tw: suggestive, mention of viagra jokingly | wc: 4k | | notes: repost/rewrite from old acc | art by @/_suracii_
masterlists
satoru gojo calls out "i'm home!" into the house from the front door.
you're so giddy with excitement you almost forget to reply. "welcome back! i've got dinner going, just wash up," you tell him, making yourself look busy by unnecessarily opening the pot lids and stirring.
"hhh, i wanna sleep and never wake up again," he sighs exaggeratedly, hobbling over to wrap his arms around your waist and press gentle kisses to your neck. you know you've got him when he slows his ministrations and just rests his face in the crook of your neck, sniffing continuously.
"is that a new perfume?" he asks, brushing his thumb across your lower stomach and gripping you tighter when you squeal and protest that it tickles.
"i've been in the kitchen for the past two hours, i don't think what you're smelling is perfume, per se," you joke, almost yelping and slapping him in the face when he noses at the sensitive skin of your jugular. he slowly tugs you away from the stove and turns you in his arms, resuming his assault on your neck. "you, mmm, smell so nice," he groans.
you have to steady yourself by reaching behind you to grab the counter, your grip tight, biting your bottom lip when he starts to nip at your flesh. "satoru, that hurts," you whimper, albeit not resisting his affections, only wincing every time his canines dig their way into your scented skin.
"sorry, baby," he rasps, inhaling deeply. he presses an apologetic kiss to the marks on your neck before pulling away and running a hand over his face. his pupils are blown, his lips wet from licking them so much. you're almost scared to ask if he's alright.
you laugh at his expression instead, a smile of his own stretching his lips at the sound. he kisses your cheek and traces his thumbs over your hip bones.
while he tries oh so hard to listen to you talk about your day, he can't help but swallow thickly every time you turn your head or shift closer to him, your sweet aroma wafting towards him.
"can we skip dinner?"
"no, you are not having dessert first."
"please?"
"...go shower first."
you quickly roll the perfume on your neck and wrists, hurriedly checking your appearance in the bathroom mirror and inhaling deeply to prepare yourself for whatever outcome was awaiting you.
"my love, can you come here?" suguru geto calls out from his study, frustration evident in his voice.
"coming!" you hide the perfume somewhere reliable and head upstairs. when you enter his study, he's pacing, his forehead tense and tie loosened around his neck. he lights up somewhat at the sight of you, before asking, "have you seen the papers i was grading?"
you relax. "yeah, i hid them away from your..." you motion towards the three mugs on his desk, still stained with coffee from hours ago, "mess." that earns you a sheepish smile from him, and you shake your head fondly before retrieving said papers from one of his file cabinets. he sighs in relief and takes them from you, pressing a grateful kiss to your lips.
"i don't know what i'd do without you," he laughs, wrapping an arm around your neck and kissing your temple. you lean into his embrace and let him rest his chin on your head for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall with a deep intake of breath. he tends to become more affectionate when he's under a lot of stress, and you can see a slight tremble in his hand as he places the papers on the desk behind him.
his brows furrow. "i may be caffeine-blooded right now, but do you smell different?" he asks, inhaling the scent drifting from your neck. "is this the one i bought you?"
you squirm when he lowers his head to your collarbone, his large hands resting on your lower back to steady you. leaning back, you allow him further access, while also being mindful of your own intentions.
"no, uh, this one's from the drugstore." geto starts to push your hair behind your ear and nibble at your adam's apple, your hands finding leverage on his broad shoulders. "careful!" you scold when he presses you against the cabinet behind you.
he pauses his kisses to gaze up at you through his lashes, a brow raised in question of your small smile.
"what?" you feign innocence.
geto catches the glint in your eye and has a relative idea of what you've done.
"you temptress."
before coming home from work, you applied some of the perfume in your car and take one last sniff of it when you step onto the welcome mat at your front door. you kick your heels off and announce yourself, to which you hear kento nanami say, "in the living room."
throwing your bag on the floor beside your heels, you rush to your husband as fast as you can with the ache in your feet, finding him engrossed in a book with his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. you throw your arms around his neck from behind with a loud exhale of breath, nuzzling your cheek into his hair.
"kentooo, i missed you so much," you whine, feeling his hands reach up to rest on yours.
his deep chuckle resonates through you. "as did i, sweetheart. i'm glad you're home safe."
you unbutton your blazer and toss it over the back of the couch before throwing yourself down beside him, snuggling into his side. nanami places his book down on the coffee table before leaning down, back bent, to kiss you. he groans into it and gently brushes your hair out of your face.
after the prolonged intimate moment, you pull away and let him tug you closer, allowing your head to fall on his shoulder.
"you smell nice," he mutters, kissing your hairline.
"thanks."
you expect him to tell you about his day, or at least about the book he's reading—as he usually does. instead, he's quiet, not uncharacteristically so, but enough for you to notice small changes like the tightening of his grip on you.
he lifts his head and looks you over. "what perfume brand is that? it's," he clears his throat, "very strong."
you pout. "a bad strong?"
"...not exactly."
nanami wraps an arm around your shoulders, humming lowly when you angle your body just so to let your legs stretch out over his lap. he begins massaging your calves and, unsubtly, glances at you every so often.
"what?"
"nothing," he responds, a little too quickly, you notice. you can tell that he's picked up on the intoxicating aspect of the scent and it makes it very hard to contain your smile.
it's silent for a moment, before nanami curses under his breath and dives in to kiss you again, catching you immensely off guard. you whimper into the notably rougher, needier kiss. he takes advantage of your released noises and slips his tongue past your lips, a kiss that was just needy now turned sloppy. hell, you feel yourself start to drool.
when you part for air, he takes his glasses off and tosses them onto the table, before leaning over you and forcing you to lay back on the couch. "i know you've done something," he rasps, "but as of right now..." he starts kissing your neck, "i don't have the sense to figure out what."
you've devised a plan on how to tempt toji fushiguro more than you already do—by rolling on the perfume you have seen people rave about online for the past month. only, you need a way to get toji to smell it without making it completely obvious as to what you're doing.
so while he's lounging on the couch, scratching his chest and staring at the tv absentmindedly, you decide to shroud your plan under the guise of making him something to snack on. you grab whatever you find in the pantry and decorate a plate with it, making it look somewhat appetising, before placing it before him on the coffee table.
the corner of his lips twitch. "you're too good to me, ma." he pulls you into his lap and pecks your lips. "thank you."
"of course. was thinking takeout for lunch. what do you think?" he hums in the affirmative and slides a hand along your waist to rest on the soft expanse of your stomach.
you lean into his chest, letting his calloused albeit comforting touch lull you into a sense of relaxation, even as the sound of gunshots ring from the tv and blast into your ears. the moment seems to draw out without him picking up on your scent, so you shift in his lap and lean slightly closer into his chest, making it seem as though you want to cuddle (which, hey, you do, but it doubles as the perfect excuse to let your aroma drift closer to him).
when he bites into a small slab of chocolate, he catches sight of your anticipatory expression from his peripheral vision. he swallows, brow raised. "these some of those viagra-chocolates, or what? you're lookin' like you wanna jump my bones."
