âYou were... different, though. Not that youâre not you now. Just... happier. Lighter. You laughed a lot.â
Suguru swallows.
You laugh a little. âI know. Weird, huh?â
But he shakes his head slowly. âNo. Not weird.â
You tilt your head again. âDo you laugh a lot, Suguru?â
âI used to,â he says quietly, gaze fixed on the water. âA long time ago.â
Thereâs something in his toneâwistful, achingâand you know better than to press. So instead, you place your hand beside his on the grass. Not touching. Just close. A silent offering.
And though neither of you say anything else, Suguru lets his fingers inch just a little closer to yours.
Almost touching but not quite.
Your fingers are so close. A breath away. Neither of you move. Not really. But your proximity is louder than any words could be.
Suguru feels itâthe weight of silence between you, the charged stillness hanging in the air like the moment before a summer storm. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be sitting by a creek with someone whoâs slowly unraveling the iron threads he's wrapped around his heart.
But you're not doing anything. Just sitting there. Looking at the water, at the sun dancing across the surface.
At peace.
And when you turn to look at him again, your smile is small but itâs real. A quiet kind of affection behind your eyes. âYou look like you're carrying the whole world on your back.â
He breathes out a quiet scoff. âArenât I?â
You study him for a moment, and your voice is gentler this time. âYou donât have to.â
A pause.
âYou could set it down. Just for a while. With me.â
Those words. They undo him.
He looks at you then, really looks at youâsoft sunlight catching the curve of your cheek, the way your lips part slightly, waiting, nervous but brave.
His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long.
And thenâ
He leans in.
Slow. So slow it almost doesnât feel real.
You donât move. You donât speak.
You just tilt your chin up slightly, breath catching in your throat.
His forehead brushes yours.
âYou make me forget,â he whispers, and his voice is rough like heâs confessing a sin.
And thenâhe kisses you.
Itâs soft. Barely there at first. Just a gentle press of lips, tentative and careful, as if he's terrified the moment will shatter if he pushes too hard.
But when you kiss him backâwhen your hand comes up to rest against his chest like youâre trying to ground himâit deepens. Slow and reverent, like you're tasting the ache he's buried for years.
No oneâs watching. No prying eyes. No judgment. Just the two of you, tucked away by a quiet creek, hearts trembling and wide open.
When he finally pulls back, youâre both breathless. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, like heâs trying to memorize the way this feels.
Like peace.
ââŠSuguru,â you whisper.
He opens his eyes. Thereâs something broken and tender in them.
âI shouldnât have done that,â he murmurs. His thumb brushes your cheek, gentle as ever. âBut I donât think I can stop.â
Youâre still catching your breathâand then he sees it. That look in your eyes.
Like you're not done.
And god, neither is he.
His mouth finds yours againâno hesitation this time. Itâs hungrier, rougher, full of everything heâs been trying to suppress for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since the first time you smiled at him like he wasnât a monster.
Your fingers fist into his robes instinctively and his hand slips behind your neck, cradling you gently even as the kiss deepens, as if youâre something both sacred and dangerous.
You fall back against the grass with a quiet gasp, and he follows you down, one hand bracing himself beside your head, the other still tangled in your hair.
He's above you now. Breathing hard. Eyes flickering across your face like he's memorizing every inch of you, desperate to carve this moment into his soul.
And you donât look afraid. You donât look unsure.
You look at him like heâs something worth holding onto.
âSay something,â he whispers, voice hoarse.
But you donât. You reach up insteadâfingers ghosting across his cheek, and then pulling him down again.
The kiss that follows is slower. Deeper. The kind that says Iâve missed you even though you were never mine to begin with.
And it breaks him just a little.
Because in this moment, with your body beneath his, hands in his hair, lips moving like a prayer against hisâ
He forgets the war. He forgets the blood, the ideology, the lies he tells himself to stay sane.
All he knows is you. And heâs terrified.
Because what happens if he lets himself love you?
-
The dream is cruel.
He doesnât realize itâs a dream at first. It feels too realâthe heat of the sun overhead, the sharp scent of smoke in the air, and the frantic sound of footsteps pounding across temple stone.
And thenâyour voice.
Panicked. Calling his name.
He turns the corner and there you are. Knees scraped, arms bound by a rope, blood smeared across your cheek. You're on your knees before his followers, eyes wide in terror.
âYou said she was a local,â one of them sneers. âSaid she wasnât important.â
âSheâs not,â another spits. âSheâs a monkey. She doesnât belong here.â
âWaitâpleaseââ you whisper, eyes darting around. âSuguruâ?â
But Suguru doesnât move.
He watches. Frozen. Helpless.
One of the followers raises their cursed tool.
âNO!â
The scream rips from his throat too late.
The world goes red.
He bolts upright in bed, breath ragged, sweat cold down his spine. The room is dark and silent, but he can still hear itâyour voice, breaking. His name on your lips.
His hand trembles as he runs it down his face.
It was just a dream. Just a dream.
But what if it wasnât?
What if they find out?
What if they already know?
And what if he loses youâagain?
His fist clenches, heart pounding. He doesnât know if heâs angry or terrified or both. All he knows is this: he canât let that happen.
But how does he keep you safeâŠ
When the real danger is him?
-
He shouldn't be here.
Not dressed like thisâhood pulled low, robes traded for simple jeans and a dark sweatshirt, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Not standing outside your home under the cover of night, hoping no one saw him slip away from the temple grounds. Not risking everything for the sake of a face that keeps haunting his thoughts.
But here he is.
His footsteps falter at the edge of your doorstep. The lights inside are dim. The house is quiet. He could turn back now. Pretend none of this happened. Pretend the dream didn't shake him. Pretend you don't exist in his thoughts the way you do.
But then his hand risesâand he presses the doorbell.
A few seconds pass. Nothing.
Maybe youâre asleep. Maybe this is a sign. He should goâ
He rings it again.
Thereâs a faint thump, the groan of floorboards, and then a sleepy voice muffled behind the door: âWho is it?â
The door opens slowly, and you blink against the porch light, hair tousled from sleep and an oversized t-shirt hanging loose around your frame.
Your eyes widen. âSuguru?â You stare at himâeyes squinting, confused and half-dreaming. âWhat are you doing here?â
Your words barely leave your lips before he pulls you into his armsâtight, desperate, like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go.
His hood falls back slightly, revealing that familiar face youâve only ever seen half-shadowed in moonlight or sunlight leaking through trees. But now heâs here. Real. Shaken.
âSuguru?â you whisper against his chest, your hands instinctively curling around the fabric of his sweatshirt. âHey, hey. Whatâs wrong?â
He doesnât answer right away. His grip only tightens, and you feel the faint tremble in his breath. Thatâs enough to make your heart clench.
âCome on,â you murmur, gently tugging him inside. The door closes behind you with a quiet click, but he still hasnât let you goânot really. His arms are still around you, like the thought of breaking that contact might splinter him all over again.
Itâs only after a beat of silence, standing there in your quiet hallway under the soft golden light, that he speaks.
âI had a bad dream,â he says, voice low, almost a whisper. His breath hitches. âAbout you.â
Your heart skips. You pull back slightly to look up at him, your hands still resting against his chest. âWhat kind of dream?â
But he just looks at you, eyes shadowed with something heavier than heâs ever let you see before. Like heâd rather burn the world than ever see you hurt.
Your eyes soften, your voice gentle, threaded with concern. âWhat happened? In the dream, I mean.â
Suguruâs jaw tenses. His breath shuddersâlike the thought alone is unbearable. His gaze drops, eyes flickering somewhere over your shoulder, not quite able to meet yours anymore. That vulnerability heâs always kept behind iron walls is leaking through the cracks now.
You reach up slowly, your fingertips brushing along his forearm. âItâs okay,â you murmur. âIf you donât want to talk about it, you donât have to. Iâm here for you.â
He closes his eyes for a moment. His throat bobs with a hard swallow.
âI saw them find out about you,â he says finally, voice quiet and raw. âMy followers. They knew. And I wasnât fast enoughâI couldnât stop it.â His hands curl into fists at his sides. âThey hurt you. You were crying. Calling for me.â
He opens his eyes again, and the pain there is like nothing youâve ever seen in him.
âI woke up, and I didnât even know if it was just a dream.â
You donât hesitate. You wrap your arms around him again, anchoring him to the present. To you.
âIt was just a dream,â you whisper. âIâm right here. Iâm okay.â
He exhales shakily against your shoulder. âI donât want to lose you,â he says, almost too quietly for you to hear. âNot you.â
Your hand rises before you even realize it, fingers brushing through his hair, warm against his skin as you cradle his cheek. His breath hitches at the contact, eyes flickering to yours, searching. For whatâhe isnât sure. Reassurance? Permission? A lifeline?
âSuguruâŠâ is all you manage to say.
Just his name.
But itâs everything.
Then you lean inâurgent, unthinking, needingâand your lips crash into his.
He doesnât hesitate.
His arms wrap around you like heâs afraid youâll vanish, like youâll slip right through his fingers if he doesn't hold you tight enough. The kiss deepens instantly, wild and breathless, all-consuming. You feel the tension bleed from his body and into yours, your fingers slipping into his hair as his own hand settles on the small of your back, anchoring you to him.
Itâs not just a kiss. Itâs a confession. A plea. A breaking point.
You press closer, sighing into his mouth as he kisses you like heâs starvingâlike this is the first real thing heâs tasted in years. And maybe it is.
When you part for air, foreheads pressed together, his thumb brushes your jaw. âYou donât know what youâre doing to me,â he whispers.
You smile, soft and breathless. âI think I do.â
The quiet between you lasts barely a second.
Because then heâs kissing you againâharder this time, desperate. Itâs messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling, like heâs trying to pour every unspoken feeling into your mouth. You gasp into the kiss, and he swallows it whole, backing you up until your back hits the nearest wall with a muted thud.
His hands are everywhereâgripping your waist, your hips, like he needs you closer, like he still canât believe youâre here and real. Your fingers tug at the fabric of his hoodie, fisting it tight, grounding yourself in the heat of him.
His mouth tears from yours only to trail downâover your jaw, your throatâhot, open-mouthed kisses that leave you trembling. His breath is ragged against your skin, lips ghosting over your pulse. You feel his tongue flick at your collarbone before he sucks gently at the skin, pulling back just enough to leave behind the faintest bruise.
âSuguruââ you breathe, chest rising and falling fast, your voice shaky with want.
He groans against your skin, his grip tightening. âI shouldnât want you like this,â he murmurs, voice low and ruined, âbut I do.â
And god, you want him too.
So bad it hurts.
You donât even remember how you made it to the bedroom.
All you remember is the feel of his handsâurgent, reverentâas he pulled you in, lips never straying far from your skin. He kissed you like he was afraid it would be the last time. Like this moment was all he had.
Your clothes fell away piece by piece, the quiet rustle of fabric hitting the floor the only sound between the hungry kisses. His eyes never left yours, not even for a secondâlike he needed to memorize every part of you, every breath, every tremble.
And then he lays you down. So carefully. Like youâre something precious. His hands glide along your sides, your arms, your stomach, pausing at each new inch of exposed skin to press kisses into itâsoft, slow, like heâs marking you with his mouth. Worshipping you.
He pulls back to lift his hoodie over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him. His breath is shaky when he rests his forehead against yours. âCanât do this anymore,â he murmurs, voice breaking with the weight of his confession. âCanât keep pretending like you donât mean anything. Like I donât⊠feel this.â
You reach up, fingers tangling in his hair, and he leans into the touch like heâs been starved for it.
âIâm gonna change,â he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the hollow of your throat. âFor you. I want you in my life.â
And the way he says it, it doesnât sound like a promise. It sounds like a vow.
Your breath stutters as his lips trace slow, reverent patterns down your bodyâeach kiss a promise, each touch laced with trembling devotion. You feel his warmth everywhere, like heâs trying to brand your soul with the shape of him.
And then, through the haze of desire and something deeper, your voice breaks the quiet.
"Suguru⊠what about your followers? What would they do?"
He pauses, lips hovering just above your skin. His fingers twitch where they hold your hips, but he doesnât lift his head. Doesnât stop.
âDoesnât matter right now,â he murmurs, voice thick and ragged, âIâm gonna protect you, sweetheart. Gonna do anything for you. Wonât let anyone hurt you.â
The words land heavy. Solid.Â
And the strangest part is that it doesnât feel strange at all.
To protect youâa non-sorcerer. The very people he built his new world to fight against. The ones he taught himself to loathe.
But now? Now it feels like it was always meant to be this way. It only took you. You, with that voice, that heart, that warmthâto make it bloom again. To make him remember what it felt like to care.Â
To love.
He presses another kiss to your thigh, then lower, lowerâuntil his breath ghosts over the most intimate part of you. His voice rumbles softly against your skin.
âSuguruâŠâ you gasp, a breathless, vulnerable sound.
He glances up, eyes dark and blown wide. âYes, sweetheart?â
And then you say it.
âI love you.â
Time stops.
His lips freeze against the inside of your thigh.
You feel his breath there, hot and uneven, his hands tightening slightly at your hips as your words sink inâlike he wasnât ready for them, like heâd been craving them all the same.
He lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes wide, blown with something far deeper than lust nowâsomething raw and aching. His hair is messy, dark strands falling into his face, and heâs never looked more human. Never looked more vulnerable.
âSay it again,â he whispers, voice barely audible over the rush in your ears.
Your hand finds his, fingers lacing together.
âI love you,â you say again, stronger this time. With your whole chest. Because you mean it.
A beat passes, and then heâs crawling up your body, kissing you like heâs falling into youâlike youâre the only thing keeping him from shattering. Every part of him shakes. His heart, his breath, his resolve.
âI love you too,â he murmurs against your lips. âGod, I love you.â
His hands skim your waist, warm and steady, fingertips sinking into the soft curves of your hips like heâs trying to memorize the shape of you. Your breath hitches as his lips move lowerâdown the center of your stomach, slow and reverent, leaving a trail of kisses that burn in the most tender way. He murmurs your name against your skin, like a prayer, like a secret heâs only ever willing to whisper when no oneâs looking.
You feel his hands slide beneath your thighs, lifting you gently, guiding you closer to the edge of the bed with careful control. His grip is firm but tender, like youâre something fragile, like heâs afraid heâll lose you if he lets go.
His mouth hovers just above where you need him most, warm breath fanning across your skin. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thighâslow, open-mouthed, lingeringâthen another, closer. And another. Heâs not rushing. No, Suguru takes his time, as if every second of this is something sacred. His hands stroke up and down your sides, grounding you, steadying you.
âYouâre so beautiful,â he murmurs, voice low and raw. âCould spend forever just looking at you like this.â
Your legs tremble under his touch. You whimper his name, a soft, broken plea.
His lips finally meet you where youâre aching, and your world folds in on itself.
The first lick is slowâtorturously slowâlike heâs tasting something forbidden for the first time, letting the flavor of you bloom across his tongue. His groan vibrates against you, deep and low in his throat, sending sparks flying up your spine. Then he does it againâslower, deeper, more purposeful.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groans again, like he loves that, like he wants more of it.
His tongue moves in slow circles, soft and rhythmic, never once breaking eye contact when you manage to look down. His gaze is moltenâcompletely undone. You see it in his eyesâhe needs this. Needs you. Not just your body but everything. Your warmth. Your love. The part of you that believed in him.
âYou taste like heaven,â he rasps between kisses, and itâs almost cruel the way he says it, so tender it makes your chest ache. âNever letting you go. Not after this.â
And then his lips seal around you again, and everything else disappearsâhis past, his beliefs, the twisted version of justice heâs clung to for years. In this moment, all that remains is you and him.
Heâs not just worshipping your body.
Heâs holding on to what little light is left inside of him.
And letting you guide him back to it.
Your thighs tremble against his shoulders as he buries himself deeper, tongue moving in slow, precise motionsâtoo slow. Itâs not rushed. Itâs deliberate. Worshipful.
He groans low in his throat when you arch into him, his name falling from your lips in a broken whisper. Suguruâs hands tighten around your thighs, keeping you in place, keeping you grounded. But his touch never feels possessiveâonly reverent.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs against you, voice ragged and full of awe. âLet me take care of you.â
And he does.
Each flick of his tongue, each subtle shift of pressure, feels like he knows you better than anyone ever has. He listens to the way your breath catches, the way your hips jerk, the way you moan his name when he hits that perfect spot again and again. Heâs learning you like a languageâtranslating every twitch, every gasp, every soft, needy whimper.
Youâre unraveling under him.
Your fingers thread tighter in his hair, hips rocking subtly against his mouth as your pleasure builds, slow and steady, like a wave pulling back before it crashes. He hums againâfuck, the vibration goes straight through youâand his tongue speeds up just slightly, chasing your release with more intent now.
