ch 3: campus culture - r.s.
Chapter Three.
Synopsis: Ryomen Sukuna hates the smell of omegas, except you. So imagine his satisfaction when you agree to be his parter for your anthropology project.
Tags: frat!sukuna x reader, shy!nerd!reader, eventual smut, omegaverse, alpha!sukuna, omega!reader, omegaverse is NOT a main plotpoint, swearing, crude language, slight angst??, mature themes, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.
wc: 3k
a/n: writing this chapter was genuinely so fun ugghghhhh i really hope you guys like this bc it js keeps getting better. it really just kinda took its own course as i was writing it which is the best feeling ever. once again thank you to my beta reader @lenamorgan77 !!
chapter one : chapter two : chapter four : masterlist : ao3
MDNI
You groan, hiding your face in your hands, elbows on the sticky diner table. “I can’t believe you let me drink that much. I haven’t been hungover since high school.”
Sukuna chuckles, sipping his coffee with an amused smile. Your hands wrap around your mug tightly, trying to warm yourself up. It’s that awkward part of early November where it’s cold, but not cold enough for anyone to turn the heat on just yet. You shiver in your thin longsleeve. He notices.
He plucks his sweatshirt from the back of his chair, setting it on the table in front of you.
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s not that cold.” You say, pushing it back towards him. You still aren’t used to how well Sukuna can read you, how he somehow has this silent understanding of you.
“I’m not wearing it anyway, and I’m not gonna do the project alone if you get sick.” He insists, pressing it against you.
You glare at him, a reluctant smile on your lips growing as you slip the fabric over your head. You press the cuff of the sleeve to your nose, sniffing it lightly. It’s different in a way that pleases you. “Hm, smells different than you usually do.”
His smirk widens. “Probably because you scented me.”
Your jaw drops, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks, mortified. “I what?” You squeak. “Oh God… Iamsosorry-”
“S’alright, ma. You smell nice anyway.” He leans forward on his palm. “You know I could’ve stopped you.”
You swallow hard. So why did he let you? You try not to think about the curl of satisfaction in your gut. No wonder you liked how he smells, no wonder you thought you smelled different this morning.
Geto had scrunched his nose when he smelled Sukuna that morning. You reek of omega, he’d said. Sukuna didn’t say anything, just grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him, heading to pick you up.
Sukuna comes with you to the library later, not to work on your shared project, just to study. You think he’s joking at first, but he shrugs and starts walking across the quad in the direction of the library, opposite from where his car is parked.
You sigh, speeding up your walking to catch up with him. The two of you walk to the library in comfortable silence without acknowledging how many times your shoulders and hands brush. He somehow manages not to focus on you wearing his sweatshirt.
You settle in your usual spot at your usual table and he sits across from you as he always does. He’s got his airpods in, laptop out, notebook page filled halfway with his messy handwriting. Your gaze traces his hand holding the same Pilot pen he always borrows from you and refuses to ever keep for himself, telling you that he’ll lose it and that you take better care of it. It’s just a pen, you tell him. It’s your pen, is what he doesn’t say.
Sukuna never would’ve thought that he was actually capable of studying, that he was able to sit still long enough to grind out a good chunk of his work. He was more of a procrastinate until the last minute and then use chat gpt to do all of it the night before it was due kind of guy. But he’s fallen into a rhythm with you, something about you soothes him, makes his thoughts quiet enough to focus on his coursework for once.
He can admit to himself — and only to himself — that about two-thirds of the time you spend studying together is burned away by him watching you work. The two of you don’t always work in the library, sometimes it's quiet coffee shops, study lounges in the campus student centers, he’s even met you at some of your labs before.
Each second, each day he spends with you, regardless of its varying levels of productivity, is eye opening. Your priorities are so different from his, and every time you tease him for not taking class seriously, he’s started to agree with you, hiding it behind a falsely indifferent smirk.
Gojo side eyes him with brows-furrowed confusion when Sukuna comes home after dropping you off, having been out for hours, backpack unusually heavy with school supplies and his earbuds dangling out of the collar of his shirt by the wire. Choso never comments on it, but Sukuna hasn’t gone to him asking for weed in weeks, and he’s grown worried about his younger brother.
“Dude, are you sick or something?” Yuji asks him one day, slouched on Sukuna’s bed and watching him study.
Sukuna doesn’t look up from his laptop, speaking gruffly. “I feel fine, why?”
“You’re studying.” Yuji deadpans, setting his phone down on the comforter to focus on his twin.
“And? The fuck does that have to do with me being sick?” Sukuna spits, turning around in his desk chair to look at Yuji, who’s looking back at him in disbelief.
“You don’t study. You’ve been keeping up the minimum GPA to stay in the frat for the past three years. And after meeting that girl,” Yuji sits up fully, looking him up and down. “You’re different.”
As hard as Sukuna tries, he can’t keep up the tough guy act around Yuji, he’s never been able to. Sukuna drags a hand down his face, slouching back in his chair with a small groan. “I don’t know what the fuck I should do. I don’t want to fuck it up with her, but I know she doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend, if even that.” Yuji doesn’t say anything, just listening intently. “I’ve never gotten the urge to claim an omega before, but fuck, when she scented me at the party… I swear to God, Yuji, my teeth like, actually hurt. Like they itched, I wanted to bite her so bad.”