"what—i don't wanna 'jump your bones,' toji." you roll your eyes and grab his jaw to forcibly turn his gaze back to the tv.
"so you wanna tell me why you're givin' me those eyes?"
"what eyes? can i not admire you?" you retort gently, but don't fail to notice the way his hand on your stomach pulls you closer. only then does he lean down and start sniffing consciously.
"damn," he groans. "what the hell do you have on, ma? got me scenting you 'n everything."
"nothinggg," you whine, feeling him tug you even closer so that your back presses up against his chest. you try your best to keep your attention limited to the tv, but it's growing harder to do so when he starts nipping at and kissing your neck. "i'm trying to watch, baby."
"nah, we can do that later," is all he says before pushing you flat on the couch, crawling up your body and lowering his face to yours. "think i need to investigate a little more to figure out what you're plotting."
"n—"
"if you say 'nothing' again, i will throw you over my knee."
your lady in waiting was noticeably hesitant to let you go through with this, but instead of vetoing it with more than just words, she watches you with pursed lips and underlying curiosity as you roll the perfume on your neck, wrists, and behind your ears. it wasn't as if ryomen sukuna would kill you for this—you're his wife, for heaven's sake. frankly, you were giddy at the thought of what he might do upon catching on to your little scheme.
so, later, when you're in your chambers watching sukuna loosen the tie of his robe and approach you with heavy steps, you're practically jumping out of your skin with anticipation.
"wife," he starts, voice gruff, "i expect that no mishaps disturbed your day?" the king of curses always checks up on you, but you know that if anything or anyone were to upset you, he would deal with whatever or whoever it was without you hearing of it. a formality, of sorts, that he should check up on his wife's wellbeing. a requirement, that he should deal with your concerns without burdening you.
"of course not," you insist. "a new child join the nursery today. quite the shy one, he is. poor boy didn't know a whisper of tongue."
he huffs in acknowledgement of your small predicament. one of his upper arms encircle your waist to lift you to his chest, prompting you to wrap your arms and legs around him—your usual routine after finally being able to retire to your chambers after the monotonous responsibilities that awaited the two of you daily.
one of his lower arms slides under your ass to hold you up, not that he needed the extra leverage; the arm around your waist was enough. but any excuse to have his arms around you without coming off as too clingy, he would take without so much as a hint that he enjoyed it.
it's when your head slips under his chin to rest against his collarbone does he comment. "are you experimenting with herbs again?" he grunts, sitting you in his lap once he's settled on the futon with his back against the wall.
your head tilts slightly. "no, my love. why do you ask?"
"you reek."
"how kind of you, ryomen."
"you have never known me to be kind, woman. explain yourself."
"if you must know, i have applied some incense. i only recently had it delivered from that dear old vendor in ichihime."
sukuna doesn't speak for a moment, allowing himself to be lured closer to your fragranced skin. when you feel his tongue lap at your neck experimentally, you flinch and smack his chest reproachingly.
"it is not the worst of them."
from the king of curses, that was very high praise.
and from the way his pupils dilate, you're certain he isn't going to let you off with a simple lick to your neck.
if there was one person you loved pulling this crap on, it was shiu kong. you never saw the man without his phone pressed to his ear and a cigarette dangling from in between his lips, so it made it all the more satisfying when you managed to get the jump on him and make him lose grip on his usual nonchalance.
you should be home by now, ordering takeout and binging your favourite show with your feet up, not still in the office with the man who seems to love work-life more than home-life.
"shiuuu," you call out from your own cubicle, as if you don't already know that he's taking a call and he's more likely to subconsciously tune you out than even consider that his wife may be looking for him. it's nothing personal; you're very much aware that years of working as a catalyst for murder and assassinations changes your priorities.
when you knock on his ajar door to get his attention, he glances over at you and nods, beckoning you inside with his index and middle finger. you shut the door behind you and approach his desk with measured steps, approaching him intently.
you reach up to caress his cheek, letting the perfume on your wrist waft into his nostrils, and smile (not so) innocently at him when he turns his head and kisses your palm.
the scent hits him like a dopamine hit and his voice instantly loses its clarity. he doesn't start stuttering, by any means, but his right leg starts bouncing. when he physically turns his head away from you, you know you could start trashing the place and he wouldn't say a thing—only stare at you with that intoxicated gaze of sheer want.
sighing, you round his desk to be in his line of sight again.
"no, fushiguro, you either keep this under wraps or forget about the 40mil... what? no, we can't have a celebratory dinner. i'd rather chew on a jean jacket than—"
you bat your lashes at him.
"i'll call you back."
and within the second that it takes him to hang up and toss his phone aside, shiu has launched himself on you, fuelled by the giggles of a woman who knows what she's doing to him—while he is entirely oblivious to the fact that the fog enveloping his mind is directly from the perfume he inhaled not more than a minute ago.
"you," he rasps, pawing at your waist and even further down your body, "are a problem."
"mm, is that what you call me now?"
"oh, shut it," he practically growls, but there's anything but malice in his voice—just the deep baritones of a man overcome by desire.
hiromi higuruma was the person you were most determined needed this distraction. it was getting to a point where your dates turned into facetime calls and hour-long texting sessions, and, frankly, you wanted more. it's not to say that you were sick of it, but being with a man like higuruma meant you had needs and his attention was all you needed.
he's been cooped up in his home office for the past six hours, leaving only to go to the bathroom or check up on you (which consisted of him asking, "what are you up to, darling?", kissing your cheek, then heading back up to continue his hermit-ing). is it really so out of the ordinary for you to crave more?
no. so you do something about it.
besides you, coffee is the one thing higuruma would invite as a distraction; if the eight empty mugs on his desk were anything to go by. so, you deliver your gorgeous self with a fresh brew to his office door. you knock, just in case he's taking a call, and enter when he calls you in.
he's tired, that much is clear, but he's reserved enough strength to smile softly as you approach him.
"hi, my love. thought i'd bring you another. and clean all this," you say, picking up the dirty mugs and placing them by the window.
"no need. i'll wash them myself," he insists, humming lowly when you stand near him again, this time enough to stroke a hand through his hair.
but, when you first lift your hand to do so, the perfume on your wrist permeates the air and wriggles into the radius of his senses.
"new fragrance?"
"mhm. you like?"
he inhales deeply, and you take that as a hard yes. "yeah. amber musk?"
you grin. "something like that."
higuruma, for all his assertiveness, grabs your hand tenderly, enough to make you miss him despite the skin-to-skin contact. he presses it to his cheek but turns his head just so that he may lavish your palm with kisses (and perhaps breathe in your new scent like it's oxygen).
"it's... really nice," he breathes out, practically gasping at the reprieve you've given him. "forgive me—just let me feel you."
and you do, all the while leaning against the edge of his desk and blood heating at his touch. hell, you intended for this to happen; you're not about to close the door in your own face. you need this as much as he does.
he practically falls into a state of delirium as he kisses every sliver of skin he detects, his breath laboured and hot on your flesh. it's enough of a rush to know that you bring this man to his knees—literally and figuratively—let alone feel him touch you almost reverently.