âSuguruââ you gasp, chest heaving, the coil in your stomach tightening.
âI know,â he breathes, lifting his eyes to you, gaze dark and full of something deepâwant, need, love. âCome for me, sweetheart. Iâve got you.â
And thatâs all it takes.
You shatter with a breathless cry, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling around his head as he holds you through it. His mouth doesnât leave youânot right awayâhis tongue working you gently through the aftershocks, slower now, softer, until you whimper from the sensitivity and tug gently at his hair.
Only then does he lift his head, lips glossy with you, eyes full of a tender kind of devotion that makes your heart ache.
He leans up, kisses your thigh, your stomach, your chestâuntil heâs hovering over you again, one hand brushing your hair back from your sweat-slick forehead.
âYou okay?â he whispers, voice hoarse, gaze searching yours.
You nod, dazed, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. And then you reach for him againâbecause even after everything, you still want more.
You donât give him a chance to move. Not this time.
Your hands slide into his hair, pulling him into another kissâmessy, heated, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans against your lips, deep and low, hands gripping your waist like heâs not sure if he wants to hold you still or pull you closer.
But youâre already movingârolling your hips up into his, feeling how hard he is against you, how much heâs holding back.
âLet me,â you whisper, lips brushing his. âI wanna take care of you now.â
He looks at you like you just reached inside his chest and held his heart in your hands. Thereâs awe in his eyes. Something close to disbelief.
âYou donât have toââ
âI want to.â You hush him with another kiss, softer this time. âPlease.â
And how could he ever say no to you?
You push him back until heâs laid down on your bed. Your hands roam over his body and you watch the way his muscles flex under your fingers, every inch of skin revealed like something sacred. You trail kisses down his throat, his collarbone, dragging your nails down his chest just enough to make him hiss.
âFuck,â he breathes, head tilting back when you nip at his skin.
You kiss lower. Slower. Tasting every inch of him, every scar, every dip of muscle like heâs something divineâyour god now.
By the time youâre undoing his pants, heâs panting, watching you with a look thatâs all-consuming. Like he still canât believe youâre real. That youâre here. That you want him.
And then youâre straddling him, hovering above him, dragging yourself down slowâso slowâuntil heâs seated inside you and both of you are gasping, clinging to each other like the world outside doesnât exist.
âYou feel like heaven,â Suguru groans, hands digging into your hips. âCanât believe youâre mine.â
You lean down, kiss him again. Rock your hips in slow, deep rolls, your body matching his rhythm like youâve always known it. His hands slide up your back, one slipping into your hair as his lips find your neck, kissing, sucking, whispering your name like a prayer.
âYouâre everything,â he breathes. âYouâfuckâyou make me want to be good again.â
You ride him slowly. Sensual. Every grind, every moan, every kiss dragging the moment out. This isnât just need. Itâs something more.
Something that makes his eyes blur and his hands tremble.
Because for once, Geto Suguru isnât drowning in hatred or vengeance or ideals.
Heâs drowning in you.
Youâre still moving above him, hips slow and languid, a rhythm that isnât rushed. A rhythm that worships.
And Suguru⊠God, heâs unraveling beneath you.
Head tipped back, lips parted, breath raggedâlike heâs holding on by a thread. Every time you roll your hips, his fingers dig into your skin just a little tighter, like heâs scared this is a dream. That heâll wake up and find you gone.
But youâre not.
Youâre here. You're real. And youâre touching him like heâs something beautiful, something worthy.
âLook at me,â you whisper, breath catching as your hand cups his cheek, thumbing the curve of his lower lip. âSuguruâŠâ
His eyes flutter open. And when they meet yoursâitâs devastating. Thereâs so much feeling in them. Raw. Unfiltered. Like heâs never been seen so completely.
âGod, youâre soââ your voice catches, fingers splayed across his chest as you ride him, pace stuttering and breath shaking.
âSo what?â he murmurs, voice low, teasing, but thereâs a strain there too, like heâs barely holding himself back.Â
You swallow, eyes dragging down his body. âBig,â you whisper. âYouâre so bigâŠâ
His breath stuttersâjust for a secondâand then he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. âAnd you still take me so well, sweetheart. Made for me, yeah?â
And then heâs kissing you again, lips brushing yours in soft, desperate strokes. âOh my God,â he breathes against your mouth. âFuck, sweetheartâyouâre gonna ruin me.â
You rock your hips again, slow and deep, moaning into his kiss. âMaybe I want to.â
Your hands slide down his chest again, feeling the way his abs tighten under your touch. His hands travel your back, your waist, your thighsâlike heâs memorizing every inch, every curve.
Heâs whispering now, between every kiss, every thrust:
âSo perfect.â âDonât deserve this.â âBut Iâm so fucking glad youâre mine.â âWant to stay like this, want you forever.â
Each word makes your heart ache.
You kiss him again, deeper, letting your tongue slide against his as you move fasterâjust a little. Just enough to make him groan your name. Just enough to hear that sweet sound he only makes for you.
And when your rhythm faltersâwhen your breath stutters, and your body tightens around himâhe knows.
He knows youâre close.
He kisses you through it, hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your hip like heâs anchoring you both. âThatâs it, sweetheart,â he murmurs, voice breaking. âLet go for me. Come onâcome on, Iâve got you.â
And you doâfalling apart in his arms with a whimper of his name, your body trembling as the pleasure crashes through you, hard and consuming. You cling to him, face buried in his neck, gasping through the aftershocks.
Suguru follows just after, undone by the sight of you, the feel of you, the love in every inch of you. He holds you tight as he shudders with his release, spilling into you with a moan that sounds like it comes from the deepest part of him.
Like this is everything heâs ever needed.
Like this is home.
You collapse onto the bed beside him, breathless and exhausted.
The silence stretches long between you, but thereâs no weight in itâjust warmth, just the sound of your breathing and his, the subtle rustle of sheets when he shifts beside you. His arm stays curled around your waist, his fingers splayed across your skin like heâs still grounding himself in the fact that youâre real. That youâre here.
âI had someone,â he says, voice quiet. âSomeone who tried to stop me before I became the man I am now.â
You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze in the soft dark. Heâs already looking at you.
âSatoru,â he adds. âHe was my best friend. We were supposed to protect people together.â
You donât speak. Just listen. His voice is rough, like each word tastes bitter on his tongue.
âHe stood in front of me the day I walked away. Said I didnât have to do it. That I could still turn back. That it wasnât too late.â
His jaw clenches, barely perceptible in the pale moonlight.
âI told him it was already done. That the world didnât deserve saving. That people like youânon-sorcerersâwerenât worth it.â
A pause. A breath.
âI wanted to believe that.â
You reach for him without thinking, brushing your fingers against his hand. He doesnât pull away.
âBut now⊠here you are,â he murmurs. âSaying the same things he did. Smiling at me like Iâm not already ruined. Like thereâs something left in me worth pulling back from the edge.â
Heâs watching you with something fragile in his eyes. Something old and aching and afraid.
âMaybe I didnât want to admit I was wrong. That the world still has people in it who are good. Worth protecting.â
Your thumb traces over his knuckles gently.
âItâs not too late,â you whisper. âYouâre still here, Suguru.â
He closes his eyes, just for a second, like heâs trying to hold on to that thought. To the hope in your voice.
When he opens them again, his gaze is softer.
âI know now that I can come back,â he breathes. âAnd itâs all because of you.â
His forehead presses to yours, his breath warm and shaky.
âOnly you.â
author's note. just realised this au means no shibuya incident and no one dies. i think.
please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.
Your fingers dance over the large, pale âXâ that stretches across Suguruâs chest. He glances at you, watching the way you carefully trace your fingers over the surface of the scar, worried you may hurt him.
âIâm not made of glass, you know,â he chuckles, large hand coming to rest on the back of your head as if to cradle it as you stare at his scar in what he hopes to be awe. You roll your eyes, moving to press your lips against his scar.
Suguruâs breath hitches; his eyes stay focused on your lips as they slowly pull away from his chest. Your thumb moves to caress the healed tissue while you tilt your head to look up at him, âYouâre so brave, yâknow that?â
Your words ring in his ears. Brave.
âYouâre delusional.â He quips back, a smirk creeping onto his face to hide the subtle shame bubbling beneath his skin.
âIâm serious,â you continue, âYouâve been through so much, Sugu, youâre the bravest person I know.â Suguru rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his lip trembles as he replies, âYeah, yeah, just go to sleep.â
You nuzzle closer into his side, âYou were a child up against a grown man, Sugu. No one blames you.â You said it so casually, as if it were a known fact, but to Suguru? It was as if he were hearing those words for the first time.
âI know that.â
âDo you?â You lifted your head, raising a brow at him. He pushed your face away with a sigh, âJust go back to what you were doing. It felt nice.â
You hummed, thumb soothing over his scar once more. âIt kind of makes you look hot â hotter, I mean, like a warrior or something.â You mumbled, eyes already fluttering shut.
Suguru hummed, âYeah?â hand moving to soothe over your back as he lulled you to sleep.
You replied sleepily, âYeah. It reminds me to be thankful for you â I mean, I always am â but thankful that you survived the that day and all the days after.â
The room eventually fell silent, aside from your rhythmic breathing as sleep claimed you. His hand stilled on your back as stared at the top of your head, feeling your chest rise and fall with every breath.
Thankful.
You were thankful for him.
For years, Suguru had seen that scar as a tarnish, it had been an ugly reminder of how weak he had been â how he had failed her.
But you looked at it from a different perspective.
You saw it as him overcoming everything that had been thrown at him. You didn't see that weak version of himself he sees, no, you saw someone who was brave enough to continue on even after what he went through.
His hand brushed absentmindedly over the scar. He pressed his lips to your hairline and muttered, âYouâre unbelievable,â and a smile etched it's way onto his face.
You were still curled up next to him, shifting in your sleep. Suguru pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
And for the first time in what felt like years, Suguru felt the weight of his grief lessen.
In which sukuna gets shy and forgets how to speak when you fix his chain in front of his frat brothers
A reference to this series
Itâs a friday night.
You had come over to the frat house after class, by now it was normal for you to randomly show up. It was the end of the week, with your body and mind both sore and tired from all the work youâve done all week , eyes heavy, you went straight to sukunaâs room, plopped on his bed, and drifted to sleep.
How many hours had passed since you fell asleep , Three? Four? You donât even know , you sit up , rubbing the sleep out of your eyes , with no signs of sukuna around, your throat is so dry it feels like thorns are pricking at it.
Now you were downstairs looking for water.
Unbeknownst to you, everyoneâs already there ,
The second you stepped into the kitchen, Shoko noticed you first.
Then Sukuna.
And just like always, something in him changed immediately.
Heâd been leaning against the counter beside Toji and Geto, lazily picking apart some story Gojo was telling while half the room listened in amusement. Tattoos stretched beneath the sleeves of his black shirt, rings catching against the fluorescent kitchen light every time he gestured.
He looked Confident and Sharp-edged. Like he always did.
Then his eyes landed on you and as soon as they did,His posture straightened subtly.
The tension in his jaw eased.
Like his entire nervous system recalibrated.
You walked over quietly, still sleepy enough that you barely noticed everyone watching. Sukunaâs gaze followed you the entire way until you stopped in front of him.
âYou okay?â he asked immediately.
âMhm.â Your voice came out soft from exhaustion. Then your eyes caught on the silver chain hanging crooked beneath the collar of his shirt. âYour chainâs twisted.â
âHuh?â
Without thinking much of it, you stepped closer.
Conversation around the kitchen slowly faded.
Your fingers brushed lightly against the cool metal resting against his throat as you fixed the clasp, carefully straightening where it had turned sideways against his skin.
And Sukuna went completely still and no,
Not in a dramatic way.
But the kind where someone forgets how to function entirely.
His hand tightened slightly around the cup he was holding while he stared down at you, breathing quieter ,shoulders stiff beneath your touch.
Gojo blinked. Then blinked again.
âNo fucking way.â
You didnât even notice.
You were too focused on fixing the chain properly, fingers brushing against the warm skin of his neck every few seconds.
âThere,â you murmured finally. âBetter.â
Silence.
You looked up confused.
Every single person in the kitchen was staring.
Toji looked moments away from losing consciousness laughing. Geto had physically covered his mouth trying to hide a grin while Shoko watched like sheâd just witnessed a rare astronomical event.
Gojo pointed directly at Sukuna.
âHEâS BLUSHING.â
Your eyes snapped back upward instantly And there it was.
Faint pink dusting across Sukunaâs ears and creeping slowly over the bridge of his nose while he looked at you like his brain had short-circuited.
Your lips parted slightly to say something,
ââŠwait.â
âShut the fuck up,â Sukuna muttered towards Gojo without taking his eyes off you once.
That only made everyone laugh harder.
âOh this is BAD,â Geto said through laughter. âHeâs gone.â
Because you were still standing close enough for him to feel the warmth coming off your body, your fingers lightly resting against his chest after fixing the chain.
And Sukuna looked wrecked by it.
You smiled , you just couldnât hold it in.
âAww,â you teased softly. âYouâre embarrassed?â
His eyes narrowed immediately, but it lacked its usual sharpness.
âDonât start.â
âYouâre literally red.â
âI am not.â
âYou kinda are,â Toji interrupted giddily.
Gojo looked ready to pass away from excitement. âI HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS MAN EXPERIENCE HUMAN EMOTION.â
Before you could say anything else, Sukuna suddenly grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you against his chest.
A small startled sound left you as his arm settled around your waist instinctively, keeping you tucked against his side like proximity itself calmed him down.
âEnough,â he muttered lowly.
But when you tilted your head up at him, smiling still lingering on your lips, the blush deepened anyway.
And the kitchen absolutely lost its mind.
âHE GOT SHY.â
âTHIS IS INSANE.â
âSomebody take a picture.â
âIâm gonna be sick,â Gojo announced dramatically.
Sukuna flipped everyone off immediately.
Yet even while doing it, his thumb rubbed absentminded circles against your waist beneath the hoodie.
Like touching you had already become second nature to him.
He had learnt to be gentle with you at all times, which was kinda shocking for someone like him, but he did.
And when you reached up one more time to flatten the collar of his shirt, Sukuna leaned down automatically without even realizing heâd done it.
The room erupted so loudly someone from upstairs yelled asking if a fight broke out.
Everyone was enjoying this way to much.
Meanwhile Sukuna buried his face briefly against the top of your head, muttering,
âYouâre never coming downstairs with me again.â
You could only laugh a little because you know thatâs far from the truth.
Note : i want to write so much fluff for them đ€
â” LOVE OVER LOBLAWS ! đżđ. đđđđ
AITA FOR POSING AS A RICH MAN TO PULL A RICH GIRL..?
sum. when toji falls for the hot lady that frequents his shifts at the local grocery store, can his frat brothers help him pose as a rich hot bachelor ? or will you discover his kid & true identity first ? [n]sfw
âbrokie and a baby daddy but you wanna pull y/n? donât even joke, lad.â
ΣΧ
toji zenin is pretending to stack boxes in the third aisle of the local loblaws.
well, not exactly. toji zenin has his biceps flexing under the weight of crates but his eyes donât lift to the shelf he places them on. instead his pupils flit to the automatic entrance doors, thick & glass-heavy, before he glances at his watch & back to the door again. 12:30 PM sunday. toji knows you should be here by now.
but youâre not, so tojiâs lip twitches as he stares at the box of freezies in his arms and sighs. itâs pathetic, really. heâs got five more boxes of who-knows-what to arrange before the end of his shift but he canât fucking focus. his mindâs on your short skirt & pretty laugh & the way your voice goes sweet whenever he pretends to help you look for items while holding your hand between the aisles. toji grunts, shakes his head. focus focus focus.
âtoji.. can you help me reach the olive oil? the cold-pressed one with the pretty label?â
tojiâs head snaps up so fast he almost drops the box of freezies.
itâs youâoh god, itâs you, and youâre looking down at him with those pretty lashes & short skirt & your hands holding a basket behind your back. youâre in those cute kitten heels you had on the first time he saw youâdid you get your nails done? so pretty. youâre so pretty, youâre always so pretty, and tojiâs mouth dries.
he doesnât say anything because he canât, because your perfume smells like honey & has his lungs sticking to his throatâbut he slowly stands up anyway. youâre humming to yourself as you pad closer, getting in his way, heel clicking against the tile as he traps you in the aisle.
he reaches up to the glass bottle, and he can see your lashes fluttering up at him. your chest presses against his, and his lip ticks upward.