Yuji laughs, covering his mouth and trying to muffle it, even after Sukuna nails him in the forehead with a pen thrown like a dart. “You’re so fucked.”
“Fuck you, I thought we were having a nice, brotherly conversation.”
Sukuna’s bedroom door slams open, and Choso is standing in the doorway, a stupid lazy hazy grin on his face, eyes bloodshot. “I heard the word brotherly.” That sends Yuji off a cliff, collapsing on Sukuna’s bed in a fit of uncontrolled laughter.
“Cho, you gotta lay off the ket, that shit makes you psycho.” Sukuna shuts his laptop, sighing and reaching for his water bottle
Choso only blinks at him blankly before sitting cross legged on the floor. “So, what did I miss?”
“Ryomen wants to claim that omega girl he brought to the party last weekend.” Yuji blurts.
Sukuna chokes on his water. “What the fuck, Yuji?”
“She was very nice.” Choso nods approvingly. “And she seems to be a good influence on Ryomen.”
“She likes Human Earthworm!” Yuji beams.”
“Stop talking about me and her like I’m not right the fuck in front of you.” Sukuna rasps, hiding his face in his hands. “What do I do about this shit?”
“Tell her.” Yuji and Choso say in unison.
Sukuna glares at them. “That’s a stupid fucking idea. I know she doesn’t want me like that.”
“Doesn’t she? She was practically hanging off of you at the party.” Choso nods.
“She scented him.” Yuji points at Sukuna. “He probably still smells like her.”
Sukuna groans. This conversation isn’t helpful at all.
--
Your stomach sours every time you see Sukuna in passing on your way to class. It’s a sick feeling, knowing you love the time you spend with him and still regretting how it’s put you on the map enough to hear the bitter words of girls whispering around you when you sit down at the library, when you order a coffee on your way to class, when you’re in class just trying to work. You smile at him every time without fail, and it’s genuine, but not absolved of shame.
“She’s just another omega he’ll get bored of.” Your stomach cramps. “Once he’s had his fill, she’ll be old news.” Another. “He’s just playing the long game ‘cause he’s bored of the easy ones.”
I’m not feeling great today, I’ll see you on Thursday, you text him, fingers shaking slightly. You set your phone down on your kitchen counter, leaving it there as you head towards your bed. It doesn’t help that you’re entering pre-heat, all your senses amplified to an uncomfortable level but not yet at the point where you can be excused from class.
You remind yourself, Sukuna is just your project partner, even calling him a friend is a stretch. He’s a frat guy with manwhoreish tendencies, that doesn’t mean he’s interested in every omega that crosses his path, regardless of the way he shivered every time he smelled you and pressed his nose deeper into your scent gland- no.
Your thighs press together to relieve any fraction of the pressure, and you feel even sicker, like some kind of sick pervert for allowing yourself to think of your classmate like that for even a split second. You lay in bed, only pulling yourself together for long enough to go to your classes for the rest of the week. In class on Thursday, he asks if you’re feeling better, and you brush it off, claiming you’re just stressed with the project deadline and your other classes. Sukuna doesn’t buy it, and you can tell, but he huffs in reluctant acceptance.
He drives you home, and the ride is mostly silent and uncomfortably awkward. Sukuna walks you to your door, pausing for a moment. He can smell the subtly sweet tinge in your scent, and he’s long since gathered that you were going into heat soon. He brings his palm to your forehead before you can dodge it, and the warmth confirms his suspicion. Your face flushes, and you try to duck into your house, but he stops the door from closing.
“You didn’t have to lie and say you were sick.” He rasps, looking down at you where you stand in the doorway.
You look down at where your shoes meet the doormat. “There was no need to tell you.”
Sukuna tch’s, running a hand through his hair. “I could’ve helped you.” He clears his throat, correcting himself. “Not like that, I- um, fuck. Nevermind.”
You nod slowly, slightly shrinking into your house but unable to close the door due to his hand holding it open.
“Just… let me know if you need anything, ma. Seriously, I mean it.”
“Thank you, Sukuna.” You look up at him finally, giving him a polite yet sincere smile and trying not to curl into the nickname.
He winces ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Right. Thank you, Ryomen.” You amend. “I just kind of need to deal with this on my own, I don’t need your uh, help.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up or anything because I don’t usually trust alphas like this.” You pick at your cuticles as you speak. “Especially after what Toji said. It just reminded me that some things never change.”
Fuck, Toji. Of course you’d switch up on him out of nowhere after that, Toji’s his friend after all. “Toji’s a dick, you know I’m not like that.” Sukuna spits out before he can stop himself.
“I never said you were.” You shoot back, your growing frustration unable to hide as you begin to ramble. “But you’re an alpha and I’m an omega and at the end of the day there a-are biological things that we can only resist to a certain point and-”
“Yeah, I got it. That’s fair” Sukuna cuts you off. “That’s fair.” He repeats to himself, quieter this time.