"work's tough, huh?"
he groans into the plush skin of your stomach. that's also a hard yes.
"you smell so good, my love. i think i can go another six hours just off the scent of you alone."
"let me help you with that, then," you whisper, and that's all the encouragement he needs to loosen his tie and let himself get lost in you.
the biggest difficulty of pulling this off was getting choso kamo off your back for longer than a minute to spritz your pulse points with the new perfume you just had delivered. you'd be damned if you weren't going to engage with the newest trend flooding your socials, especially when this one was actually good.
"baby, what's that smell?" choso calls out from the bedroom.
you shove the small bottle into one of the bathroom cabinets and try to slow your steps as you walk back into the bedroom with a small smile. "just some perfume, baby. i like applying some before bed, remember?"
"i remember, but this one smells different. a-a good different," he quickly emphasises.
choso looks so stiff, not making any effort to get into the bed he so carefully prepared for the night, and confines his attention to you and—gosh—that sweet scent.
"you okay?" you ask, lifting the covers and slipping into bed, prompting him to finally do the same as if you snapped your fingers in his entranced face.
"yeah, i'm alright. i'm... i'm okay."
he assumes his usual sleeping position, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his front to your back. all the better for him to catch on, you muse. and if he doesn't, i'm reporting the video that inspired me to do this crap.
a prolonged pause then nips at your nerves, a stark contrast to the nightly and practically autonomous mumbles of "good night," "i love you," and "sleep well." the silence is so thick that it settles behind your eyes and makes it impossible to even consider falling asleep.
but, it's not that choso hasn't noticed. no, the poor man is drowning in your scent, so unsure of how to comment on it without making it seem as though it's bothering him—even though it is, a lot.
"b-baby?" he whispers into your hair.
"hm?"
"you smell really nice. it's... making me restless."
you smile tiredly. "i can tell. do you need help?"
though it's dark and your back is turned so you cannot see it, his eyes widen slightly. "you mean...?"
"mhm. i don't mind staying up another hour."
he sits up. "can we make it two?"
"don't push it."
"mmm, okay, sorry."
okkotsu yuta is always more than happy to oblige your hobbies, your cravings, even. he doesn't see temper loss as an option with you, not because he has to suppress the urge to snap, but because he cannot find it within the darkest depths of his soul to direct his frustration at you—and you've seen him mad. just never at you.
that's why you don't have to worry about pulling something like this. the man is already infatuated with you, this whole thing was entirely unnecessary. but when did you ever do these things out of necessity?
"hey, honey? can you come here for a sec?"
yuta is in the kitchen within seconds, already approaching you from behind. "i'm here, dove. what d'ya need?"
he just sounds happy to be there, to be of any assistance to you, and you're more than geeked at the reality prospect of having him follow you around for the rest of his days.
"can you grab those cookies for me?" you pout, while making absolutely zero effort to reach for them.
he looks up at the open cabinet, then back down at you. "you've never had a problem before. did you hurt your arm? let me see—"
"no, honey," you interject, laughing breathily. "just not bothered."
he nods like that's a completely acceptable excuse—you won't let anyone tell you that it's not—and reaches for the plastic box before placing it on the counter in front of you. "there."
you hum in satisfaction and take a cookie, bringing it up to his lips. "try them. they're new."
your wrist brushes against his chin and the underside of his nose. it gives him very brief pause, but then he's biting into the baked good as if nothing is amiss. you notice the subtle hitch in his breath when he inhales and almost groan in annoyance when he does little more.
"they're a little too sweet for my liking," he notes out loud.
with a doubtful look, you say, "they're only sweetened with coconut oil and dark chocolate."
he purses his lips in consideration, brows furrowed. "are you sure? where's all the sweetness from then?"
"external, ahem, sources."
your wrist manages to sway past his nose again, and that's when he registers that you not only smell of musk, but have an aroma that would make a lesser mammal believe you are the embodiment of a baked good.
"i might need to start calling you honey," he murmurs, now delving his head into the crook of your neck, where he gets another gust of that luscious scent.
you snort. "you're so corny."
"i am... something that rhymes with that, yeah." he smiles sheepishly.
It starts simply, a quick peck to your boyfriends lips as you climb into bed beside him. Then, another kiss when you crawl on top of him and settle on his chest, head tilted up to admire his beauty.
Your lips find his nose, peppering tiny kisses over the pale skin and working over his cheeks, watching his eyes flutter when you got closer to them. A few more were pressed against his lips before you glanced up and realised his eyes had flickered shut permanently. You pushed your head up and pressed more kisses against his forehead, feeling his grip on your waist loosen as he fell deeper into sleep.
You held back a quiet laugh as you felt his chest rise and fall in even rhythms, finally getting the rest it deserved after a hard day of fighting curses. As you tip off his chest and settle next to him on the bed, his arm falls to the mattress and a deep rumble emits from his chest. Yuta looks so peaceful like this, the constant frown lines on his forehead gone when he’s deep in unconsciousness, no longer worrying about the dangers of the world and trying to protect everyone he cares for.
It’s amusing how he falls asleep from only the gentle caress of your lips against his skin, and even more amusing when he wakes up a few hours later, blindly reaching for you as you watch TV and stuff your hand in a bag of popcorn.
“Baby?” He asks curiously, sitting up and blinking the sleepiness away, slender fingers reaching to touch yours. “How long was I asleep for?”
“A couple of hours.” You shrug and turn to him, breaking out in a smile seeing his disheveled hair. “You fell asleep when I was kissing you.”
His eyes find yours immediately before he groans in embarrassment. “Sorry, darling. I was tired from my mission.”
“It’s okay. It was cute, really.”
“Cute?” He croaks out.
You nod. “I’m starting to think I have magical sleeping powers.”
pairing: bf!jjk men x chubby!reader | gojo, geto, nanami, yuji, megumi, yuta, choso, toji, sukuna
synopsis: still being new to your relationship with him, the two of you learn to grow more comfortable around one another. but he gets a little too touchy and you panic, scared he'll run away once he gets to know all parts of you...
cw: established relationship, chubby/curvy reader, heian!sukuna, toji and sukuna lowkey ooc but idc, cussing, insecurity, self-deprecating thoughts and words, reader is very insecure, reassurance, fluff, petnames
wc: 1k each
masterlist
ᯓ★ Satoru Gojo
You were currently making breakfast, early in the morning. What should’ve been twenty minutes of baking turned into forty-five, since this wasn’t your kitchen and you weren’t yet familiar with it.
That’s right, you were in your boyfriend’s kitchen. This was the first time ever that you’d slept over.
The two of you hadn’t gone there yet, you just fell asleep entangled with one another after watching a cheesy movie. You were grateful for how patient he was, never rushing you into something you weren’t a hundred percent certain of.
So to show your gratitude and affection, you decided you’d get up early and make him pancakes. You knew he loved his sweets at any time of the day.
After rummaging through every cabinet and drawer, you’d eventually managed to gather all ingredients and tools necessary. And now, you waited for them to cook over the stove, flipping them every so often.
Your intense focus on them was what made you inattentive to Satoru’s arrival into the kitchen.