âyou want this, princess?â he mumbles.
you playfully swat his chest, but your palm doesnât slide off. youâre caressing his pecs now, teasing. âtoji, give it to me. i have a pasta to make tonight. iâm busy.â
toji chuckles, slipping the bottle into your basket and letting his palm sneak over your waist instead. your hands are still on his pecs, lightly squeezing as you laugh when he tugs you closer. he nuzzles your jaw, murmuring, âonly if i get an invite, sweetheart.â
âweâll see,â you tease as his tongue licks your earlobe. youâre running a thumb over the silver tag on his chest: TOJI. âif youâre good, maybe iâll let you wash the dishes.â
he kisses your neck. âmâalways good for you, baby.â
youâre giggling now, shoving him away with flushed cheeks & a laugh too bright. toji catches your hands, tugging you back with a smile on his face before squeezing your hips. your lips are so glossy. is that the new gloss you bought last week? can he kiss it off?
heâll never know, because heâs holding your hips while you tug at his collar and whisper something he doesnât care about in his ear. his manager calls his name.
fuck.
toji gives your hips one last squeeze. âgo pay, princess. iâll bag your stuff.â
âyou better.â you huff, spoiled & sweet, and toji can only watch the sway of your hips as you make your way to the register.
youâre a pretty girl with a posh life who will never know lack. tojiâs a 24-year-old whoâs still in college, working odd jobs with a son waiting at home.
in the third aisle of the local loblaws, toji zenin has his hands on his hips and his eyes on the ground. toji zenin will never say it out loud, but he knows he will never, ever, get the girl.
â” AT THE FRATHOUSE !
âyou canât pull someone like y/n, no offense.â
toji wishes suguru wouldnât spell it out. he already knows, for christâs sake.
in sigma chiâs living room, toji zenin is sprawled out on the center rug while suguru and sato eat on the floor beside him. sato is between getoâs legs with his back against getoâs chest & his toe tickling tojiâs jaw through his socks. suguru is tilting his shawarma for sato to bite from before taking a bite of his own.
satoâs about to dish out an insult of his own when the door swings open. in comes ryomen sukuna, standing in the doorway with bags in his hands and his limbs stretched out like some sort of clown. he bellows, âtherapy fucking sucked today. i still donât think i need therapy, by the way. watching porn and jerking off is completely normalâfuck you, suguru.â
âmaybe it is,â suguruâs lips are sticky with shawarma sauce, âbut having your dick out in the same room as other people is not.â
âa young man canât be an exhibitionist? suck my dick, man.â
âoh, iâm not hungry..â
sukuna trudges over tojiâs legs, then plops on the ground opposite sato and suguru. sato throws him the middle finger with a grin. sukuna throws it back. âi brought drinks. toji, whyâre you on the floor? ya need therapy too?â
sato snickers. âtojiâs fallen for a rich girl.â
sukuna snorts, âdonât even joke, lad.â but suguru and toji arenât laughing. his brows scrunch. âwaitââ he turns to toji, âyouâre serious?â
toji eyes him. âmind your own business.â
sukuna doesnât believe in complex schools of thought like âminding your business.â so instead of picking a shawarma for himself and eating in silence, he joins sato and nudges his foot against tojiâs cheek. âdoes she know youâre poor?â
âhey, hey,â geto bites his cheek, ânot too much on him.â
but sukuna continues. âwhat about the kid? does she know you have a son?â
tojiâs jaw only tightens.
sukuna looks at toji in disbelief. then at sato, then suguruâthen shakes his head, laughing. âjesus christ of jollof rice,â he cracks open a beer, âyouâre fucking cooked, bro.â
toji drags his hands over his face. his eyes are hot, for some reason.
suguru sighs, resting his chin on satoâs head as sato munches happily underneath him. âi hate to suggest this, but thereâs a way you can get her to give you a chance.â
sukuna and toji both perk up.
âif she doesnât know about megâor your, uh, economics,â suguru clears his throat, âthen you keep it that way. she thinks youâre some hot older uni student who works at loblaws for beer money. lean into it.â
sato frowns. âthis sounds like something iâd suggest. so not good, i think.â
suguru pokes his cheek, making satoâs pout grow deeper. âiâm just spit-balling here. itâs obvious you really like her, toji. and megumi needs a mommy.â
âi donât like her because i want her to play housewife.â
âwe know,â suguruâs smile is affectionate. âthatâs why weâll help you.â
sukuna grunts in agreement. âsounds scummy but it makes sense. if she finds out youâre a baby daddy with no money, sheâll just run back to her range rover.â he takes another swig of his beer. âweâll help you hide your true identity. you just get her hooked enough that when she eventually does find out, she wonât leave.â
sato nods. âweâll babysit. lend you money. heckâyou can drive my porsche to your dates.â
on the floor, toji zenin is staring towards the ceiling. itâs a stupid plan, his frat brothers are even stupider, and there is no way in hell whoever is up there will actually let things work out in his favor.
but tojiâs desperate. he has been for a long time. so before he can let himself think about it, his lips part to respond.
âalright,â he grunts. âletâs fucking do it.â
SIGMA CHIâS REMARK : DONâT WORRY BRO, WE GOTCHU !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #2: WHOâS YOUR DADDY ?
taught by: sato, sukuna, suguru
âbabysitting a five year old brat. how hard could that be?â
ΣΧ
megumi zenin is tufts of black hair, sleepy blue eyes & a tiny fist in a jar full of gummy worms. heâs slumped against his dadâs thick leg, shoving fistfuls of gummies in his mouth with candy-smeared cheeks & a bored expression on his face.
sato, sukuna and suguru are side-by-side on a straight line.
hands tucked behind their backs & chests puffed out like soldiers. toji clears his throat. âlisten up. iâm going to be gone for exactly two hours. if i come back and the kid has a single scratch on him, iâm throwing all of you into a pond.â
suguru shakes his head, stepping forward to crouch down to megumiâs height. he wipes megumiâs cheeks with a smile. âdon't worry, toji. we've got him. right, little man?â
âhi, uncle sugu,â megumiâs voice is flat but he leans into getoâs palm on his cheek. âare we going to draw today?â
âof course, kiddo. i bought some new crayons just for you.â
toji scoops his son up in his arms, ignoring the way his tiny body writhes towards the gummy worms abandoned on the floor. suguru lifts the jar back to megumi with a smile. sukuna, however, is frowning. âwhy is his face like that.â
âsukuna, do not fight my kid.â
megumi points towards him. âmy daddy calls you a pervert.â
sato bursts out in laughter. suguruâs snickering too, though heâs doing a better job of hiding it. toji drops his son to the ground and crouches to his height. megumi offers him a soggy, wet gummy worm. toji eats it off his palm & pokes his belly.
he rises to his feet. âsuguru is in charge. rest of you, keep your hands off him. iâm leaving.â
megumi waves a sticky hand. âbye, daddy. bring me a cookie.â
âwill do, brat.â and the door shuts with a thud.
ââ
âwe should go to wonderland. you like amusement parks, âgumi?â
megumi zenin has a crayon in his hands, scribbling furiously with a focused expression on his face. heâs seated in getoâs lap, occasionally having suguru hand him a crayon as he perfects his artistic masterpiece. to his right, sato gojo is leaning over the table and talking a mile-a-minute.
megumi answers, scribbling a drawing of what looks like him and his fatherâDADDY AND ME. âiâve never been to an amusement park.â
âwhat?â sato slams his palm on the table, distraught. âwhat kind of kid has never been to an amusement park?!â
âmy father is poor.â
âoh,â sato shrinks. âfairs.â
suguru lets out a fond huff, burying his nose in megumiâs hair to hide the fact that heâs shaking from laughter. sato looks crushed by guilt. âi canât take this anymore, suguru.â he clutches his chest. âweâre going to the apple store and getting him an ipad pro right now.â
suguru raises a brow. âtoji said no screens. and either way, i wonât let you turn him into an ipad kid.â
megumi slumps against getoâs chest. âi want a blue gatorade.â
âiâll get it for you, buddy,â suguru smiles before kissing his cheek, easing him off his lap. âdonât let sato teach you about investment and stocks while iâm gone, okay?â
sato has his chin on the table, defeated. and just as suguruâs back turns into the kitchen, sukuna saunters in, steps heavy, palm curled around a blue bottle ofâis that the last gatorade?!
sukuna cracks the plastic seal, taking a slow, heavy swig of the drink while staring right at the five year old. megumiâs tiny brows furrow. âthatâs mine. uncle sugu said i could have it.â
âwell,â sukuna licks his lips, slow. âuncle suguâs not the king of this house.â he takes another gulp, throwing his head back with a refreshed ahhhhhh. megumi frowns, lips tight.
and then he screams.
âuncle sugu! mister pervertâs being mean again!â
sukuna chokes on his gatorade. âwho the hell are you calling mister pervert, you little bratââ
sato jumps over the table to hold back sukuna before he can strangle the five-year-old. suguru runs out of the kitchen in alarm, quickly scrambling to hold back sukunaâs wrath alongside sato.
megumi only blinks at the display. three grown men bickering and shoving over gatorade. hell, heâs not so sure he even wants it anymore.
he sighs, reaching across the table to pick up satoâs iphone. he dials his dadâs number, palm smushed into his cheek as he watches suguru smack sukuna for his bad behavior.
â” AT THE DATE !
in the local coffee shop, your lashes are fluttering & the sunlight kisses your skin as you stare out the window.
toji zenin has his heart in his throat. his hands are in his pockets but his ribs are cracked against his chest, and the sight of you pouting out the window has his mouth drying with want. he strolls over regardless, posture lazy, steps cool, because toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.
âhi, princess,â he slides into the booth seatânext to you, not across, because heâs been thinking about the feel of your waist in his hands since last thursdayâand his ankle hooks around yours on autopilot.
âhi,â you smile, leaning into his side as he kisses your hair. toji takes your palm in his. your fingers are so dainty. fuck.
âyou look nice today,â you hum. âwho are you trying to impress?â
your lashes are batting up at him, but toji manages to keep his cool. his smirk is lazy & gorgeous. âyou, obviously.â
toji wonders how you can let him touch you so casually. even now heâs nibbling your ear as you talk about something from classâa lazy professor or something else, itâs hard to listen when your thumb brushes his jaw while you speakâand tojiâs mind wanders. heâs kissing your neck now, thumbs rubbing circles on your thighs as your breath hitches between words, and toji wonders why you havenât yet flinched in disgust.
he doesnât dwell on it too long, though. he knows the topic will only get him down.
so he kisses your neck as you laugh and swat him away, telling him heâs distracting you from your story. you never push him off, though, and your thighâs on his lap now.
but all good things must come to an end.
tojiâs phone buzzes.
loud & obnoxious. SATO, his screen reads. he quickly swipes it away. âsorryâŠjust spam.â
âspam?â you poke his bicep, grinning. âor is your little side piece getting impatient?â
âdonât have a side piece, baby,â he murmurs into your cheek. âonly want you.â
1 NEW FACETIME AUDIO CALL : SATO đ€Ą
his phone has been buzzing for ages now. you sigh, crossing your arms & clearly annoyed. âtoji, just answer it. what if itâs an emergency?â
youâre right, he should answer it, because if anything happened to megumi, heâd fucking flip. he bites his lip, âone second, princess.â
he presses his phone to his ear, but megumiâs voice greets him instead.
âdaddy! uncle kunaâs trying to kill me because of blue gatorade!â
tojiâs eyes widen. from the corner of his eye, he can see you inching closer, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to listen in.
in the background of the call he can hear sato shrieking. âsuguruâ! use the spatula! use the spatula! sukuna stopââ
youâre blinking at him, inching closer to his bicep on the table. âdaddy? whoâs calling you daddy?â
tojiâs soul leaves his body.
âdaddy, are you coming home soon? uncle suguâs spanking him now. itâs very loudââ
he ends the call before you can hear any more.
âdo you have a son?â
tojiâs breathing stutters. youâve inched away from him now, lips bent in a frown, brows furrowed, expression curiousâor cautious, toji canât really tell. and it pains him to lie to you, but what else can he say when youâve already shifted your thigh off his lap?
ânah,â he answers too fast. âitâs my nephew.â
toji reaches out to thumb your cheek, but you donât relax into his palm. âthink he meant to call my brother, not me.â
he tugs your bottom lip as you speak. âi didnât know you had a brotherâŠâ
âthereâs a lot you donât know about me, princess,â he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, because he knows he doesnât deserve any more than that. your pout deepens.
âwe can change that though,â he lies, smiling. âwanna get dessert?â
SATOâS REMARK : NICE SAVE, TOJI ! AND MY BADâHAHA !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #3: BLEACH !
taught by: geto suguru, toru gojo
âinviting her over already? weâve gotta scrub this place clean, then.â
ΣΧ
toji zenin has one hour to make it seem like megumi doesnât exist.
geto suguru is scrubbing the bathrooms. toru gojo has somehow been roped into this predicament and is scrubbing away in the kitchen. in the living room, toji zenin is picking up cheerios from the rug, phone in his ear with sukuna on the line.
âhi daddy,âmegumiâs voice is flat through the speaker. âuncle kunaâs being nice to me today.â
âthatâs great, kiddo. can you put him back on the phone?â
âyo,â sukunaâs voice crackles through.
âif anything happens to my son, i will spread your ass cheeks and sprinkle paprika in the hole.â
âoh.â
âyeah,â toji shifts the phone in his neck. âmake sure he has a good time at that amusement park. and donât let sato spoil him too much.â
âheyyy toji!â satoâs voice crackles through the speaker. toji sighs before grunting back a hello. âkeep megumi safe, got it?â
toji says his goodbyes. just as he clicks the end button, toru gojo pads into the living room, glasses tilting off his face & slipping rubber gloves off his hands. âall done in the kitchen. remind me why weâre deceiving this poor lady again?â
toji picks up a gummy worm tucked under the rug and cringes. âbecause she wouldnât look twice at a broke guy with a kid.â
toru softens, adjusting his glasses. âyou donât know that. have you tried telling her?â
âno.â
âwhy not?â
"because,â he picks up another gummy worm hidden under the couch, glaring at it before throwing it away. "because every time someone finds out about megumi, they look at me different. like i'm a burden. like he's a burden."
toru purses his lip. heâs watching as toji ducks under the couch, picking out stray bits of cereal and snacks and other things that make tojiâs nose scrunch up in disgust.
toru shakes his head, taking off his glasses to set them on the counter. âbut you donât know if sheâs like that.â
âi know i canât lose her before i even have her.â
toru purses his lip. tojiâs voice came out too tight.
â” SHOW TIME !
when toji opens his front door, youâre in a too-short dress and thereâs moĂ«t & chandon in your hands.
god, youâre gorgeous. and toji really needs to stop thinking that. needs to stop saying it in his head before he slips up and says it out loud with a tone he canât take back.
âhi,â you tilt your head, batting your lashes in that way that makes him stupid. âyou gonna keep standing there? or are you gonna take this bottle off my hands?â
ah, right. toji reaches for the bottle but you pull it back. he raises a brow.
âsay âplease pretty girl, may i have the wine?ââ
youâre still peering up at him, hugging the bottle of wine to your chest, teasing smile on your glossy lips. toji leans against the doorframe. arms crossed, dark eyes raking over your hips, plush thighs, pretty waist. fuck.
his lips twitch, âiâm not saying that.â
âaww,â you pout, glossy and spoiled. âguess i have to turn back home and drink this expensive wine all by myself.â you turn, and toji bites his cheek because your dress has ridden up to give him the perfect view of your ass. so soft. he canât wait to squeeze it.
âiâm gonna be so lonelyâŠâ your back is still turned to him, voice wistful. âand i came all the way over here, too. iâm so upset.â
toji doesnât let you take another step.
you squeal as he scoops you up with a grunt, arms snaking over your waist & under your thighs to lift you bridal style. you squeeze the bottle of wine in your arms, eyes shut tight as you giggle while he kicks the door shut. âtoji! put me down!â
careful what you wish for.
toji drops you to his couch with a thud. you land with a breathless laugh, dress bunched up to your hips & he can see the print of your panties. your hair is fanned out, and the bottle of wine is pressed to your stomach. youâre giggling, eyes bright, and god. you look so fucking gorgeous all laid out for him. tojiâs jaw ticks.
he climbs over you, pressing his warm body down until the wine digs into your stomach. his eyes are dark. hungry.