You regret your words instantly, your lips parting to speak, but nothing comes out.
“We’re friends, right?” He asks, voice startlingly softer.
You nod without hesitation. “Of course we’re friends.”
“Then why don’t you trust me like one?”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, you feel sick, and you can tell he smells it by the way his nose flares, even with you wearing patches. “I do. I do trust you.” He arches a brow at you. “I just like to deal with this kind of stuff on my own.”
“Alright, I can respect that. And I’m not like, offering to fuck you through it or anything.” He says, running a hand through his hair and chuckling at the way you glare up at him, trying to suppress your own smile in response. “I just mean that I can pick up groceries for you or scent clothes for you.”
You wish he would burst into flames, you’re so embarrassed. You’re typically very private about your cycle, and the way he’s talking about it so casually and effortlessly beautifully is setting your whole body on fire. “I can take care of myself, Ryo.”
He smiles at you, entertained by your reaction. “I know you can, ma. But you’ve gotta let someone take care of you sometimes. Matter of fact…” He pulls his hoodie over his head, and you have to tear your eyes away from the sliver of smooth, tanned skin on his hips that you catch a glimpse of before it registers that he’s dragging the fabric of his sweatshirt over his scent glands and handing it to you.
Well, he didn’t really hand it to you, per se. More like pressed it into your face with an amused smirk when you sputter and pull it away from your face, but you don’t force it back to him, you fold it over your arm neatly and look up at him with a frown despite your flushed cheeks. “This isn’t helping.” You deadpan.
“Isn’t it?” His smirk widens.
You perk up, remembering something. You dart into your house, leaving the door wide open, and he watches you disappear down a hallway before speed-walking back to the door with a bundle of fabric in your arms: his other sweatshirt.
“Here, before I forget to give it back.” You hand it to him, and he takes it, pulling it on. He somehow suppresses a groan from escaping him. It’s freshly washed, smelling like your laundry detergent and your pheromones, his knees almost give out on him.
“Thanks, ma.”
--
Sukuna will never admit to anyone how many times he jerked off with his nose pressed into the sweatshirt you gave back. Every time he starts to feel a little guilty about it, it’s washed away by his inability to control himself around your scent. He feels like a fucking creep, getting bricked up at the mere thought of you, not even anything perverted, he gets turned on by the thought of you studying. What the fuck is happening to him?
He texts you a few days later when you don’t show up to class, undoubtedly because you’re in full heat at this point, and asks if you need him to drop anything off. You text him back within the minute, politely declining. He shows up at your door regardless with a paper bag of gummies — he always had to keep some around just to gnaw on during his ruts when his teeth itched to bite something, someone — and one of his t-shirts that he scented thoroughly.
He regrets it the second you open the door a fraction of an inch, the wave of your pheromones slapping him in the face with such intensity that he sways on his feet, eyes glazing over. You look up at him, eyes wide and beautiful, like he’s some kind of a god. And fuck, you’re wearing his sweatshirt. You’ve got a scent patch smoothed haphazardly over your scent glands, like you put it on in a rush. Sukuna eyes it with disdain. “Why’re you wearing that, it’s not like I can’t already smell you through it.” He rasps.
Your hand goes to touch it as if you forgot you had it on in the first place, fingers twitching when you touch it. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, I know you’ve got a sensitive nose.”
Sukuna’s jaw ticks with just barely restrained self control, not enough to stop him from peeling it off and balling it up in his fist. He leans forward, pressing his nose to your neck and inhaling. You shiver, hands going to his shoulders to keep yourself upright. You’re surrounded by the smell of him, and it's exactly what you need in your heat-impaired mind. Sukuna presses a small, gentle peck to the slope of your neck. You sigh, relaxing into him even more than you thought you already were, and his hands slide around your waist as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before sliding his mouth back down your neck, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your own canines ache.
You turn your head, trying to chase after his mouth with yours as he pulls away, but he stands back to his full height, and your mouth can’t reach his. He smiles at your exaggerated frown, smoothing your hair with the palm of his hand. “Not now, ma, not like this.”
The words slide in one ear and out the other without sticking, and you pout. “Fine. Don’t you want to come in?”
“You don’t want me to come in. We talked about this the other day, mama.” He smiles down at you, setting the bag right inside your house. “I’ll see you in class. Don’t forget to lock your door.”
You rock back and forth on your feet, swinging your arms at your sides, looking up at him with eyes so glassy he’d almost think you were crying if he didn’t know the haze was from your cycle.
You watch him walk towards his car, not shutting the door just yet. “Bye, Ryo!” You call out to him, your slurred brain only managing to catch his smile and failing to notice the way his ears turn pink.
Sukuna speeds home only to sit in his car after he parks in the driveway of the frat house, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. He curses under his breath, thankful you were too out of it to notice he’d been painfully hard the entire time, and still is now. He’s so stupidly whipped for you, and you’re completely oblivious to your affect on him. The only thing running through his head is the hazy smile you looked up at him with and his brothers’ voices telling him to tell her.
a/n: next chapter will be the last one, im so sad that this story is coming to a close but also very excited for new stuff that i'm working on ;)