“Morning.” he yawned, ducking his head under the doorframe to walk through.
You flinch a little, caught off guard by his presence. “Good morning… I didn’t hear you come in.” you glance at him over your shoulder, spatula still at the ready near the pancakes.
He simply smiled in response, before his eyes landed on the kitchentop. “What’cha making?”
You moved sideways to give him a better view of the food. “Pancakes. Thought you’d probably like something sweet.”
His eyes light up at the words ‘pancakes’ and ‘sweet’, and he makes his way over to you. “You know me so well.”
You chuckle softly before turning back to the stove, and flipping a pancake over.
“You should’ve stayed in bed with me longer though…” he speaks in a more hushed tone now.
You feel your cheeks flush just a bit, and let out a nervous laugh.
Standing behind you now—or rather, towering—his arms carefully wrap themselves around your soft waist, and he rests his chin on your head, watching you as you cook. “Thought you ran away from me,” he mutters softly, tilting his head to press kisses to your cheek, and down the curve of your jaw.
Unable to contain them, giggles erupt out of you at the ticklish feeling. “Satoru, come on, stop—” your shoulder meets the side of your face in an attempt to shield yourself from his affectionate attacks.
But he moves to pepper kisses on the other side of your face that’s still left unguarded. He laughs along with you, in between pecks, whilst letting out exaggerated kissy noises.
Your heart felt full in a way you never could’ve imagined. You couldn’t have been happier.
That was, until he’d started wiggling his fingers.
They tickled you all over, from your stomach, to your back, to your sides, and even your arms.
You squirmed, your body jerking in all directions while laughter bubbled out of your throat at the sensation.
“Satoru—” you breathed out desperately.
That only seemed to spur him on, as he continued with more precision.
This time, his hands slid under your shirt to meet your skin.
And that’s when your stomach dropped, your eyes shooting wide open.
You managed to grab a hold of his wrists, and tried pulling his hands away from your waist.
But he didn’t pay you any mind, obviously too strong for you to actually tug him away from you.
It wasn’t until you felt his thumb lightly brush over one of your stomach rolls that you mustered up newfound strength.
“I said stop!” you shout, pulling him away even harder.
At that, he finally pauses, and pulls his hands away and out from under your shirt, but keeps them hovering near your form.
Your hands are still encircled around his own, and he lets you catch your breath for a little bit before speaking.
“... You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, and his tone careful. At your silence, he feels the need to talk again. “What’s wrong?”
You’re still a little shaken, unsure of what to do or say. “Nothing—” you start but choke up.
He pulls away from you fully, and instead steps to the side to properly face you. He stares at you in silence, waiting for you to finish talking. But when you never do, he takes the initiative. “Did I do something wrong?”
You sigh deeply before turning the stove off. “No… you didn’t.”
He takes a step closer and keeps quiet. But you know he wants to know more.
“I just… I don’t want you to touch me there. Anywhere but there.” you cross your arms over your chest, as if to hide your body.
He looks utterly confused, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”
You finally look up at him and deadpan. “Satoru, please… you know why.” your hands unconsciously clench around the extra skin of your sides.
He continues looking down at you, perplexed. But once he finally understands what you’re hinting at, his eyes soften.
“So that’s what this is about?” he mutters.
You look to the side, refusing to give him an answer.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” his hand finds your chin as he brings it towards him.
You reluctantly look back up at him. You feel your throat close up, and your eyes water.
He immediately brings you closer, hands cupping your face and thumbs near your eyes, ready to wipe your tears the moment they spill.
“I’m sorry, I’m being such a crybaby.” you sniffle as your vision blurs.
“What’re you apologizing for? Stop that.” he brushes some hair out of your face.
You lean into his hand, the plumpness of your cheek growing more prominent in doing so. He nearly melts at the sight of it.
“I’m not… I’m not nice to hold, Satoru. My body isn’t one to be held and loved. I don’t deserve that.”
Now he just looks offended. He stammers for a moment as his eyes widen. “And why not? Because you weigh a couple extra pounds?”
You nod against his palm, eyes closed.
“That’s such bullshit,” he scoffs. His face slowly inches closer to yours and he kisses your temple. “You’re beautiful.”
You open your eyes to roll them, your gaze landing on the floor. “Don’t lie to me because you feel bad.”
“I’m not lying—why would you even say that?” he asks incredulously.
Despite how bewildered and offended he looks, he’s still softly cradling your head and wiping your tears away.
“You care way too much what other people think, you know that?” he sighs. “I think you’re beautiful, and that’s all there is to it. I’m not worrying about your weight, or how your stomach looks in a shirt, or how you feel when I hold you. None of that ever mattered to me.”
You’re stunned, watery eyes wide open as you stare at him.
He presses a kiss to your forehead this time. “That last one might’ve been a lie actually,” he chuckles against your skin before kissing it again. “I like holding you. You’re soft, and warm, and… I just like it. I like you, okay? Stop overthinking it. You worry too much.”
Your bottom lip juts out as you feel yourself tearing up again.
“Aw, poor baby,” he chuckles again at the sight.
You huff in a frustrated manner. “God, what is wrong with me? I keep crying…”
He only laughs louder. “Nothing’s wrong with you.” He moves to pepper kisses all over your face, lingering on all of your features. “You’re just not used to being appreciated.” his voice softens.
You give up on trying to force the tears away, and just let them roll down your cheeks. The two of you stare at each other in silence. Your eyes sweep back and forth between his own.
Fluttering white lashes and bright blue eyes stare at you with love and fondness you thought you’d never receive, or deserve.
“Thank you.” you mutter silently, wanting to say more, but finding yourself unable to.
He kisses your cheek, smooshing his lips against it in amusement. Once he pulls away, he speaks.
“You’re welcome.”
ᯓ★ Suguru Geto
It had been a long day. Suguru always had long and tedious errands to run from dawn to dusk, but today had been particularly slow and arduous.
Which is why he was looking forward to falling asleep with you in his arms.
Originally, you were supposed to spend the night at your place like any other day. But after receiving a couple text messages from him complaining about his shitty day, you figured the least you could do was offer him comfort. So you’d gone to his place.
As expected, he arrived rather late, but you didn’t mind. Despite your protests and insistence on him eating dinner, he refused. The only thing he wanted was to sink into his king-sized bed with you tightly clutched to his chest.
With reluctance, you obliged.
So here you were, buried under the covers with Suguru. With his hair splayed out on the pillows and mattress, and his soft but tired features, he looked like he’d jumped out of a renaissance painting.
Usually, he’d be the one spooning you. But tonight, he just needed to be the one taken care of for a change.
His head was nestled right under your chin, cheek resting against your chest.
But there was something else different about him tonight. He was being far more clingy and touchy than usual. You weren’t sure if it was unconsciously done or not, but either way, it was starting to get to you.
His hands had started at a respectful resting place, your hips. But as more minutes passed, they slowly inched closer to the hem of your shirt. Eventually, he’d managed to slip them under the fabric.
You tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart, and the heat rushing to your face.
His large hands splayed across the expanse of your back carefully inched up, up, and up.
Until you couldn’t take it anymore.