âplease, pretty girl,â he murmurs, breath hot, lips teasing your neck. âmay i have the wine?â
oh.
your breath hitches. you stare up at him, cheeks hot, eyes wide, thighs squeezing together in anticipation. but youâre a bad girl, so you donât give toji zenin what he wants just yet.
your smile falters, but you tilt your head. âthought you werenât gonna say it?â
he grins, pressing a hot kiss underneath your ear. âand i thought you were leavinâ.â
you let out a shaky gasp as toji licks a hot stripe up your neck. heâs filthyâbig hands gripping your hips to keep you pinned to the couch, squeezing you hard each time you moan and buck yourself into him. his breath is hot against your neck, sucking and kissing and teasing, the occasional nip when you whimper just the way he likes.
his weight presses the wine harder into your stomach. you gasp, âtoji, the wineââ
âhold it, baby.â
your eyes squeeze shut as his kisses trail further down your neck, tummy fluttering as heat pools between your thighs. his thumb on your hip sinks under the silk of your panties, and you whine his name before he shushes you with a sweet kiss to your cheek.
toji doesnât kiss you on the lips. the lips are too honest, and toji is not.
youâre still clutching the bottle, chest heaving as toji presses your hips deeper, deeperâ
âow!â
toji freezes.
in truth, toji zenin has never been a gentle man. his body is too big and his hands are too rough, and life itself has never treated him gently, nor given him much reason to be gentle towards others. but as toji hovers over you, limbs frozen in alarm, his stomach canât help but twist with disgust. said body and rough hands have crushed something soft yet again.
âdid i hurt you?â his voice comes out weird. âdollâlook at me. you okay?â
âiâm fine,â you wince, cheeks flushed as you try to steady your breathing. you twist your leg slightly, sliding your fingers down into the sofa cushion where something sharp poked at you. âsomething... something poked my leg.â
you pull out a tiny, red brick.
you blink. âa lego?â
for the second time this evening, toji freezes.
he takes it from your hand, flicking it away. he lifts your arms to wrap them around his neck, and lowers himself back to your chest. âthat what you stopped me for, princess?â he mutters coolly, like his heart isnât beating in his throat. âhad me so worried, baby.â
âtoji, why do you have a lego?â
he kisses your jaw, âmy nephewâs.â
ah, that makes sense. you hug his neck tighter, giggling as he slips the wine off your belly & onto the floor. he presses yet another kiss to your neck, warm & sweet, and you let your chin rest on his shoulder as he loves you with gentler hands.
but then you see it.
on the metal door of the kitchen fridge, past a jar of gummy worms and a poorly placed broom, a banana-shaped magnet is there.
and right under it, a scribbled drawing. the messy figure of a man with spiky hair, and a smaller, more spiky-haired boy.
DADDY AND ME.
your body goes still.
tojiâs hands are on your hips, thighs, waistâbut his touch suddenly itches. the warmth has gone cold.
âtoji,â you whisper. âwho drew that?â
toji doesn't move. his eyes slowly follow your gaze to the fridge, and the panic in his eyes is unmistakable. the lie slips out of his mouth before his brain can even catch up to it.
âsociology project,â he breathes. âdevelopmental regression. drew it with my left hand.â
âyour left handâŠâ
your voice trails off as toji sinks his lips back to your neck.
toji zenin does not study sociology.
TORUâS REMARK : YOU CANâT FOOL HER FOREVER.
BROKE BOY TACTICS #4: LEAN INTO THE LARP !
taught by: sato gojo
âyou canât pull up to a date in an uber. take my porscheâyouâre a rich guy now.â
ΣΧ
itâs late, and three floors down, toji zenin has his hands on his hips, staring at satoâs sleek black porsche in disbelief while his tie itches at his neck. three floors up, in tojiâs crappy apartment, the gangâs all there.
megumi has a blanket pulled up to his chin, seated on the couch next to suguru. sukuna is lounging on the floor with his back against said couch. sato is flipping through TV stations. the light in the room is dim, and sato snickers at something sukuna says before tossing him the remote.
âwhy does everyone always leave me?â
the trio freeze.
megumiâs expression is flat. heâs staring into the tvâs glow, but his eyes are soulless and empty. suguru hesitatesâbut then he rests a hand on megumiâs hair. âwhat do you mean, kiddo?â
âdaddyâs always leaving now,â megumi closes his eyes, rigid against the couch cushions. âhe never spends time with me anymore. heâs acting like my mommy did.â
the three boysâ hearts crack right down the middle.
theyâre staring at each other now, the weight of megumiâs words on their shoulders. how do they tell a little boy that the reason his father has been less presentâand is also not present tonightâis because heâs currently trying to hide his childâs existence to impress a woman? and that theyâre all helping him?
sato speaks first. too quick, too fast.
âheâs just been busy,â he croaks out. âheâs been picking up new shifts. heâs working really hard.â
âyeah,â sukuna agrees. âheâs working hard. to take care of you, meg.â
megumi stares into the tv screen. getoâs hand is still heavy on his head, and his body is limp and his eyes are heavy.
âi know.â megumi mutters. âheâs my hero.â
suguru bites his lip. âyou know what, meg? why donât we draw something? a new picture for your dad?â
megumiâs eyes flit to the kitchen fridge. DADDY AND ME. the picture is still there, but the paper is crinkled and damp now. as if someone threw it away with heavy eyes, then somehow thought better of it.
megumi nods, âyeah.â
âokay, buddy. iâll go get the crayons.â
âiâll get the paper!â
âand iâll⊠uh. you want a gatorade, kid?â
the three adults go after the various items. megumi takes one last look at his drawing on the fridge, and then he slips off the couch and pads away.
â” SHOW TIME !
toji zenin is a man who can only have pride when he pretends.
so today, he pretends the sleek black porsche parked outside your house is his. he pretends heâs not wearing satoâs luxury cologne, that his tie isnât secondhand, that the cuff of his suit isnât too tight on his wrist and that the guilt in his mouth doesnât taste like his blood.
heâs gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.
when you open the car door, you look like a dream.
your lips are glossy, always glossy, but itâs a different shade of shimmer tonight. your hair is loose all over your shoulders, heels clicky, dress black and matching the shade of satoâs car. toji stares, jaw slack as you slide into the passengerâs seat. the words in his throat have turned into bile.
âHi.â you blink at him.
âHi.â
he canât say much else, and he really ought to but he canât, so instead he only watches as you huff and click your seatbelt in place. toji licks his lips, turns back to the wheel. says a quick prayer to a god he doesnât believe in. âyou look gorgeous.â
you donât respond.
the car starts with an expensive growl. it makes toji wince, and he hopes you donât notice. heâs practiced starting the car three times so he can pretend heâs used to it. he isnât, and heâll never be.
he pulls onto the streets, eyes frantically scanning the road as his pulse drums in his teeth.
âtoji?â you say, eyes trained ahead of you, voice flat.
âyeah, baby?â
âwhere are we going?â
tojiâs fingers drum on the steering wheel. he turns right at the fork. âsomewhere nice,â his voice is strained. âsomewhere you deserve to be.â
he lets his right hand shift to the center console, trying to bridge the gap. his hand is sweating, maybe. you glance at it. glance away.
you peer out the window, head against the edge, watching the lights blur through the glass. âi feel like iâm sitting in a museum,â you murmur, quiet. âeverything feels curated. including you.â
he swallows. âiâm trying to make tonight special.â
âspecialâŠâ you trail off, lashes fluttering as you stare out the window.
âi donât know who you are, zenin.â
tojiâs head aches. and so does his chest, violent and sharp and stabbing. heâs a liar, a con artist, a selfish man with rough hands and a son waiting at home. ohâmegumi. his phoneâs been buzzing in his pocket for a while now. howâs megumi?
âiâm just a guy,â he chooses to say. âa guy who likes you.â
âdo you? or is that just part of the exhibit?â
maybe there really is a god watching, because before toji can respond something makes a sound.
heâs not sure what, honestly, but heâs quick to capitalize on it. he needs the air. toji turns into an empty street to park. he unbuckles his seat belt, leans over a bit. âstay in the car, okay?â
you only nod, and tojiâs throat curls with guilt.
the night air is cool on his skin. he opens the car bonnetâcareful, as careful as a man like him can beâpretending to scan the engines for a possible source of the noise. he doesnât find anything wrong, and he knew he wouldnât, but he holds up the bonnet and pretends to check anyways.
three minutes pass before he returns to the car.
three minutes of toji zenin teaching himself how to breathe. the same way he does when megumi shuts down even though he thinks the steps are corny. having a kid really changes you, doesnât it?
megumi. he looks at his watch, 9PM. his boy should be in bed by now.
the buzzing from his phone has stopped. he should check it now, but youâre still waiting. still beautiful. still hurt.
so toji slams the hood shut. sucks in a breath and slides back into the driverâs seat. youâre staring at him as he buckles his seatbelt.
âtoji,â your voice is careful. âdo you have anything you want to tell me?â
yes. i work three jobs and iâm drowning in student loans. i got a girl pregnant when i was eighteen, and she left me when i turned twenty-one. i have a boy whoâs five-and-a-half and heâs the only good thing i have left. and iâm sorry i lied, but i didnât want you to leave me before i could love you and iâm sorry, and iâm sorry again, and you deserve better, and iâm sorry.
âno,â toji lies.
you purse your lips. âokay.â
the engine roars back to life. and toji is sweating, and the date feels over before itâs even started, and his pulse is too loud andâ
âdaddy?â
tojiâs blood runs cold.
in the backseat of satoâs porsche, megumi zenin is there, body tucked under a blanket and rubbing his eyes. he slips off the seat and stumbles towards the console, still rubbing at his face. âhi, daddy.â
toji zenin can only stay frozen as megumi wraps his smaller arms around his neck.
he tries to speak, fingers twitching as they hover over his sonâs back. âmegumiâhey, buddyâwhatâre you doing here?â
megumi buries his nose into his fatherâs neck. âi didnât want to be alone again.â
toji bites his lip. he can feel your eyes boring into him, and he nervously scrambles. âheyâyouâre never alone, buddy. where are your uncles? come here.â
he lifts megumi into his lap, avoiding your gaze.
âis this your son?â
tojiâs mouth dries.
he could say itâs his nephew, make up some lie about him referring to both him and his âbrotherâ as dad, but god. youâre already looking at him with something he doesnât have the vocabulary to name, and tojiâs jaw aches.
âyes,â he sucks in a breath. âthis is my son, megumi.â
he brushes megumiâs hair back, taking his little fist away from his face so he stops rubbing at his eyes. âmeg, say hi to the pretty lady.â
âhi, pretty lady.â
megumi waves a small hand, then collapses against his fatherâs stomach.
you force a smile and flick your eyes back up to toji.
âi think you should take me home.â
???âs REMARK : YOU CANâT LARP YOUR WAY INTO BEING LOVED !
BROKE BOY TACTICS #5: EMBRACE YOUR ECONOMICS !
taught by: nanami kento, megumi zenin.
âmaybe she doesnât hate you. maybe she hates that you thought so little of her you felt the need to live a lie.â
ΣΧ
itâs a new day, and toji zenin is laden with old burdens.
heâs slumped against his bedroom wall, phone pressed to his ear with megumi on his stretched out legs. megumi has a red & green colored hand in another jar full of gummy worms. toji makes a mental note to hide it better next time.
âyou didnât just lose the date,â nanamiâs voice cuts through the speaker, flat and professional as always. âyou insulted her intelligence. made her out to be a shallow woman whoâd only care about you if you had money in your bank account.â
toji stares at the ceiling. then at megumi, whoâs about to eat a gummy worm off the floor. he flicks it away. âshe looked at me like i was trash, nanami.â
âshe looked at you like you were a liar,â nanami corrects. âwhich you are.â
nanami sighs, breath sending a crackle through the speaker. all he wanted to do was spend his afternoon reading his new favorite BL, doukyuusei, but once again the shenanigans of his friends have interrupted his peace.
âtoji, youâre a smart man. and she sounds like a smart woman. i doubt sheâd lose interest because you have a sonâi believe she hates that you lied to her.â
megumi takes a worm and makes it crawl through tojiâs lips. itâs cold, but toji chews and swallows anyways. âi need to apologize.â
âyes,â toji can hear a page flip. âand quickly. i have to attend to other matters now, but say hi to megumi for me.â
the line goes dead, and toji drops his hand to the floor.
megumi chews a gummy worm. then he takes it out of his mouth, frowns at it, then eats it again. âdaddy, are you mad at me?â
toji frowns. âfor what?â
âi ruined your date,â megumi looks into the jar of worms, frowning, then back at his dad. âwith auntie.â
toji looks at his son. at his candy smeared cheeks, sticky hands, black spikes of hair and sugar in his teeth. megumi looks just like him. heâs always known it, but heâs growing to look more and more like his father every day.
âyou didnât ruin anything,â he murmurs, pulling his son into his chest. âyouâve never ruined anything in your life.â
he pats megumiâs hair, head thrown back. âiâm sorry, meg.â
five-year-old megumi zenin has already lost interest. heâs more focused on getting the red and blue gummy in the sea of yellow-green ones, small hand grabbing fistfuls of worms before dropping them back. he doesnât know his father is sorry, sorry for everything, for trying to erase his existence to impress a woman and for bringing him into this world knowing he will never be able to give him the future he deserves.
megumi retrieves the red and blue gummy worm. his favorite flavor. he blinks at it once, twice.
then he turns to his dad. lifts the gummy worm on his palm to his face.
toji zenin eats it right off.
â” SHOW TIME !
megumi zenin is in his best clothes: baby blue button-up from suguru. a white top with a red race car that sukuna had got him for his birthday. light up skechers from uncle sato. toji had tried to get him to wear normal shoes, but megumi shut that down quickly. he wanted to be seen.
you no longer frequent the local loblaws.
and it breaks tojiâs heart, actually. you havenât blocked him just yet, thank god, so toji thinks you might not yet hate him completely. that he might still have a chance.
call him a weirdo, but heâs been to almost every grocery store nearby.
no frills, sobeys, you name it. and now, at 12:30PM sunday, toji zenin is in his car with his son, watching you load groceries into the backseat with a pout on your lips. like youâre above this. like you need a big, strong man to offer his help. and tojiâs chest aches. because he could be that man, you know. if youâd let him.
toji slips out of the car. megumi hops out too.
he stops just a few feet behind you, watching you mutter curses as you haul a carton of juice. tojiâs lip twitches. then he pulls megumi along.
âlet me help.â
you blink as toji comes out of seemingly nowhere to save the day. he lifts everything out of your cart and into your car, never breaking a sweat. truthfully, your groceries arenât even that heavy. heâs not sure why you were struggling, but he thinks itâs so fucking cute.
he lets you click your remote to close the boot shut. then he turns to you: âi owe you an apology.â
you tilt your head. âdo you?â
he squeezes megumiâs hand in his own to ground himself. âi lied because i was scared,â he admits, and you never thought youâd hear toji and âscaredâ in the same sentence. âyouâre a pretty girl from a nice family who spends my rent money on groceries,â he breathes. âand i want you, bad. and i thought if you saw meâthe me who lived paycheck to paycheck and has nothing except this little brat,â he raises megumiâs hand, âyouâd leave before i even got a chance.â
he shifts his hand to megumiâs head. âitâs fucking stupid, i know. but this is my son,â he ruffles megumiâs hair. âsay hi, kid.â
âhi, auntie.â
your gaze shifts away from toji, and drops to the little boy beside him. megumi is apple cheeks, dark, messy hair and nervous feet shifting on the pavement. he looks like his dad, and the sight makes your heart melt.
âhi, baby boy.â you crouch down to his height. âi love your shirt. do you wanna come here?â
megumi nods. he abandons his fatherâs side to let you scoop him up in your arms.
toji frowns.
megumiâs a shy kid. or not shyâawkward. he canât make eye contact with kids his age, his tone is too flat, and his eyes are always bored. he doesnât like to be touched by people he isnât familiar with, and heâs very quick to say no to what he doesnât like or want. so toji can only watch, brows knit in confusion, as megumiâs fist curls over your necklace and he lets you press a kiss to his cheek.
âhi, auntie,â megumi collapses into your shoulder, fist still gripping your necklace. âi did a very good job.â
âso good, baby,â you kiss his hair, grinning. âiâm gonna buy you all the gummies in the world.â
megumi blushes from the affection. he shifts his head over your shoulder so all you can see is his pink chubby cheek.
âwhat the hell is happening?â
âdaddyâs a big dummy,â megumi mutters into your shoulder. âthe biggest,â you agree.
tojiâs frown deepens, and you laugh. âiâve already met megumi, silly.â
toji blinks. heâs about to ask how, but you beat him to it: âremember when you got out of the car? megumi woke up in the backseat,â you kiss his ear softly, and megumiâs blush deepens. âwe had a long chat about you, toji. and i asked him to pretend weâve never met, and go back to sleep in the car.â
you watch megumi, fond. his fingers curling deeper into your necklace, his eyes shy and staring behind you. âi canât believe youâve been keeping this little angel from me. youâre a monster, toji.â
âdummy monsterâŠâ megumi mutters. you kiss his cheek again and he hides.
toji thinks about it. to megumi referring to you as auntie back in the apartment. fuck. he didnât think too much of it, but perhaps he shouldâve.