The second he touched a particularly pudgy area, you hissed, and pushed him away instinctively.
He opened his eyes in surprise and stared up at you.
You sit up, and stare back at him, equally as shocked.
The silence drags on as he slowly props himself up on an elbow. When he realizes you don’t plan on explaining yourself, he decides to take the initiative.
“Something wrong?” he asks, his voice slightly raspy from fatigue.
You open and close your mouth a couple times before finding the words. “No,” is all you can muster as you fold your legs closer to you under the blanket. Your eyes land on your hands as you fidget with them.
He eyes you skeptically, clearly unconvinced. “... you sure?”
You nod, still staring at your hands.
His firm palm encircles them, forcing you to look back at him.
“Don’t lie to me angel. Talk to me.”
You hesitate for a moment, but one of your hands moves to intertwine with his own. He returns the gesture almost immediately, his fingers tightly lacing themselves with yours.
You sigh deeply. “I’m sorry for reacting like that, it’s not because of you.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “What is it then?”
“I just… I wasn’t expecting you to touch me like that.”
He looks at you perplexed. “... So it is because of me?”
Your lips part, and you find yourself speechless.
He only chuckles, finding amusement in your inability to put him at fault for something. After a little while, he settles down, regaining a serious demeanor.
“Did you not expect it, or did you not want it?”
You’re once again stunned. How was he able to read you so well?
“... both.” you look away, guilty.
He brushes some hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear, cupping your jaw to make you look at him.
“Can I ask why you didn’t want it? You don’t usually reject my advances.”
You shrug. “I know, but…” you trail off, letting silence take over.
“Use your words. I’m listening.”
“I don’t want you to feel those parts of my body.” You finally spit out. “You know… the bad parts.”
At your words, he finally sits up, as if having understood the gravity of the situation.
He calls your name. “... look at me.”
You do so, albeit reluctantly.
“There are no bad parts of your body.” His eyebrows are furrowed, and his jaw clenches tightly.
You feel a knot form in your stomach. “But I—” you choke up.
“None. Do you hear me?”
You grow quiet once more, and he can feel you slipping away from him, and back into a self-depricating spiral.
Without thinking twice, he pulls you by the waist and firmly plants you into his lap.
“I can handle you not wanting me to touch you because you’re not ready yet.” he starts, his hands trailing up from your sides to cup your jaw. “But I can’t handle you thinking of yourself in this way.”
You lean into his touch.
“You’re too beautiful to be having these thoughts.” He whispers. Suguru leans in, his nose nuzzling your own before he starts littering your face with feathery kisses. “So precious,” he hums against the plush skin of your cheeks. “Mine.”
You suppress a small whimper, feeling overwhelmed by his presence, and the complicated mix of emotions swirling in your head.
You wanted to believe the harsh voice in your head. The one that told you he wasn’t being sincere, that he’d eventually leave you, that you weren’t deserving because of the way you looked.
But it was starting to get hard to listen to that voice when he was holding you like you were made of porcelain. Like you were his most prized possession. Like he truly believed in every word he spoke to you, without an inkling of a doubt.
“Suguru…”
He shushes you. “Don’t argue with me on this.” He makes sure you’re silent by kissing you once more, stealing the breath right out of your lungs. Feeling your breath hitch against his lips, he pulls back just enough so you can breathe. In the meantime, he resorts to kissing the tip of your nose.
The two of you are silent for a while, simply basking in and enjoying the other’s warmth and proximity.
“… do you really mean it?” You finally ask, voice a little raspy.
“Every word.” He responds in an instant.
At his words, you feel your face flush even more, and you can now feel the warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears. Too flustered and winded to speak again, you decide to hide your face in his chest.
His arms wrap around you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Go to sleep angel,” he says, although he’s already moving to bring you back down on the mattress along with him. His hand rubs soothing circles over your back.
He makes sure not to linger too much on the areas you were jumpy about, out of concern. But when he feels you melt against him, like you were meant to be right there with him, in his arms, he relaxes as well.
“Goodnight.” He mutters one last time before the two of you drift off into sleep.
ᯓ★ Kento Nanami
Saturdays were the best. You loved them because the weekend was just starting, and you didn’t have to worry about monday just yet.
Oh, and also because you typically spent your Saturdays at Kento’s place.
The two of you had taken the morning slow, only getting out of bed at eleven. You made breakfast (which was basically lunch) together, eating it by the window of his apartment.
And now, it was three o’clock. You’d been lying in his arms on the couch, lazing about.
He was holding up a book with one hand, glasses resting low on his nosebridge to read, while his other hand caressed your back. You felt yourself dozing off, your cheek smooshed against his chest while your arms remained loosely wrapped around his waist. You’d been lying down together for so long that your heart rates synced up.
Feeling drowsiness overcome him as well, Kento closed his book and set it on the coffee table within reach. His now free hand joined his other one on your back as he continued tracing patterns against the soft fabric of your cotton shirt.
You were slightly on edge. It’s not that you didn’t trust him or anything, it’s just that you were still new to this relationship with him. And you were also still unfamiliar with letting someone be so close to you physically speaking.
Of course, Kento knew that. That’s why he always insisted on going at your pace.
Which is why you assumed his unusual touchiness right now was not a conscious effort, but rather a product of his half-asleep state.
His strong and large palms carefully trailed down your spine as he pressed his lips to the top of your head.
Suddenly, your shirt lifted at the hem ever so slightly to let him in. The tips of his fingers affectionately prodding at your plush skin.
You tried ignoring it at first. He had been so patient with you, maybe it was time for you to make a little more effort and open up to him as well.
But when you felt his touch wander a bit too high up for your taste, you jumped out of his grasp, sitting up on the couch, still lodged between his legs.
That seems to wake him up, and slightly startle him. His glasses fall off his nose and land on his chest. He stares at you dumbfounded for a moment before picking them up and setting them on the table near his book.
“Is something the matter…?” he finally speaks up, propping himself on his elbows to sit up properly and look at you.
You stare back at him with guilt, and a hint of fear. Fear of disappointing him, fear of making him wait too much, fear of him finding you just as repulsing as you found yourself. Fear of having ruined everything.
He inches closer towards you without actually invading your space. “Hey, stay with me.”
You snap out of it. “... Sorry.”
He quirks an eyebrow, even more confused than before. “Don’t apologize. What’s wrong?”
You look into his sincere hazel eyes for a moment as silence passes. Letting out a sigh, your gaze darts to your lap instead. “It’s stupid.”
He sighs as well, but heavier, before running a hand through his hair. “I can assure you it’s not. I can’t force you to talk to me but—”
“I don’t want you to feel my rolls.” you cut him off, the words leaving your mouth before you can think twice. “Or my extra fat… or my stretch marks.” you add.
His mouth, still open from when you cut his sentence short, closes and he seems to contemplate something before answering.
“I… understand. I’m sorry for overstepping.” he looks away as well, unable to meet your eyes. “If I may ask… why?”
You scoff, but not in a mocking way. Moreso in disbelief. “Because they’re not nice to feel. They’re… ugly. I don’t want you to see that side of me.”