âso? you two were testing me, or some shit?â
you shift a hand from megumiâs back to your hip. âno attitude, mister. iâm still mad at you,â your frown, and then your shoulders drop. âdid you really think you had to fake having money to impress me? picking me up in a porsche when iâve already seen your crappy apartment?â
you stroke megumiâs hair. âand lying about meg,â your expression goes soft, sad. âhave you apologized to him?â
âyeah,â megumi tugs your necklace. âhe told me sorry.â
you smile at him, then kiss his little fist. âthatâs great, baby. you deserve an apology. and iâm sorry as well, for taking away your time with your father.â
megumi pats your face, voice flat. âi forgive you.â
you giggle, pinching his cheek, and toji can only stare in disbelief.
megumiâs cheeks are pink from your kisses, little fingers curled tight around your necklace while you sway him absentmindedly against your chest. his light-up skechers blink every time his feet kick against your thighs. youâre smiling at him like heâs heaven as a boy, and megumiâquiet, awkward, megumiâis hiding his face in your shoulder because heâs shy.
how greedy.
how greedy of toji zenin to pick out cheerios from between couch cushions like trying to erase evidence of a crime scene. how greedy of him to scrub crayon off his walls, peel gummies off his floors and hide away his son with other people he canât truly call family. how greedy of him to rip his sonâs drawing off the fridge, only to put it back again later because he canât even be greedy right.
how greedy of toji zenin to hide the only good thing in his life away; all because he wanted yet another good thing: you.
he wanted your pretty laugh in his apartment. wanted your heels by the front door, wanted your perfume in his sheets and your voice mixed with megumiâs cartoons on saturday mornings. toji zenin wanted everything.
now his everything was shoving his chubby hand in the face of his other everything to keep from getting attacked by kisses. but he was smiling. megumi zenin was smiling, and blushing, and laughingâand toji thinks about how he hasnât seen megumi this childish in a while.
his heart aches.
âiâm sorry.â
sorry for what? he knows what heâs sorry for, but the words have failed him again, so he can only watch. watch as you tilt your head the way you always do, before megumi glances at you and tilts his head back at him the same way. oh god.
ââgumi, do we forgive daddy?â
âyeah,â megumiâs feet kick. his shoes light up, red and blue. âif he stops hiding my gummies.â
toji wonât hide his gummies anymore. hell, heâll never hide anything again in his life.
and maybe megumi senses the guilt on his fatherâs shoulders, because he squirms his tiny body for you to set him down and dashes so hard into his fatherâs legs that he knocks his forehead against his knee. âowâŠâ
toji snorts, crouching. âwhat are you doing, kid.â but heâs scooping megumi into his arms anyways. you pad closer, grin cheeky, and poke megumi on his side.
âhow about we go shop for some gummy worms?â
BONUS â Y/N AND MEGâS FIRST MEET !
âwho are you?â
the voice makes you jolt. youâre staring at your hands in the passengerâs seat of tojiâs rentedâno, probably borrowedâporsche, blinking away tears in your eyes when a tiny voice speaks behind you.
you whip your head around so fast your neck aches.
and standing there is a little boy, tiny, maybe four or five, rubbing away sleep from his eyes. his hair comes in tufts of black, and his eyes are blue, and oh my god he looks just like his father.
toji.
megumi is rubbing his eyes harder now. your heart melts.
âhi, baby,â you coo, patting away your own tears on your lashes. âiâm friends with your daddy. whatâs your name?â
âiâm megumi,â he sniffles, yawns. âmy friends call me meg. but i donât have any friends.â
oh. âhi, meg. whatâre you doing here? did your dad leave you home alone?â
you hope he says no, because you know tojiâs been hiding somethingâsomeone from you, but he wouldnât go that far. at least, you hope he wouldnât.
âno, my uncles are at home,â he says sleepily. and you hover your hands over his face in silent permission. he blinks at your hands, sniffles again, before nodding to let you brush his hair back from his face. âi wanted to see daddy. he left for work.â
work? no he didnât. toji zenin is outside, lifting the bonnet of a car he knows is too good to call his. âdid he tell you he was going to work, meg?â
âno, but i know he is. he works for us. he wears the tie and he goes away.â
âoh, babyâŠâ
toji zenin is a liar. a liar with a handsome face, and warm touch, and words that make your head dizzy. and you should be mad, really. you are, but the sight of this little boy with a face like his fatherâs only makes your heart ache.
you want to ask questions: who are your uncles? where were you when i came over? is your mother still in the picture?
but megumi zenin is blinking sleepily as you caress his cheek, leaning into your touch with a sigh.
âmegumi, do you wanna make a deal?â
âwhat kind of deal?â megumi tries to rub his eyes, but you ease his fist away.
âa super simple one. your daddyâs been acting really strange, right? to you and me,â you pat his cheek. âall you have to do is act like weâve never met, and iâll give you anything you want.â
megumi thinks very hard. then he asks, âare you the lady daddy wants to impress?â
you blink. âwhat do you mean?â
âi heard him on the phone with uncle sugu,â megumi rests his head against your leather car seat. âhe said he likes a nice lady. said he wants to be a better man for her.â he rubs his eye. âthen he started leaving me. whereâs daddy? i wanna talk to daddy.â
âoh, meg,â your heart breaks. âcome here, baby.â
megumi hesitates, but then he lets you pull him into a hug. his hands are limp by his sides, but he pats your back once before his tiny hand slips away. âauntie, why are you crying?â
your shoulders shake over him. you sniffle, âdonât worry about it, meg. and your daddyâs gonna come back soon, okay? and he wonât leave you alone anymore. iâll make sure of it.â
megumi pulls back. âyou promise?â
you cup his cheeks. âi promise. go back to sleep, okay?â
EPILOGUE !
on the couch of tojiâs crappy apartment, megumi zenin is curled into his fatherâs side, gummy worms in his mouth as he presses his sticky hands to the screen of his brand new ipad pro. a shiny gift from his loving uncle sato, who bought him the device despite suguru and tojiâs wishes.
megumi offers his father a gummy worm. âwhen is auntie coming?â
toji eats it off his palm. âsoon, kid,â he clicks his tongue. âswear you like her more than me now.â
megumi picks out five gummy worms from the jar, then lines them up on his ipad screen for convenience. ânah, i like daddy the most.â
toji softens.
all toji can see right now is the top of his little boyâs head, his tiny nose poking out and his chubby little cheeks. the ipad screen is sticky and candy smearedâmuch like megumiâs handsâand on the screen is a video of a teacup in a ballet dressâballerina cappucina?âgetting married to a little espresso man wearing a ninja bandana. toji frowns. the video gives him flashbacks to his days of working as skai jacksonâs personal AI prompt writer. he shivers.
toji shakes his head. âmeg, you know iâm never leaving, right?â
âi know,â megumi groans. âyou told me a billion times yesterday!â
âquit whining,â toji murmurs, pulling his son into his lap. megumi reaches for his jar of gummy worms, and toji tugs it closer. âjust wanted to remind you.â he mumbles.
megumi slumps against his fatherâs chest. soft, distracted, satisfied. âyou donât need to say sorry anymore. i forgive you.â
toji kisses his hair, burying his face in the dark strands. he sighs, âthanks, kiddo.â
âââ
when the doorbell rings, toji zenin is already half-asleep.
the soundâand megumiâs accidental jab of his elbow against his stomachâwakes him right up. toji smooths his hair, rubs the sleep from his eyes. then he turns to tell megumi to go wash his sticky hands, then decides not to.
he sucks in a breath and opens the door.
âhi, pretty.â
âmove. iâm not here for you.â
you shove at his chest and push your way into the apartment, and on the couch to the right megumi zenin is there, ipad in hands and cheeks sticky and looking up at you with big, blue eyes.
âauntie?â
âoh, my baby!â
you scoop him off the couch and into your arms, and megumi clutches your shoulders tight as you attack him with kisses on his forehead, cheeks, everywhere. tojiâs eye twitches in disbelief. âare we serious?â
âoh, youâre still here,â you glance over at him, bored. âmeg and i are gonna make cookies today. mind being a doll and fetching the ingredients from the car?â you toss him your car keys.
toji looks at the keys in his hands. then you, who is cooing silly things that make megumi blush and bury his head in your neck.
toji pads over to you, slow. âi wanted to see you.â
you ignore his hands snaking around your hips. you turn your nose up at him, âand now, you have.â
âyou still mad at me?â
of course youâre still mad. maybe not as mad as you were a week ago, but still upset. that he lied. that he thought so little of you that he went out of his way to sculpt a whole other life and hide away the little angel in your arms. but tojiâs hands are still heavy on your hips. his voice is warm in your ear. and he apologized, you know. in the parking lot that day. at your house on monday, holding a bouquet of half-dead flowers and wearing a rented suit that went to waste because you refused to go out with him anyway. he sent you an hour long voicemail apologizing. you listened to it all on the way here.
toji zenin is such a sap.
he acts like he isnât, though. but he is, and you feel it in how he presses his lips to your neck, over and over and over again. iâm sorry iâm sorry iâm sorry.
megumi shoves his fatherâs lips away. âdaddy stop.â
you laugh, nuzzling megumiâs cheek. âheâs such a dummy, isnât he meg? do you think i should forgive him?â
âyeah,â megumi mutters, collapsing into your neck. âhe said sorry a billion times to me yesterday. daddyâs really sorry for everything.â
âaww. daddyâs so cute when heâs sorry, isnât he?â
toji is glaring at you. you can only giggle and press a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise. you cup his jaw and press another one to his cheek. just one more, because youâd be lying if you said you hadnât missed him as well.
âi forgive you, mister. now go get those groceriesâshoo!â
toji nuzzles your neck before leaving the apartment.
megumi is still on your hip, clutching your shoulders for balance as you pick out pans and trays from the cupboard. he grips your hair in a tiny fist. âauntie?â
âhm, gummy?â
megumi hides in your neckâshy, nervous. âare you gonna be my new mommy?â
you freeze.
megumi clutches you tighter. his face is buried in your throat, and heâs gripping so tightly his little nails bite into your skin, but you soften. toji had already confessed everything in his voicemail. his mom isnât in the picture anymore. how a mother can let go of a little angel like meg, you donât know, but who are you to judge and conclude?
âi donât know, meg, itâs too soon,â you hum softly, setting a pan on the tabletop. âbut i know iâll be here, baby. for you.â
âwill you be at my school, too?â he peers up at you, big eyes glimmering with hope. âall the other kids have mommies except for me.â
âoh, megumiâof course iâll be there!â
itâs taking everything in you not to carry this boy and run! you attack his face with kisses, and megumi squirms in your arms but heâs giggling. his hands are sticky on your face, neck, everywhere, but you kiss him over and over again, because youâve only known him for a little over a week but youâre already ready to give him the world. âauntie, stop!â but heâs laughing. âthereâs lip gloss all over me!â
when toji walks in, he canât believe his eyes.
there are too many shopping bags in his hands, because everything about you is too much, even down to your shopping, and toji is staring in disbelief. the woman of his dreams in his kitchen, holding his son, and his son is laughing. laughing the way he used to before his mother left him two years ago.
and he doesnât really deserve the warmth curling in his chest, or the strange feeling coursing through his veins, but who is toji zenin if not greedy?
so he drops the bags to his feet (gently, because youâd curse him if the eggs broke), and pads over to the kitchen where youâre showering megumi with affection, and he snakes his arms around your waist and drops his head into your neck. you turn, grinning, and you donât push him away when he presses a quick kiss to your lips. the lips are honest, and now toji is too.
âaww, look at you getting all sappy.â
âauntie made my face all sticky..â
toji squeezes you both tight. a little greed never killed a man.
MEGUMIâS REMARK : CAN I HAVE SOME GUMMY WORMSâŠ?
Synopsis: JJK men favorite positions to fuck you in.
With Visuals! Make sure you are logged into X/Twitter beforehand
â Gojo Satoru à»ê± .
Prone bone
Gojo is a big slut. There is just something about him having you laying underneath him on your belly with all his weight on you. You canât run, you canât escape, you have to take his dick like a good girl.
"You're already this wet? We barely started."
"Toru, pleaseâ" Your voice came out broken, muffled by the pillow. You tried to lift your hips, desperate for more friction, but his weight kept you pinned perfectly flat.
"Please what?" He laughed, that playful lilt making your clit throb. His arm tightened around your neck just slightly, pulling your head back enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek. "Use your words, baby. I know you've got 'em in that pretty little head."
"Please fuck me," you whined, fingers clawing at the sheets beneath you. "I need it, I need you insideâ"
The words died in your throat as he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your scream came out choked, strangled by his forearm against your throat as he stretched you open around his length. The angleâgod, the angle with your legs pressed together, flat beneath himâmade him feel impossibly thick.
"Fuck, your tight," Gojo groaned, his composure cracking for just a moment before that cocky edge returned. "Your little pussy's squeezing me so hard. Did you miss my cock that much?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His hips snapped back and drove forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that had the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust ground your clit against the mattress, the friction almost too much combined with the way he was splitting you open from behind.
"T-Toru! Too deepâAhhâhh" Your moans pitched higher, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he fucked you into the bed. His arm stayed locked around your throat, keeping your back arched just enough that every stroke hit that devastating spot inside you.
"Too deep?" He had the audacity to laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple even as his hips pistoned faster. "Baby, I'm barely trying. You should see yourself right nowâcrying already and I haven't even made you cum yet."
The tears spilled over, streaking down your cheeks and soaking into the pillow. It wasn't painâor not entirely. It was the overwhelming fullness, the relentless pace, the way he somehow knew exactly how to take you apart. Your sobs mixed with your moans, creating desperate sounds you'd never heard yourself make before.
"There it is," Gojo breathed, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "There's my pretty crybaby. Those tears look so good on you." He shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly every thrust was punching against your g-spot with devastating accuracy. "Come on, let me hear you. Let the whole building hear how good I'm fucking this pussy."
"Ohhh god, oh fuck, fuck!â Your vocabulary shattered into nothing but profanity and his name, repeated like a prayer. Your nails tore at the sheets as the pressure built, coiling tighter with every snap of his hips.
"That's it, squeeze me just like that," he commanded, his own breath coming faster now despite his efforts to sound unaffected. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he used your body. "You gonna cum on my cock? Gonna make a mess all over these sheets?"
"Yesyesplease, I'm so closeâplease let me cum, toru!â"
"Look at you, begging so pretty with tears running down your face." His headlock tightened just a fraction more, his lips brushing your ear. "Go ahead then, baby. Cum for me. Show me how much you love getting fucked into this mattress."
Your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your entire body seizing beneath him as you wailed his name into the pillow. Your pussy clamped down on him rhythmically, milking his cock as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. The tears flowed freely now, mixing with drool on the pillowcase as you completely fell apart.
"Fuuuck, that's good," Gojo grunted, his hips stuttering as your walls strangled him. But he didn't stopâdidn't even slow down. He fucked you straight through your orgasm, extending it until you were shaking, oversensitive and overwhelmed. "One more. Give me one more, pretty girl. I know you've got it in you."
"I can'tâI can't, it's too muchâ" But even as you protested, you could feel it building again, impossibly fast, stacking on top of the first orgasm before it even finished.
"Yes you can." His voice was pure sin against your ear. "You're gonna cum again, and then I'm gonna fill this tight little cunt up. That's what you want, isn't it? Want me to fuck this pretty pussy?"
Those filthy words pushed you right over the edge again, a second orgasm ripping through you even harder than the first. You screamedâactually screamedâas your vision went white, barely aware of Gojo's groan as he finally buried himself deep and spilled inside you.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, his softening cock still plugging you full of his cum. His arm loosened around your throat, hand coming up to gently wipe the tears from your cheeks.
"Such a good girl," he murmured, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder. "My pretty little crybaby."
â Geto Suguru à»ê± .
Cowgirl
Your thighs burned as you bounced on Geto's cock, his thick cock stretching you with every drop of your hips. His dark hair fanned across the pillow beneath him, those sharp eyes watching you with an intensity that made your skin flush even darker.
"That's it," he murmured, big hands gripping your waist to guide your rhythm. "Ride it like you mean it, sweetheart. Show me how badly you need this cock."
"Suguruânnghâ" You planted your palms on his chest for leverage, rolling your hips in a desperate grind that dragged his tip against your g-spot. The wet sounds of your pussy taking him filled the room, obscene and loud in the relative quiet.