He finally meets your gaze again, this time with a scowl. “What did you just say?”
You feel your heart drop at his glare, but try to play it off by shrugging. “Kento, let’s be honest here… they’re not cute. No need for sugarcoating.”
He runs a hand down his face, and then massages the top of his nosebridge.
Oh, now you’ve done it. You knew it. You knew you weren’t ready for this. No one would ever accept you with your insecurities. And yet you still decided to pursue this relationship with him. You should’ve known better.
You wish a giant crack would appear in his floorboards and swallow you whole. You wanted to get up, and run out of his apartment. You wanted to disappear.
But you knew there was no running now. You’d put yourself in this situation, self-sabotaging as always.
“I’m sorry… forget I said anything.” you mutter, already moving to untangle yourself from his legs.
He stops you however, lightly holding onto your wrists and pulling you back down towards him, closer than before.
His gaze is still downcast and he sighs heavily. “Don’t go, I already told you you had nothing to be sorry for.” he looks up at you again, but this time his gaze is soft yet apprehensive, as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He whispers your name before resuming, making sure he had your full attention.
“You don’t understand just how much it pains me to hear you talk about yourself in such a way. I have never, and I will never tolerate anyone speaking ill of you, including yourself.” slowly but surely, as if to give you the option to pull away, he tugs you closer until you’re a mere breath away from one another.
“I know it might be hard for you to believe me, and I know that flowery words won’t be enough to change the mindset you’ve clung to for so long. But I mean it when I say you’re beautiful to me.”
You feel your eyes start to sting, water pooling in the rims of your bottom lids. “How?”
The second he catches a glimpse of your tears, he pulls you into him, burying your face in his chest while you sob quietly. “I can’t explain it, words aren’t enough.” he whispers against your hair. “Just… trust me on this, okay? You might not love yourself at the moment, but know that I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”
Your hands fist against the fabric of his sweater as you continue crying.
“All I ask is that you try to see yourself the way I see you. You don’t have to do it overnight of course, but… I’ll be here for you.” His lips caress your cheek, now wet with tear tracks. “Along every step of the way.” his hand finds your chin to pull you away from his body so he can look you in the eyes.
Your eyes are bloodshot and glossy as you stare back at him. “... thank you.” you huff, trying to reign in your emotions.
He doesn’t say anything, instead opting for brushing your hair out of your face and caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.
“I love you,” he mutters. “Remember that whenever you find it hard to love yourself.”
You nod, and he swipes his thumbs against your bottom lids to dry the last of your tears.
ᯓ★ Yuji Itadori
The last time you’d seen your (recent) boyfriend Yuji was about two weeks ago. You were both swarmed with your own personal lives. And it was killing him, quite frankly.
At last, when you were both free, you’d invited him to spend a couple days at your place.
So far, you’d spent the whole day doing nothing and everything, and decided to finish it off with a movie marathon (his suggestion, of course).
Perhaps it was those two weeks without seeing you that had him acting so strangely.
He was being awfully clingy. But you didn’t mind. You had missed him too after all.
The two of you were laying on your couch with the only source of lighting being the tv. He was lying on top of you, head resting against your chest and his hair tickling your collarbone. His arms were tightly wrapped around your middle while his eyes stayed glued to the screen.
Your hands were nestled in his hair as you played with the spiky pink strands. You look down at him for a moment and notice the way his feet hang off the end of the sofa, the sight almost making you laugh. You’d suggested letting him have the couch so he could be more comfortable, but he had insisted that your current position was more than comfortable enough to him.
You couldn’t say the same however.
His hands made a very slow ascent on your body. One so subtle you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so on edge and, well, insecure.
You try to ignore it at first, but when you feel him tenderly squeeze at your plush skin like it was something he always did, you couldn’t take it anymore.
You jumped, startled by the sudden touch. He lifted his head away from your chest and looked up at you as he rose to sit up. “What’s up? Is there a spider? I can kill it for you—” he starts, already looking around for a slipper or anything he could use to kill the arachnid.
You stare at him baffled. “What? No!”
He returns your stunned look. “Oh… then why’d you jump?”
“Because you—” you stutter, embarrassed. “Because you touched my stomach, and my… my rolls.”
“What? I.. I didn’t even realize.” His gaze softens, and his shoulders drop from their upright posture. “… sorry.” he scratches at the back of his neck and looks away.
You look down at yourself and hug your knees to your chest, seeking to cloak yourself from his gaze.
Yuji notices the gesture out of the corners of his eyes, and he feels a sharp twist in his heart. Like he knew there was more to this, and that it was bad. But he was too scared to push.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” you shrug it off, still staring at your legs.
But that dismissal doesn’t do it for him.
“Why the stomach?” he asks.
You snap your eyes back up at him. “... What?”
“Why are you jumpy about your stomach?” he asks again, more firmly this time. “I mean… we’ve kissed and hugged and stuff. Why is it a problem now?” his head tilts, in genuine curiosity.
But the second he notices how defensive you look, he scrambles to explain himself.
“Fuck, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” he drags his hands down his face and sighs heavily into them. A few seconds go by and he pulls away from them to glance up at you with furrowed eyebrows. “I just wanna know. But I’m not gonna force you into anything… of course.”
You relax a little bit, feeling more at ease.
He notices that and speaks up again. “I mean… it’s not because you’re insecure or anything, right? ‘Cause that would be kinda stupid.” he scoffs.
His small smile quickly fades once he takes in your silence and realizes that it is, indeed, an insecurity thing.
Your gaze drops lower.
“... Why? You’re beautiful.” he says it like it’s the most irrefutable fact in the universe. A fact that doesn’t even require evidence to be proven true. A fact he thought was an evident and unspoken truth between you two.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Don’t sugarcoat.”
“I’m not—you seriously don't think you're beautiful?” he stares at you incredulously.
You lift your eyes to finally look up at him. But you freeze. You don’t know what to say, or do. You don’t even remember how you got in this situation in the first place.
You watch as his hands slowly reach out to rest on top of your knees. They trail down and caress the sides of your thighs, his eyes remaining on yours the entire time.
“Listen, I don’t know how you’re not seeing what I’m seeing, but… I find you pretty. Really pretty.” he mutters, refusing to break eye contact. “I’ve never looked at you and wished you looked different. A number on a scale doesn’t mean anything to me.”
The moment your eyes water and your knees drop in defeat, he pulls you into his lap with ease, as if you weighed nothing. As if your weight was nothing to him.
His arms wrap around your middle as you cry into his shoulder. He moves to lean back against the couch and shifts his hips so you’re more comfortable. He doesn’t say anything for a while, instead just letting you cry and vent out your frustrations.
He carefully strokes your hair until he feels your shoulders relax against him. “... you okay?”
You sniffle, trying to collect yourself, and pull away to look up at him through your wet lashes. His shirt is soaked, and the side of your face is still planted against it, but he doesn’t mind.
You blink a couple times to focus your vision before answering with a raspy ‘yes’.
He leans down but stops, hesitating for a moment as he scans your features. When he realizes you’re comfortable enough, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to leave you dizzy.
“I’m the luckiest guy in the world, y’know that? To have such a beautiful girlfriend like you.” he presses a lingering kiss to your wet cheek. “There isn’t a single day that goes by without me thinking that. You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up.”
You wipe at your tears lazily, feeling fatigue take over you now. Your eyes now dart back and forth between his own before you whisper a barely audible ‘thank you’.
He only smiles in response. “Don’t thank me for that, seriously.” he chuckles.
You chuckle along with him because that was such a Yuji thing for him to say.
He feels a weight lift from his chest at the sight of you laughing, and leans down one final time to kiss your lips. “I love you.” he murmurs against them, his thumbs still gently carding through your hair.
The only thing that didn’t suck though—the one thing that kept Megumi pushing through everything—was the thought of coming back home to you lying in his bed.
With every step he took towards his home, he replayed the scene in his head another time.
He’d open the door to his bedroom, slam it shut behind him, shed the unnecessarily heavy jacket on his body, and fall straight into your arms while you welcomed him with that bright smile of yours he swore fixed everything.
And now, after his long and arduous day, he’d finally arrived.
He closed the door behind him, kicked his shoes off, and made a straight line to his room. But you weren’t on his bed like he expected you to be. You weren’t even in the room, actually.
Suddenly, the door leading to his bathroom opens, and you step out of it and into his room. “Hey, you’re back.” you smile and walk over to him. “Sorry, I went to turn the shower on as soon as I heard you come in.”
Once he finally sees you, he lets out a little sigh of relief. Megumi could not have been happier that you’d said yes when he asked you if you could spend the night over at his place.
You probably weren’t aware of it, but it meant everything to him.
Noticing he still hasn’t answered, you speak up again. “... I hope that’s okay with you.”
He walks over to you, ridding himself of his jacket in the process and tossing it in his laundry basket. “It is. Thank you.” He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Give me five minutes,” he mutters before walking past you and closing the bathroom door behind him.
You go to lie down on the bed and scroll on your phone while waiting for him to wash up.
You were surprised he’d texted you so last minute asking you to come over, but you figured it was probably needed. Maybe he’d had a bad day and needed some company.
At least that’s the explanation you were choosing to justify how clingy he was being now that he’d gotten in bed with you.
The two of you were lying on your sides, your flush bodies buried beneath the covers as his front pressed into your back. His arms were wrapped around your middle while he rested his chin into the crook of your neck.
“... needed this.” he sighed against your skin.
Meanwhile, you were trying to hold it together. Sure you two have been dating for almost two months now, but you still hadn’t gotten this close.
He continued pressing the occasional kiss to your neck, while his hands found themselves at the bottom hem of your shirt.
“Um… Megumi?” you whispered, feeling your face burn up and your heartrate pick up.
“Hm?” he hummed, while his hands suddenly found themselves under your shirt.
“Megumi what are you—”
His fingers caressed the plush skin of your midriff.
Your face went pale, your heart dropped, and your hands moved to get his own off of your body.
He stills, and stops his trail of kisses up to your earlobe. He’s taken-aback, unsure of what just happened, but waits for you to elaborate.
“I… sorry, I—” you stutter and fumble over your words. Letting his hands fall against the mattress, you sit up. You throw a brief glance at him over your shoulder, and notice his stunned look. Clearly, he’s still waiting on an explanation.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asks.
“Nothing, I…” you start, but end up looking away from him. Your shoulders drop and you look down at your lap. “I just wasn’t expecting you to get so… touchy.”
“... touchy?” he repeats, confused. This wasn’t the first time the two of you cuddled.
You stay quiet, and your arms unconsciously move to fold themselves over your stomach, as if to hide it.
Ever the analyst, Megumi watches the gesture, and it finally clicks in his head. His eyes soften. “... Fuck.” he sighs heavily. “I’m an idiot.”
At his words, you look back at him again. Your eyes meet once more.
“I’m sorry.” he mutters. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t like that.” he searches your eyes, waiting for a response.
“... It’s fine.” you reply dismissively.
“It’s not.” he states firmly. “I should’ve asked first.”
You nod at him once, with a hum.
Silence settles between the two of you, both unsure of what to say next. He simply stares at you.
“You’re not gonna ask why?” you finally speak up.
“Why what?”
“Why I don’t want you touching my stomach.” you change your sitting position to fully face him.
His eyes widen for a moment before narrowing again. “... No. Do you want to tell me why?”
Your gaze drops to your hands in your lap. “... It’s a stupid reason, honestly.”
He sits up, and places one of his hands over your own. “Clearly, it’s not stupid if it has you feeling like this.”
Your bottom lip starts to quiver, and you lower your head even further, unable to look at him.
His free hand moves to slot itself between your ear and neck, and he cranes your head to make you look up at him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
When you meet his eyes, you force yourself to take a deep breath. “It’s just…” you start, and huff out another breath to try and calm down. “I don’t like my body and I don’t want you to see it, or feel it, or… I just don’t want you to leave me because of how I look.”
For the first time since he’s gotten home, Megumi scowls. “Seriously?”
You say nothing, nodding instead.
“That’s—” he starts but stutters. “That’s fucking stupid. I’m not going to leave you just because of the way you look.”
“… You say that now, but—“
“I’m not going to change my mind, Y/N.” His thumb caresses your cheek. “And for the record, nothing’s wrong with the way you look.”
You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes.
His eyebrows only furrow further at the sight of your disagreement. “You’re beautiful.”
“But I’m…”
“So? Do you really think I care about stuff like that?”
You bury your face in your hands to try and silence your sobbing. His hands let go of you temporarily to wrap themselves around your body and pull you in.
His palms caress your back a little awkwardly at first, but he manages to ease into it. He lets you cry into his chest until you calm down.
“I’m not good at this stuff, but… I meant everything I said, alright?”
You sniffle quietly, nodding against his shirt.
“... I should’ve done a better job at making you feel good about yourself. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” your hands let go of your face to wrap around his neck.
Tentatively, he lies back down on the mattress and pulls you along with him. You follow him willingly, and nuzzle against the crook of his neck.
“... are you okay?” he whispers against the top of your head.
You take a deep breath before talking. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay, good.” he swallows the lump in his throat. “Go to sleep,” he tilts his head to the side, and presses a kiss to your temple.
You nuzzle further into him before whispering a soft “Goodnight.”
ᯓ★ Yuta Okkotsu
Today had been rather uneventful for you. And you were grateful for that. It was one of your rare days off, and you’d taken the opportunity to soak in a bath, watch your favourite movie, and make yourself a good meal.
The same couldn’t be said for Yuta however. He’d been sent out on a last minute mission and was only just now done.
Usually, he’d be satisfied with just going home, showering the exhaustion off his body, and facetiming you until you both fell asleep.
But today he really needed to see you, and hold you.
You’d welcomed him with open arms of course. He wasn’t the only one missing his partner. Besides, you’d be lying if you said his tired tone when he called you earlier to ask if he could come over didn’t give you the urge to pamper him and take care of him.
You let him use your shower to freshen up. In the meantime, you rummaged through the drawer of his clothes that you kept at your place for something he could wear.