His expression shifted, that sweet encouragement hardening into something meaner. "Did I say you could slow down?" His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging in as he lifted you up and slammed you back down onto his length. "I said ride. So fucking ride."
"mmfâmmmh! Oh godâ" The brutal thrust punched the air from your lungs, and you scrambled to obey, picking up your pace until you were bouncing fast and hard on his dick. Your tits bounced with the movement, catching his attention immediately.
"Look at these," Geto breathed, one hand leaving your hip to palm your breast roughly. "Bouncing right in my face like you're begging for attention." He sat up suddenly, the change in angle making you cry out as he somehow got even deeper. His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you see stars.
"Fuckahhh!, Sugu !" Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands as he alternated between your breasts, laving his tongue over your sensitive nipples before sucking them into his mouth. All while you kept riding him, your pussy clenching desperately around his thickness.
"Mmm, these pretty tits," he mumbled against your skin, teeth grazing your nipple in a way that made your hips stutter. "Taste so fucking good. Keep movingâdon't you dare stop."
You whimpered but obeyed, grinding down on him even as his mouth drove you crazy. The dual stimulation was almost too much, pleasure sparking from your nipples straight to your core where he was buried so deep.
SMACK.
You yelped as his palm connected with your ass, the sharp sting radiating through your flesh and making your pussy clamp down on him involuntarily.
"Did I say you could slow down?" Geto pulled back from your chest just enough to look up at you, dark eyes glittering with something dangerous. "I can feel you getting lazy, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorryâ" You picked up the pace again, bouncing harder, faster, your ass jiggling with every impact. Another slap landed on your other cheek, and you moaned shamelessly at the pain-pleasure of it.
"That's better." His voice was sweet again, almost tender, even as his hand came down on your ass a third time. "See? You can be such a good girl when you try." He leaned in, capturing your nipple between his teeth and tugging gently. "Now keep fucking yourself on my cock until you cum. I want to feel this pussy squeeze me."
"Sugu, please, pleaseâ" You weren't even sure what you were begging for anymore. More? Mercy? Both? Your thighs screamed with exertion, but you couldn't stop, not with his mouth on your tits and his cock filling you so perfectly and his hands gripping your ass where he'd spanked you raw.
"Please what?" He was mean again, that sharp edge back in his voice. "Use your words or youâre gonna have to use your fingers to cum tonight, baby."
"Please make me cum!" The words tore out of you, desperate and needy. "I need it, I need to cum on your cock, please Suguru, I've been good, I've been riding you so goodâ"
"Hmm, you have been good." Sweet again, so sweet it gave you whiplash. He pressed a gentle kiss to the swell of your breast even as his hips started thrusting up to meet your downward movements, doubling the intensity. "Okay, baby. Cum for me. Let me feel it."
The combination of his sweet permission and his brutal pace shattered you. You came with a scream, your pussy convulsing around him as you collapsed forward against his chest. He held you through it, still fucking up into you, prolonging your orgasm until you were shaking and sobbing against his neck.
"Good girl," he murmured, stroking your hair even as his hips snapped up harder, chasing his own release. "Such a good fucking girl for me."
â Kento Nanami à»ê± .
Missionary
"There we go," he breathed against your lips, fully seated inside you now. "You're taking me so well, sweetheart. So perfect for me."
"K-Kenâ" His name was a prayer on your lips as he pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a steady rhythm that had the bed creaking beneath you. His pace was controlled, deliberateâeach stroke calculated to drag against every sensitive spot inside you.
"That's it." His voice was low, rough with restrained desire. "Let me hear you. You sound so beautiful."
Emboldened by his praise, you stopped trying to muffle your moans. They spilled out freely nowâbreathy whines and desperate gasps as he fucked you with that maddening precision. "Feels so good, oh god, you feel so good inside meâ"
"You feel incredible," he returned, pressing his forehead to yours. "So warm and tight. Like you were made for me." His hips snapped forward harder on the last word, making you cry out. "Were you? Made just for me to fill up?"
"Yes! Yes, Kento, only for youânghh!"
Something shifted in his eyes at your words. That carefully maintained control cracked, and suddenly his pace turned brutal. He braced himself better, hiking your legs higher around his waist as he started truly fucking youâhard, deep strokes that had the headboard slamming against the wall.
"You're doing so well," he groaned, even as he pounded into you without mercy. "Taking everything I give you. Such a good girl. My good girl."
The praise combined with the rough pace had you spiraling fast, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Kento, Ken, I'm gonnaâI'm so closeâ"
"I know, sweetheart. I can feel you squeezing me." He shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly every thrust was grinding against your clit while his tip battered your g-spot. "Go ahead. Cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel."
"Fuckfuckfuck!" You were babbling, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. "I need it, I need to cum, Kento please let meâ"
"You have my permission." He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans as you shattered beneath him. Your pussy clamped down on his cock rhythmically, milking him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. He fucked you through it, murmuring praise against your lips the entire time.
"Beautiful. So beautiful when you cum. That's my girl. You're doing so well."
Your orgasm seemed to last forever, extended by his words and his relentless pace. When it finally ebbed, you were limp beneath him, oversensitive and trembling. But he wasn't done.
"One more," he said, and it wasn't a request. His pace hadn't slowed at all. "Give me one more, sweetheart. I know you can."
"Kento, I can'tâit's too muchâ" But even as you protested, you could feel the pleasure building again, impossibly fast.
"Yes you can. You're my good girl, remember?" His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you arching off the bed with a wail. "Come on. One more, and then I'll fill you up. You want that, don't you? Want me to cum inside this perfect pussy?"
"Yesss! Oh god, I want itâ" The second orgasm hit you even harder than the first, your vision going white as you screamed his name. You felt him groan against your neck, his hips stuttering as he finally let go, spilling deep inside you.
He stayed inside you as you both came down, pressing gentle kisses across your faceâyour forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips.
"You were perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect."
â Toji Fushiguro à»ê± .
Doggy style
"Look at that," he laughed, and you could hear the smug grin in his voice. "So fucking eager. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? Waiting for me to come home and wreck this little cunt."
"Toji, pleaseâ" You wiggled your hips impatiently, desperate to feel him.
A large hand cracked against your ass, making you yelp. "Did I say you could speak, brat?" His palm smoothed over the stinging flesh almost soothingly before gripping hard. "Fuck, look at this ass. Made for me to ruin."
You bit your lip to keep quiet, even as your pussy clenched around nothing. His hands spread your cheeks apart, exposing you completely to his gaze.
"Dripping wet already. Pathetic." But his voice was thick with want, betraying his own need. You felt the thick head of his cock drag through your folds, gathering your arousal, and whimpered.
"What was that? I thought I told you to stay quiet." His hand fisted in your hair suddenly, yanking your head back hard enough to make you gasp. "Or do you want me to give you something to really scream about?"
"Please," you whined, unable to help yourself. "Please fuck me, Toji, I need your cock so badâ"
"Since you asked so nicely." He slammed forward without warning, burying his massive length inside you in one brutal thrust. You did scream thenâhis cock was huge, stretching you to your limits, filling you so completely you could barely breathe.
"Fuck baby, how are you tight," he groaned, his grip on your hair keeping your back arched painfully as he bottomed out. "Forgot how small this pussy is. Barely fits around me."
"T-too bigâ" The words came out broken, tears springing to your eyes at the intense stretch. "You're too big, I can'tâ"
"You can and you will." He pulled back and slammed forward again, setting a punishing pace that had you seeing stars. "This pussy's gonna take every fucking inch whether it likes it or not."
The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his rough grunts. His hand stayed fisted in your hair, using it as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with every thrust.
"Look at you," he laughed breathlessly, "taking it like the desperate little slut you are. Bet you love this, don't you? Love being used like a fucking toy?"
"Yes! Yes, I love it, I love your cockâohgodohgodohgodâ" You were babbling, words spilling out without thought as he rearranged your insides. He was so deep, hitting spots you didn't know existed, making your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
"That's what I thought." His free hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you clench around him. "Cockhungry little whore. Can't even think straight when you're getting fucked, can you?"
"N-no, can't thinkâonly you, only your cockâFuckkk!" He'd changed his angle, and now every thrust was punching against your cervix, pleasure-pain that had you sobbing into the mattress.
"Gonna cum already? I can feel this slutty pussy squeezing me." His pace somehow got even faster, harder, the bed frame protesting loudly beneath you. "Go ahead then. Cum on my cock like the desperate little thing you are."
"Toji, Toji, ji!" His name was the only thing you could say as your orgasm crashed through you, your entire body seizing as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Your pussy strangled his cock, milking him desperately as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you.
"Fuck yeah, that's it," he growled, fucking you through your orgasm without mercy. "Squeeze that cock. Milk every drop out of me."
He came with a groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding your insides with his release. You could feel itâhot and thick, filling you up until it started leaking out around his shaft.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you panting. Then he pulled out suddenly, making you whimper at the loss.
"Don't move." His voice was still rough, satisfied. "I want to watch my cum drip out of you."
â Sukuna Ryomen à»ê± .
Mating press
Sukuna's massive form loomed over you, his four arms caging you in against the bed. His cockâgod, his cockâwas enormous, inhuman in its size, the thick head already pressing against your entrance. You'd never taken anything that big. You weren't sure you could.
"K-kunaâ" Your voice trembled, a mix of fear and desperate arousal. "I don't know if it'll fitâ"
"It'll fit." His grin was cruel, all sharp teeth and malicious intent. "I'll make it fit." Two of his hands gripped your thighs, folding you nearly in half until your knees were pressed to your shoulders. "And you're going to take every inch like the pathetic little slut you are." He pushed forward, and you moan loudly.
The stretch was unrealâbordering on too much, your pussy struggling to accommodate his monstrous girth. He didn't stop, didn't give you time to adjust, just kept pushing until he was fully sheathed inside you. You could see the bulge of him in your stomach, could feel him in your throat, impossibly deep.
"Look at that," he purred, one hand pressing against the bulge. "I can see myself inside you. Your tiny little cunt stuffed full of my cock." He pressed harder, and you wailed. "Can you feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Too deepâtoo muchâ" Tears streamed down your face, but your pussy was clenching around him desperately, betraying how much your body craved this despite the overwhelming stretch.
"Shut up." He pulled back and slammed forward, punching a scream from your lungs. "You'll take what I give you and be grateful for it."
He started fucking you in earnest then, brutal thrusts that had your entire body jolting with each impact. The mating press position left you completely at his mercy, folded in half and pinned beneath his massive body, unable to do anything but take it.
"This is what you were made for," Sukuna growled, his pace relentless. "A tight little hole for me to fuck. To fill up with my seed until you're dripping with it." His claws dug into your thighs, drawing thin lines of blood that only seemed to excite him more. "You want that, don't you? Want me to knock you up?"
"Yes!" The word tore out of you before you could stop it. "Please, please breed me, fill me up, I need itâ"
"Pathetic." But he was grinning, clearly pleased by your desperation. "Begging a king to put a baby in you. What a dumb little slut."
His pace increased impossibly, the wet slap of his hips against your ass echoing through the room. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock dragging against your walls, stimulating nerves you didn't know you had.
"Gonna cumânghh," you gasped, the pressure building rapidly. "Gonna cum on your cock, please let meâ"
"Did I say you could cum?" His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. "You cum when I tell you to cum. Understood?"
"Please, please, I can't hold itâ" You were sobbing now, your body trembling on the edge of release. "Kuna, please, I'll do anythingâ"
"Anything?" His grin sharpened. "Then beg me to breed you. Beg me to fill this pretty cunt with my seed. Convince me you're worthy of carrying my offspring."
"Please breed me!" The words spilled out desperately. "Please fill me up, I need your cum inside me, I want to be so full of you, please kuna!, I'll be so good, just please let me cumâ"
"Good enough." His hand tightened on your throat as his hips pistoned faster. "Cum. Now."
Your orgasm hit like a freight train, your entire body convulsing as you screamed his name. Your pussy clamped down on his massive cock so tight it was almost painful, milking him desperately.
He came with an animalistic roar, burying himself impossibly deep as he flooded your womb with his release. You could feel itâso much cum, filling you up until your stomach actually distended slightly from the sheer volume.
"That's it," he growled, still pumping into you. "Take it all. Every last drop.â
â Choso Kamo à»ê± .
Spooning
"Is this... is this okay?"
Choso's voice was soft, uncertain, his chest pressed against your back as he held you close. His cock was already inside you, had been for several minutes now while he worked up the courage to actually move. You could feel him trembling slightly, overwhelmed by sensation.
"It's perfect," you assured him, reaching back to thread your fingers through his dark hair. "You can move whenever you're ready."
"I justâ" He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good. I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't hurt me, Choso." You rolled your hips back against him gently, making him gasp. "I promise. I can take it."
"But I'mâ" He cut himself off, embarrassed. "I've been told I'm... b-bigger than average. I don't want toâ"
You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "Baby, I know. I can feel it." His cock was stretching you deliciously, filling you so completely. "And it feels amazing. Please, Choso. I need you to move."
He made a small, desperate sound against your neck, and finallyâfinallyâhis hips pulled back and pushed forward in a tentative thrust.
"Oh fuck," you moaned, the drag of his thick length against your walls sending sparks through your entire body. "Yes, just like that. Keep going."
"Youâyou like it?" He sounded genuinely surprised, even as his hips started finding a rhythm. "It doesn't hurt?"
"It feels so good," you assured him, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "You feel so good inside me, Choso. So big and thickâ"
He whimperedâactually whimperedâat your words, his pace increasing slightly. "I didn't knowâno one ever told meâ"
"That your cock is fucking perfect?" You clenched around him deliberately, making him moan. "Because it is. Stretching me so good, filling me up just rightâ"
"Please," he gasped, his arm tightening around your waist. "Please don't say things like that, I'llâI won't be able toâ"
"Won't be able to what? Control yourself?" You rolled your hips back harder, fucking yourself on his cock. "Good. I don't want you to control yourself. I want you to use me."
Something snapped in him at your words. His hips started moving faster, harder, that tentative rhythm becoming something more desperate. His teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently as he thrust into you with increasing urgency.
"Is thisâam I doing it right?" Even now, even as he was fucking you harder than before, he was seeking reassurance. "Does it feel good?"
"So good, Choso, so fucking goodâ" You were moaning freely now, the angle of the position letting him hit your g-spot with every thrust. "Harder, please, I can take itâ"
He obeyed, his hips snapping against your ass with enough force to make the bed creak. "You're so tight," he gasped. "I can barely fitâis that normal? Am I too big?"
"You're perfectahhh!," you assured him, even as your eyes rolled back from the stretch. "Just the right size to ruin me."
"Ruinâ?" He sounded scandalized and aroused in equal measure. "I don't want to ruin you, I want to make you feel goodâ"
"You are, baby, you areâ" You reached back to grip his hair, pulling him closer. "I'm gonna cum, Choso. You're gonna make me cum on your big cock."
"Really?" The wonder in his voice was almost heartbreaking. "I can do that?"
"Yes, yes, right there, don't stopâfuck!" The pressure crested and broke, your orgasm washing over you in waves. You cried out his name, your pussy clamping down on him rhythmically.
"Ohâoh godâ" Choso's hips stuttered, the sensation of you cumming around him clearly overwhelming. "I'm going toâI can't holdânghh"
"Inside," you gasped. "Cum inside me, please, I want to feel itâ"
He came with a broken moan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you. You could feel his cock pulsing, filling you with warmth. His whole body shook against yours, overwhelmed by pleasure.
"That was..." He trailed off, panting against your neck. "I didn't know it could feel like that."
"We're just getting started," you promised, squeezing around him gently. "
Some people see marriage as a new beginning. A way to start life with a new and fresh mind and a way to navigate life with another person, while others may see it as something romantical. Something where you spend all your time loving another person and being all lovey-dovey together.
You discovered, that your marriage a mix of both. But it was mainly consisting of something elseâ
Marriage was arguing with Suguru Geto about absolutely ridiculous things ever. Each day brought up a new set of irritations.
â
"You moved my mug." You walk back into the kitchen to find your mug on the right side of the counter when you remember you clearly put it on the left, you always did.
Suguru didn't even look up from his book. "I did not." He sounded unamused, like he was used to this game.
"You did."
"I didn't."
"It was on the left side of the counter."
"It has always been on the right."
You pointed dramatically. "There is a coffee ring on the left side, my mug was there."
"There is also a coffee ring on the right side," Suguru finally glanced over. "It proves you spill coffee."
You narrowed your eyes. "That doesn't prove shit, I put my coffee on the left, so how did it end up on the right?"
He finally put his book down, "Regardless, it's your mug. I don't understand why you're so upset about the placement when it doesn't even affect the taste at all. Is it your time of the month?"
Staring up at you with feigned concern, Suguru sighed. The kind he did when he knew he's making you mad but wanted to see how far he could go with it.
You blinked at him once, fighting the urge to just grab the coffee mug and hit him with it repeatedly.
The argument ended with you sulking while drinking your coffee and Suguru apologizing for provoking a reaction out of you while pretending not to laugh.
That was usually how it went.
â
"It is literally the same man."
"It isn't."
"It is."
You looked right at the long haired man and scoffed. You both spent the past ten minutes watching an old movie named 'Man of Steel" debating if Henry Cavill was the same man who played in "Walking Out'.
News flash! It's not.
"I know what i'm talking about," You pressed. "the nose is different"
"The nose is not different, they're the same person." Suguru insisted, he was very eager to prove you wrong. He always was. "The energy is the same."
"The energy?"
"Yes," He glanced at you. "the energy is very...Henry-like."
You stared. "That is not evidence."
"It is to me."
Three minutes later both of you were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, searching on your phones.
When the answer finally appeared, You triumphantly held up your screen.
"See? The man who played in 'Walking Out' was Matt Bomer."
He looked at your screen, then at his, then back at your screen before putting his phone away and staring at the movie.
"I still think the energy is the same."
"Say you're wrong."
He sighed deeply, Suguru never had a problem apologizing when he was wrong, but he hated the look on your face.
"It wasn't even that serious."
"It is serious"
"It's never that serious"
"it is serious." You repeated, refusing to let this go.
In the end Suguru didn't even apologize, he watched the film in silence and refused to look your way.
â
Then there was the thermostat war.
A conflict that had somehow lasted three years. Mind you, you got married three years ago.
You increase the temperature? Suguru would lower the temperature.
You would raise it again.
He would lower it again.
Raise.
Lower.
Raise.
Lower.
Until you walked in to see him lowering the thermostat once more on a very cold winter day, irritation visible on his face. His hand froze on the lower button. "What?"
"Put it back to how i had it." Crossing your arms, annoyed.
"It's too warm. No one wants to be warm like you, lavagirl."
"It's winter."
"I'm aware."
Five minutes later both of you were sitting together under the same blanket while Suguru quietly rubbed your cold hands.
The thermostat remained exactly where he wanted it.
â
The most ridiculous argument, however, occurred because of grocery shopping. Specifically because Suguru insisted on buying fruit he never actually ate.
"You bought bananas." You looked up from the grocery bags to the man putting up the rest of the groceries.
"Yes, what of it?"
"You don't eat bananas."
"I might." He glanced at you before returning his attention back onto the task at hand.
"You won't."
"I could."
"They're turning brown."
"They still have potential."
You rolled your eyes deeply. "That's not how fruit works."
The bananas sat untouched for a week.
Every day you pointed at them, every day Suguru claimed he had plans for them. And eventually you found him making banana bread at eleven o'clock at night. You walked into the kitchen, he looked guilty.
Crossing your arms with a raised brow, you sighed deeply. A habit that you gained ever since you met Suguru. "You were never going to eat them, were you?"
"No." He shook his head, his pride didn't allow him to look up at you. He knew you were right and he didn't want to give you the satisfaction of seeing him.
"So that entire argument was pointless."
"Mostly."
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then both of you started laughing, the sound mingling together and filling the rest of the empty apartment.
That was the thing about being married to Suguru, the arguments never felt serious. They were less like fights and more like an ongoing competition neither of you intended to win or lose.
Even when you annoyed each other.
Even when you rolled your eyes.
Even when he stole your side of the bed and claimed he hadn't moved an inch.
Even when you stole his hair ties and claimed it was yours.
pairing. depressed!suguru x reader (fanart by raonnni on twitter/tiktok)
synopsis. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT IâM NEVER LEAVING âCAUSE IâM MRS. SNOW âTIL DEATH WEâLL BE FREEZING . . . you havenât seen your friend geto in weeks. youâve texted and called to no avail. youâre really worried about him to say the least. when you finally knock on his door youâre met with a sight you recognize that breaks your heart.
warnings/tags. please do not read if this any of this may trigger you. depression, suicidal tendencies, self isolation, hurt/comfort, reverse comfort, crying, reader has history of depression (but has mostly healed), reader is painfully hesitant & awkward but we adore her, heavy angst but lots of comfort to make up for it!! (wc 5.7k)
ê° âïž ê± i started writing this during a snowstorm so yes. happy birthday my pretty boy suguru who i love and adore. if you can relate to this fic iâm sending you the biggest and warmest hugs. remember youâre never truly alone in this big, beautiful world, even if you feel like you are. +side note this is basically a suguru version of blue christmas (and i mightâve made myself sob while writing againâŠ)
you notice suguru recoil slowly.
at first, itâs nothing to worry about.
heâs always been inconsistent with textsâjust like you. long stretches of silence were always followed by sudden paragraphs at three in the morning or hours-long conversations.
youâre used to it.
time seemed like it never existed for the two of you. so you donât question it when your texts go unanswered the first time.
you tell yourself he must be busy.
when it happens again a few days later, you shrug it off again. you donât want to be the kind of person who reads too much into things. youâve worked really hard not to be that person anymore.
still, you find yourself opening your phone to his contact more often than usual. typing. deleting. then typing again.
hey âthatâs too empty.
just checking in âsounds forced?
are you okay? âthatâs too heavy. too direct. you donât think you have the right to ask so bluntly.
though⊠you remember wishing someone had asked you that when you were in a not-so-good place.
you close your messages without sending anything. your chest tightens with anxietyâjust a littleâbut you breathe through it like youâve learned.
but then days pass. then a week. then another.
worry doesnât hit all at once. it seeps in slowly, settling into your every thought. you catch yourself thinking about suguru at inconvenient timesâstanding in a line, brushing your teeth in the morning half conscious, lying awake at night unable to sleep.
every time your phone buzzes, your hope spikes in an embarrassing way.
itâs never him.
you tell yourself youâre projecting. youâve been in that place where the world feels like too muchâwhere even something as simple as responding to a text feels too daunting of a task.
you know what itâs like to vanish without meaning to and you guess knowing that should make this easier.
it doesnât.
after a few more days of no contact, you finally try calling him⊠even though you despise phone calls. that says a lot.
the line rings and rings and ringsâŠ
you hang up before it goes to voicemail, heart pounding like youâve done something wrong. your hands feel unsteady after, like they used to when you were younger and everything felt like too much. you hate that reaction. hate that it still lives in you somewhere.
you try to ignore it. but now? nowyouâre really worried about him. again, you try to find reason. heâll probably reach out when heâs ready like he always does. again, you shouldnât project.
but concern doesnât disappear when you ask it to.
by the time youâre standing in front of his door your stomach hurts.
the walk to his apartment felt longer than it should have. every step felt like another chance to turn around.
you had excuses lined up and ready: heâll be asleep. youâre overreacting. this is intrusive. itâll be really awkward. you have nothing to say!
when you reach his door youâre still not sure what to say, even after youâve gone over a billion different ways a conversation could go.
maybe heâs ghosting you because he doesnât want to be friend anymore.
your fist hovers inches from the door and you exhale sharply.
you hesitate, because of course you do. your heart is beating too fast, your palms are sweaty, and your brain is cycling through worst case scenarios you donât want to name.
but finally, you muster the courage to knock. you were here already. you couldnât be that girl who wimped out of everything again.
the silence that follows is loud. and through it, the thought of leaving flashes through your mind so clearly it scares you.
you triedâŠthatâs enough. time to go home.
however, something heavier roots you in place. you shouldnât leave. couldnât, actually. you needed to know your friend was okay.
so you knock again, a little firmer this time.
thereâs movement inside. a pause. and then footsteps towards the door. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself.
the door opens just a crack.
getoâs face appears in the gap.
relief hits you first, sharp and dizzying. heâs here. heâs alive. your shoulders loosen before you can stop them.
then the rest registers.
getoâs eyes look tired in a way that isnât just about the loss of sleep, dark bags making home under his eyes. his hair is messier than youâve ever seen it. heâs always taken care of the luscious locks⊠but apparently not right now.
though, itâs the look on its face that really gets to you. itâs blank. not in his usual quiet or guarded way.
nothing in his expression even shifts when he sees you.
like a corpse.
ââŠoh,â geto says plainly, âhey.â
he utters the two words like theyâre nothing. like this is just an ordinary dayâlike you havenât been worried sick after being ignored by him for weeks.
at that exact moment, regret slams into youâsharp and shameful.
you shouldâve checked on him sooner. you really shouldnât have waited until time stretched on for too long.
âhi,â is all you finally manage to whisper back, even though you want to say so much more.
your throat tightens. you werenât ready for how much it would hurt to see him like this.
thereâs an awkward pause where neither of you move. youâre suddenly acutely aware of how long itâs been and how strange this must be for him. you donât want to overwhelm him.
but you also donât want to pretend everythingâs fine.
âyou⊠um⊠you havenât been answering?â you try.
it comes out like a question instead of the statement you meant.
he looks away, jaw tightening. âyeah. sorry.â
thatâs all he offers. no explanation.
it hurts.
youâve been close with him for a few years. you thought maybe youâd earned enough trust for him to tell you when things were wrong.
but you know, even like this, that he must be hurting more than you are.
the door opens a little wider. not an invitation, exactly, but not dismissal either.
okay. well maybe your presence here was fine.
suguruâs apartment is dim, thin curtains drawn tight. the air feels stale. there are signs of life everywhere, but no signs of living.
thereâs a high pile of dishes left in the sink and a crumpled blanket on the couch like itâs been slept in for weeks.
your chest aches.
you stand there, unsure where to put your hands, your eyes, your words.
this is the part youâre terrible at. you know you should reach out to him right now. you should say the right thing. maybe offer comfort without sounding rehearsed.
you donât know how to do any of that.
but you do know why you came.
âum⊠i just wanted to check in on you⊠itâs been a few weeks,â you murmur softly. âi thought you left the country or something!â
shit.
you donât even know where that last part came fromâthat thought had never crossed your mind until this minute.
maybe you shouldâve kept your mouth shut.
he doesnât laugh or twitch like usual when you try to fill the awkward gaps with useless jokes. instead, suguru only nods like heâs tired.
âsorry. iâve beenâŠâ thereâs a pause like he doesnât know what heâs been doing. âbusy.â
you donât believe him. you know he knows you donât too.
âohâ is all you respond with.
youâre really fucking bad at this.
he opens the door wider after a moment, stepping aside like heâs giving in rather than inviting you in. you take that as permission, slipping past him with careful steps, like the wrong movement might snap the fragility.
the door shuts behind you.
the click of the lock makes your stomach twist.
you stand there, hands useless at your sides, not sure where you belong. you don't say anything, trying to steady your racing thoughts. neither does he.
the silence stretches.
it isnât comfortable. it isnât neutral. itâs just there, pressing in on you from all sides. suffocating. it floods the space where something should be said but isnât.
geto moves first.
itâs subtle and something he doesnât even realize he does. his shoulders sag and he drags a hand down his face like it takes effort to keep himself upright. he exhales emptily, then turns away from you without another word.
he crosses the room slowly, movements dulled, each step is heavier than the last. when he reaches his couch, he doesnât even bother sitting properly.
he justâŠcollapses into it, slumping forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed. itâs scarily as if heâs been holding himself together purely out of obligation. your heart clenches painfully in your chest.
you clearly recognize how he feels. you can recall the time you felt it.
that alone terrifies you even more.
you stay where you are for a second too long, watching him. the way his once shiny hair falls into his face, now dull and uncared for. he goes still once heâs thereâlike moving any more might be too much.
this wasnât how you imagined him at all.
well, you donât even know what you imagined. but whatever it was, it wasnât this. not him looking so spent⊠so tired.
you take a few tentative steps closer, stopping a careful distance away. close enough to be present but still far enough in fear that youâll overwhelm him.
another pause settles in.
you feel your heart pounding in your ears.
your brain starts shouting at youâdonât ask. donât make it worse. donât open a wound you canât fix.
this is the part where you usually retreat. where you convince yourself silence is safer.
but you just canât.
your fingers curl into the fabric of your sleeves.
ââŠsuguru?â you say softly.
just his name. testing it. seeing if heâll come back to shore or if you have to go back out into the deep to get him back.
he doesnât respond. but his shoulders tense, just a fraction.
you swallow, throat feeling tight. this feels like stepping off a ledge.
after a long minute, you finally whisper it.
âare you okay?â
the words hang in the air.
for a moment, nothing happens. you almost think he didnât hear you because of how quiet you spoke.
but then his shoulders are trembling.
just once at firstâsharp, like heâs been jolted awake after a nightmare and his body reacted before he could stop it.
geto lets out a sound thatâs quiet and broken. he brings his hands to his face like heâs embarrassed to be seen like this. like he can still fix it if he hides fast enough.
ââŠthatâs a stupid question,â he mutters, lacking any conviction.
his voice is wrong.
your chest throbs again painfully. âiâm sorry. you donât have to answer,â you say quickly. âi justââ
he inhales, shaky. then exhales, worse.
âi donât know,â he says. the words crack halfway through. âi really donât know.â
and thatâs when something shatters.
his head drops into his hands. his elbows press harder into his knees like heâs folding in on himself. another breath stutters out of him, then another, each one rougher than the last.
it hits you in the chest like a brick.
heâs crying.
quiet. youâre only able to tell in the way his shoulders shake and he sniffles just one.
itâs the same exact way youâve cried before.
heâs been holding it back for so long his body has forgotten how to let it out properly.
fear flares hot in your chest and you freeze in your spot. your first instinct is to do something. anything. but your body wonât cooperate.
youâve been here before. you know how overwhelming the simple question felt when you were already falling apart. but maybe thatâs why you asked it.
youâre rooted to the spot for a whole minute. it seems to stretch for an eternity.
suguruâs breathing hitches again. itâs small and barely there. a soft, broken sound that slips out of him like he didnât mean for it to. and something in you breaks with it.
your eyes are burning before you can stop the reaction.
old memories rush in uninvitedâthe nights you spent staring at the ceiling, the times you wished someone would just stay and hug you without asking you to explain yourself.
you press your lips together, hard, but it doesnât help much.
before you can overthink itâbefore fear can catch up and drag you back like a tideâyou move.
itâs sudden and clumsy. unplanned and uncalled for. one second youâre frozen, the next youâre crossing the room in a few quick steps, heart pounding like youâve made a terrible mistake you canât undo.
thereâs a brief pause and a moment where you hover, unsure, caught between wanting to help and being terrified of doing the wrong thing.
and then youâre sitting down beside him.
not touching him, just close enough that your knee almost brushes his and that he knows youâre there.
his shoulders tense and he turns his face away from you.
âsorry,â he mutters, voice thick. âyou shouldnât have to see this.â
your breath wobbles. before you can swallow the words back down, they slip out.
âhey,â you say, softly. shakier than you meant it to be. âplease donât say that. donât apologize for anything. itâs okay.â
he stills.
your hands tremble slightly in your lap, but you keep them there, resisting the urge to grab onto him, to hug him and give him the comfort he deserves.
âitâs really okay,â you repeat. âyou donât have to stop. or⊠hide.â
your voice cracks on the last word.
you hate that it does, but you donât take it back.
he lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts. it catches in his chest, stuttering on the way out.
and then suguru is crying harder.
not loudly still, just deeper.
somethingâs given way and he doesnât know how to put it back together. his shoulders shake, uneven and exhausted, but he still wonât look at you. his blurry gaze stays fixed somewhere on the floor, jaw clenched like heâs bracing himself for impact.
your eyes sting at the sight and tears blur the edges of your vision. you blink a few times, trying to ground yourself. you donât want to make this about you and you donât want him to feel like heâs made you cry too on top of everything.
you swallow.
âyou donât have to be so strong anymore.â the words feel dangerous, but you say them anyway. âi know youâre tired.â
his breathing falters again.
he presses his lips together, like heâs trying to swallow the sound back down, as if crying is something he can still control if he tries hard enough. you know itâs not.
his shoulders curl inward further, his arms wrapping around himself, spine bending under a weight you canât see but you can feel.
you shift on the couch a little. close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him. you stop there, giving him time. giving yourself time.
again, your hands twist in your lap.
you want to reach out so badly it almost hurts. the ache is as strong as a current.
so you give into it. for him.
âi know iâm not great at this,â you admit, eyes fixed on the floor just like his. âbut i justâŠi really care about you. you shouldnât suffer alone. you can share the burdenâŠâ you take a breathe, and then add, âif- if you wantâŠâ
the word sits heavy between you.
his crying doesnât stop. but it softens, just a fraction, like the sharpest edges have dulled. he tilts his head slightly away, breath shuddering, and for a terrifying second you think he might pull back entirely.
but he doesnât.
the question fall from your lips before you can stop it.
âdo you want me to⊠to hug you?â
your heart starts racing, loud in your ears, every nerve suddenly awake. you shouldnât have asked so bluntly. maybe you shouldâve given him more time.
you brace yourself for him to shake his headâor pull awayâor just close off completely.
he doesnât respond for a long moment.
his breathing stays uneven, shoulders trembling with aftershocks. he keeps his face turned away from you, eyes fixed on nothing, lashes damp.
your stomach twists with the urge to take the words back, to apologize for overstepping.
you almost do.
but then suguru is nodding, itâs barely there. so small you almost miss it. but itâs unmistakable. he slowly lets his arms fall away from where they were tightly crossed in front of him.
âokayâŠâ
you move slower, giving him space to change his mind. you move to sit closer. close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm.
you pause againâone last chance for him to pull away.
when he doesnât? you lift your arms and wrap them around his side, gentle and loose enough he could slip out if he wanted to. your cheek hovers near his shoulder like youâre waiting for permission even now.
he stiffens for half a second.
and then he collapses into you.
it doesnât happen all at once. he sinks into your arms like heâs falling into a sink hole. but really, he sinks as if his body has finally found a place to rest.
he turns his whole body toward you and his forehead presses into your shoulder. his breath hitches as another quiet sob slips out, finally audible. his hands curl into the sleeves of your hoodie, gripping like heâs afraid youâre gonna disappear.
your eyes burn harder but you swallow it down and you hold him just a little bit tighter.
âyouâre okay. iâm not going anywhere,â you murmur hoarsely.
his breathing breaks again at that. itâs a quiet and broken sound muffled against your shoulder. he clings a little tighter, hands shaking.
time stretches strangely after that.
you donât know how long you sit thereâminutes, half an hour, maybe longerâhim shaking softly, you holding on, bodies sore yet both of you breathing through it together.
neither of you move while suguruâs sobs ease into uneven breaths. he still doesnât speak. you donât need him to and he doesnât have to. he just stays curled into you, exhausted down to the bone.
you know exactly how it feels so you let him.
youâre not sure when exhaustion pulls him into slumber⊠and youâre not sure when you fall after him.
ââșââ ă
suguru wakes in fragments.
first he feels the dull ache in his muscles. then, the faint warmth pressing against his chest. and finally, the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing.
for a moment, heâs still, letting it register. he doesnât move, doesnât open his eyes fully. the world is soft, somehow softer than he remembers it being in weeks.
his lashes stick slightly, damp and crusty from the tears he couldnât stop. when he blinks, the motion is slow.
the swell of his eyes still aches, but gentler now, muted by exhaustion and the quiet presence of the girl he loves beside him.
he shifts just enough to glance at you without disturbing your sleep.
the edges of your face are softened in the dim light, strands of hair falling against your cheek. your eyes are closed, but thereâs tension there too, small lines that tell him youâve been holding yourself tight too.
something warms in his chestâa surge of affection so sudden it almost makes him startle.
he stays still, just watching you. memorizing the small thingsâthe rise and fall of your shoulders with your breath, the slight twitch of your fingers, the soft crease at the corner of your brows.
and then, slowly, almost instinctively, you stir. your eyelids flutter and you shift slightly as if sensing him there.
suguruâs heart leaps.
you blink slowly, just as he had moments before. and when your gaze lands on him, he sees itâthe soft worry still lingering in your eyes even though youâre disoriented from falling asleep without meaning to. he can visibly see the concern that still hasnât faded from your expression.
he swallows, tense in a way thatâs entirely different from before. no panic, no guilt, just a tight, affectionate awareness. his lips twitch into something like a small, quiet smile.
âhi,â he whispers, voice rough, almost reverent.
he doesnât want to speak any louder. he shifts closer to your body. not by much, just enough to feel even more grounded in your warmth. for the first time in days, even weeks, he finally feels⊠lighter.
he rests his head a little more firmly against your shoulder, suddenly not so afraid to sink into you anymore.
he glances at you again, careful, taking in the way you blink the haze of sleep away from your sight. his chest aches in a way thatâs soft, like itâs finally making room for something he hasnât allowed himself to feel in a while.
âyou stayed,â he murmurs, almost like a question.
you blink, still waking, your own chest tightening. âhuh? of course i did⊠i wasnât gonna leave you alone againâŠâ
again.
he swallows. hard. his throat still feels raw. but he lets out a shaky breath. it feels like heâs letting some more weight slide off him, little by little.
thereâs a quiet stretch of time where neither of you speak. there seems to be a lot of that. but this time it isnât tense. itâs comfortable. his cheek rests against your shoulder. his eyes are still half lidded and tender.
your hand moves on its own, gently resting over his broad back, fingertips light and steady.
he inhales, slower this time. a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his lips. not everything has been magically fixedâŠbut he can breathe easier now. he can live, not just exist.
and then, very slowly, you let the words slip out. not consciously, just a stream that feels like itâs been there, ready to come, and the presence of him makes it possible, âyou know, i⊠uh, i wasnât always okay either. before i met you, i had⊠lots of bad days. for longer than i care to remember.â
he shifts slightly, just enough to glance at you with that tender gaze. he doesnât interrupt. he doesnât even blinkâhe just lets you continue.
âi didnât talk to anyone about it at first. i just⊠kept it all inside. i thought it would go away on its own.â your hands twitch against his back, almost subconsciously. âit didnât. and it⊠it got worse before it got better.â
your voice drops a little. itâs distant, almost as if youâre remembering something far away. âum⊠something bad happened and eventually i started seeing a therapist. that⊠helped. not everything fixed overnight, not even close. but⊠it made it a lot better.â
you pause, hesitating, testing yourself.
then, softly, âso thatâs why i know a little about feeling like youâre too far gone. or like nobody can ever understand,â you huff out a breath, âbut⊠youâre not alone. if you ever want to talk about itâ i mean, when youâre ready of courseâ you um⊠you can talk with me.â
the words linger.
for a moment, he doesnât react at all. he stays leaned into you, breathing slow.
your heart starts to race again in the silence. you worry you said too much. worry youâve made it about yourself and crossed some invisible line.
but in reality, heâs letting what you said settle somewhere deep before touching it.
his fingers move.
just slightly, curling into the fabric at your sleeve.
ââŠthank you,â he says.
you blink.
he doesnât lift his head at first, still pressed against your shoulder. but then, slowly, he meets your eyes. puffy and vulnerable, they hold yours for a long moment.
something unspoken passes between youârelief, trust, and a fragile acknowledgment that youâre both still here.
and before he even realizes it, his arms are around youâa way to make sure youâre here and heâs here. and the world outside doesnât matter for a second. his cheek presses lightly against yours and his hands rest on your back.
your body stiffens for a fraction, startled by the contact, even though you had been the one hugging him earlier, but you donât pull away.
your hand instinctively rises, resting on his arm, fingertips light and steady, letting him feel your presence too.
he inhales, shaky, then slowly exhales, letting out another quiet breath heâs been holding in for days. the ache in his shoulders softens. his face buries into your neck, eyelashes against the skin. you feel the faintest tremor run through himâbut it isnât weight this time. itâs relief.
âthank you,â he repeats against you, voice almost inaudible, softer, but you hear it. ââŠfor everything.â
you squeeze back gently. âyou donât have to thank me,â you murmur.
he lets the words sink in, letting himself relax a fraction more. he rests there, arms wrapped around you, feeling like he can finally exhale. in that quiet, tender space, he feels finally feels a little bit of peace.
you let yourself watch him for a while, just feeling the warmth of him, letting the quiet stretch out.
after a while, your eyes wander to the window behind his sheen curtains. the sky is darkening outside⊠and big, soft snowflakes are drifting down.
you gasp without meaning to in complete awe.
suguru peeks up at you in question.
âitâs snowing!â
he watches how your face lights up in that way it does when youâre giddyâand he canât help the curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
âit is,â he murmurs, still looking at you.
you grab at his sleeve gently. âwe should go outside! get some fresh air. it might⊠feel good,â you say softly, hopeful and excited, but still trying to be careful not to push.
he hesitates, blinking up at you. âoutside?â
you finally look at him, reigning yourself back in, âyeah,â you murmur, âjust for a little while? itâs so pretty. and itâll be good to get some air too.â
he swallows, still leaning against you, and after a moment he gives a tentative nod. âokay then.â
you smile, relieved. he shifts off of you slowly, like he doesnât want to, muscles stiff.
after getting into coats, both of you move towards the door. when it opens, the cold rushes in, sharp and crisp against your cheeks.
beautiful chunks of snow flutter down, big and soft and so so pure.
you tug on his hand with a giggle, pulling him outside completely. the snow lands onto suguruâs hair and yoursâthough it probably doesnât look as good as it does on him as it does you.
he blinks as you tug on his hand, and for a moment his surprise turns into something soft and unguarded.
a small laugh escapes him.
itâs been days since heâs felt like this. weeks even.
light.
snow lands on his hair and shoulders and he grins without thinking, brushing them away with a quick shake of his head. your laughter carries him along, and he canât help but mirror it.
âhey, careful!â he teases, voice rough but warm, nudging you gently as another flake lands on your nose. you giggle louder, swatting at it, and his chest aches pleasantly at the sightâat the way your eyes sparkle despite the cold, the way your smile makes the world feel so much lighter.
he squeezes your hand, tugging you toward him briefly, eyes bright, the tension long gone from his shoulders.
âthis is nice,â he murmurs, and it isnât just the snow. itâs everythingâbeing outside, being here, being with you.
he tilts his face up, letting flakes land on his lashes, his lips curling into a soft, happy smile.
you squeal softly, tugging him along again, and he laughs, a little louder this time.
he lets himself move with you, the cold biting his cheeks, the snow crunching under his feet.
âlook at it,â you whisper, eyes bright. and he does. he watches the snow swirl around, the flakes catching the dim lights of the street.
heâs happy. he really is.
he squeezes your hand again, tighter this time, shy but sure. âthanks for everything,â he says softly, full of warmth and something like awe.
he squeezes your hand again, tighter this time, shy but sure. âthanks for everything,â he says softly, the third time, full of warmth and something like awe.
you smile back, just as soft, and squeeze his hand back. both of you feel oh so warm despite the chill of winter.
you both keep walking, letting the snow fall over you, letting the cold sting your cheeks, letting the joy sink in.
the world feels impossibly big, impossibly soft, and impossibly alive.
when you round back the block and end up near his place again, neither of you slow down. if anything, your steps drag, reluctant, like the idea of going back inside would break whatever spell the snow has wrapped around you both.
the building looms quietly ahead, familiar and unthreatening now, but still⊠you donât let go of his hand. he notices. doesnât mention it. he kind of hopes you wonât either.
you stop in the middle of the sidewalk instead, breath puffing out in little clouds. you glance around, at the untouched snow piling up along the curb, smooth and perfect. an idea sparks.
ââŠthis might be stupid,â you start, already half embarrassed, âbut⊠we could make a snowman?â your voice lifts at the end hopeful. âi mean, since itâs sticking and weâre out here already!â
for a beat, he just stares at you.
then he lets out a laugh. something in his chest loosens even more.
âa snowman,â he repeats, amused, so achingly fond. âyouâre serious.â
you shrug, ducking your head in embarrassment. âkind of. i mean, we donât have to if you donât wantââ
âno,â he says quickly, smiling wider now. âno, i want to.â
the words come easier than he expects.
you light up instantly, clapping your gloved hands in quiet excitement. âokay! okay, good. umâwhere do we start?â
he crouches down without thinking, scooping up a handful of snow and packing it together between his palms. itâs cold enough to sting, but he barely notices.
âguess we start here,â he says, rolling it against the ground.
you kneel beside him, your shoulders brushing as you help. the snow sticks to your gloves, to your sleeves, to the hem of his coat.
the first snowman comes together slowly. suguruâs oddly focused, packing the base like itâs a serious task, while you smooth the middle and keep fixing the same dent over and over.
âit keeps leaning,â you whine.
he tilts his head, studying it. âmaybe it just likes that side.â
you huff a laugh and smile at him, âyouâre right.â
you find two sticks for arms and hand them to him. he sticks them in, then pauses.
âhmmâŠthese look weird.â
you pout. âtheyâre fine.â
he shrugs. âokay okay. artistic choice.â
by the time youâre done, your fingers are numb and your cheeks hurt from smiling. you both step back to look at your snowman.
âi think he needs a friendâŠâ you contemplate.
he nods without hesitation. âyeah. itâd feel rude not to give him one.
the second snowman ends up shorter and rounder. you laugh when the head almost slides off, steadying it with both hands.
âhold onâhold onââ you say, trying to fix it.
âiâve got it,â he says, reaching in to help, your hands overlapping for a second before you both still.
you donât pull away. neither does he.
you finish it together, brushing snow from each otherâs sleeves without really thinking about it. when youâre done, the two snowmen stand side by side, uneven and kind of charming.
âthey look like us!â you giggle without thinking.
âyeah,â he replies softly. âthey do.â
snow keeps falling steadily. the world feels small and calm. you realize youâre standing closer to him than before.
he glances at you. you look up at the same time.
âcold?â
you grin knowingly. âjust a little.â
he huffs softly, rubbing his bare hands together and looking at your gloved ones. âeven though youâre the one that thought ahead?â
you look down at his handsâred at the knuckles, fingers stiffâand before you can overthink it, you reach out and grab them.
he startles slightly. âheyââ
âhold still,â you say, already cupping his hands between yours, gloves and all. âyouâre freezing!â
you rub them together briskly, breath puffing out in little clouds as you focus way too hard on the task.
he watches you, eyes wide for half a second, then soft. a quiet laugh slips out of him, a little breathless. âyou donât have to do that.â
âi canât let you get frostbite. besides⊠i wanted to.â
that seems to knock the air from his lungs just a bit.
his smile turns shy and giddy, like he doesnât quite know what to do with it. he squeezes your hands gently, almost absentmindedly.
snow settles into his hair. onto your shoulders. neither of you lets go.
âmmh well⊠this is nice,â he murmurs.
you nod, cheeks suddenly warm despite the cold. âyeah. it is.â
thereâs a pause thatâs charged and soft all at once. you sway just slightly closer, still holding his hands, still warming them, until thereâs barely any space left at all.
you donât know who leans in first.
you only know that suddenly heâs close enough that you can feel his breath, and still, you want to be closer. as close as you can possibly get.
so you kiss.
itâs soft and surprising and immediately right. your hands slip from his fingers to his coat, his hands coming up to your waist like itâs always belonged there.
both of your lips are chapped, but it doesnât really matter. his lips are warm despite the cold, and gosh, does it feel nice. the kiss lingers, unhurried, like neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.
you breathe him in and your chest feels too full all at once.
he exhales against your mouth, a quiet sound that almost feels like relief.
your forehead rests against his when you finally part, noses brushing. you keep your hands fisted in his coat like letting go might send him drifting away again.
for a second, he just looks at you.
really looks.
his eyes soften, something fragile flickering there, and his thumbs trace small, absent circles at your waist.
you break the spell first with an exhale. âwoahâŠâ
he smiles that smile you adore, still close, voice low and warm. âi hadnât even realized how long iâve been wanting to do that.â
you duck your head, smiling. âyeah⊠same.â
but then heâs tilting your head up and youâre kissing again.
this time itâs giddier, smiles breaking through, noses bumping as neither of you quite figures out how to stop. you pull back for half a second, just to laugh⊠and then youâre kissing again, closer, warmer, like neither of you wants to let the moment end.
snow keeps falling around you, the world hushed and glowing, the two uneven snowmen behind you slowly blurring together.
still, neither of you are in any hurry to go inside.
youâre glad heâs here with you.
masterlist
hi, my first reverse comfort fic so i hope this is okayđ„č
iâm sorry for not writing an actual bday fic because i ran out of time and took too long to edit thisâŠ
With all this discourse on fanfic and fandoms going onâ I donât think yall understand how lucky we are. For free, we can be anything and anywhere with all our fav characters. We can be in any situation and there is something for everyone to enjoyâ endless scenarios, the multiverse keeps on expanding, itâs freaking cool
hicc sniff ⊠big yuuji man spreading at a college party :( one arm over the back of the couch with a drink in hand â the other guiding you back and forth over the growing bulge in his lap while he sweetly mumbles filthy things about the cute dress you chose for tonight
Henry Creel's wife @sugurusgyal - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