And now you found yourself sitting with your legs folded on your couch, with your boyfriend lying down, his head in your lap.
Your fingers had been carefully threading through his damp and dark locks for the past twenty minutes while you watched the tv.
Yuta, however, couldn’t care less about the show you were watching. He was turned away from it, in fact, and was instead looking up at you. Although he could barely keep his eyes open anymore.
Feeling himself drift into slumber, he shifted in your lap to make himself more comfortable, and turned so that he faced your stomach. One of his arms came up to wrap around your waist as he nuzzled himself closer.
You felt the color drain out of your face, and your heart drop.
“Yuta… what’re you doing?” you whisper, not wanting to disturb him.
A soft hum escapes him. “... missed you.” he mumbles against your shirt, and presses his nose to your stomach.
The second he touches you, you flinch away from him, sucking your stomach in.
That seems to stir him awake, and he opens his eyes to look at you.
“What’s wrong?” he sits up, and lets go of you.
Your hands fall from his hair and into your lap instead. You stare down at them in silence, not giving him an answer.
“Did I… did I do something wrong?” his face morphs into a frown. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Your gaze snaps up to meet his, and you notice how glassy they look. “You didn’t—I’m just… not used to stuff like that.”
“Having your stomach touched…?” he questions further.
“That and other things…” you nod once, curtly, simply. Like you wanted the topic to die down.
But he doesn’t want it to. He knows this must be daunting for you, but he doesn’t want to bottle this up.
“Is there something wrong with your stomach?” he asks, his tone softer and quieter now.
You stare at him, slightly baffled. “Well… yeah.” you reply, as if the answer was obvious.
He tilts his head to the side, still not getting it.
“It’s pudgy.”
You expect to see enlightenment flash through his features, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he still looks confused.
“So…?”
“So it’s bad, Yuta.”
He feels your patience wearing thin. “I-I’m sorry! I just don’t see what’s bad about that...” he scratches at the back of his neck and looks away.
You mimic him, and your eyes return to the tv as you let out a huff, folding your legs closer to your chest, your arms resting atop your knees and your face half-buried in them.
Once he notices your eyes aren’t on his anymore, his gaze trails back to you and he looks you up and down. Carefully reaching out for the remote, he pauses your show.
“Y/N, I…” he starts.
You stay quiet, your stare vacant.
“Please look at me.” he leans in closer.
You feel your eyes start to water, but manage to reign it in, and look at him.
“I’m sorry.” he whispers sincerely. “But I still don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way you look. I never have.”
“How can you say that when I…” you start but feel your voice falter, and a knot forms in your throat. The tears well up again, and this time a couple of them stroll down your cheeks.
He stands up from the couch to instead kneel on the carpet in front of you. A hand rests on your knee while the other cradles your cheek carefully. Once you lean into his hand, his thumb swipes at your tears, tracing patterns on your skin slowly.
“You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, I don’t even know why you—” he pauses, feeling himself get off track. “Listen, I love you. But I don’t like that you doubt yourself so much.”
Your lips part almost immediately to reply. To apologize profusely about your insecurities. But, as if guessing your next move, he cuts you off with a tender kiss.
He pulls away, but remains close enough so that you can hear him as he whispers. “I know you can’t help it, and that’s okay. That just means I have to be a better boyfriend to you." his eyes dart back and forth between your own.
You return his eye contact, and it doesn’t take you long before you break down.
He immediately pulls you into his shoulder and lets you soak his shirt. His fingers thread through your hair soothingly as he whispers soft words of reassurance into your ear.
“I’ll do better from now on. For you. I promise.” He kisses your tear-stained eye corner. “I’ll help you see what I see when I look at you,”
You nuzzle into him further, your arms wrapping around his neck. He lets out a surprised huff from your tight squeeze, but quickly melts into it.
“I love you, and… thank you.” you mumble against the skin of his neck.
He continues rubbing your back soothingly. “... I love you too.”
ᯓ★ Choso Kamo
Choso was a very patient man. Especially when it came to the things he loved and held dearly to his heart.
You, of course, are no exception.
Despite his age, he was equally as new as you when it came to relationships. Neither of you wanted to mess this up, so you had mutually agreed on taking it slow.
You knew that about your boyfriend.
What you weren’t aware of was how much he’d been holding back ever since you officialized your relationship.
He loved praising you, showering you in words of affection and gifts, small romantic gestures he knew meant the world to you. But sometimes, even those things weren’t enough to convey the depth of his adoration for you.
He would never tell you, but sometimes just the sight of you was enough to make him fall to his knees.
He’s been trying so hard these past weeks to hold it in, to be good for you. But tonight, he didn’t have the strength to do so anymore.
You’d invited him over at your place, insisting you wanted to try out the new face masks you bought with him. He’d said yes in a heartbeat.
And now, a couple hours later, you were cuddled up on the couch, watching tv. Nothing unusual for the two of you, right?
Not exactly.
You had been iffy about physical intimacy of any kind with him. It’s not that you didn’t like him, you were just scared he wouldn’t like your body.
Choso knew about your apprehensiveness, but didn’t know about the reason behind it. He never asked, not wanting you to feel like you had to justify yourself to him.
Maybe that’s why he was underestimating your hesitance tonight. He had underestimated it enough to let his temptations get the best of him, and slowly push past your boundaries.
You were seated between his spread thighs, your back pressed to his chest, while his arms remained tightly wound around your frame in a bear hug.
You weren’t even sure of how you ended up in such a position. But now you had to try and ignore your rapidly beating heart as he kept his lips sealed onto a specific spot under your ear.
He wasn’t moving, or kissing, or sucking on the sensitive bit of skin. He was simply nuzzled there, comfortably. And that somehow made it worse.
His hands move to tighten their hold on your waist,
“Cho?” you whisper.
“Yes?” he answers, but continues his caresses.
Your breath hitches. “Can you—” you start, but falter the second his hand squeezes your soft belly. “Stop!” you shout in a panic.
He immediately lets go of you and lifts his head from your neck.
Your eyes are wide open in shock. Both from his sudden touch, and from you unexpectedly raising your voice.
“I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” you start speaking but go speechless.
He remains quiet behind you for a while. “... Have I done something to upset you?”
You turn sideways with the intention of facing him properly, but your gaze is still downcast. “Not really, it’s just…”
His hands clench into fists at his sides, holding back from holding you. As clingy and affectionate as he was, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
“I don’t want you to feel my rolls.” you finally explain with a sigh.
His hands relax, and his eyebrows furrow. “... Your what?”
Now it’s your turn to look confused. “My… rolls?”
He does a little head shake, as if still not understanding.
“The extra layers of fat on my stomach and back.” you elaborate even further.
His expression is solemn, if not, slightly angry. “What about them?”
“Choso…. I don’t like them, and I don’t want you to see that side of me.”
His eyes shoot wide open, and his lips part. “Why don’t you like them? I like them. A lot.”
“Because they’re fat… and ugly.”
A pang of anger flashes across his gaze, although it’s not exactly directed at you. “Stop it.” His tone of voice rises. “How dare you say that? They’re beautiful, just like you are.”
Beautiful? He couldn’t seriously mean that.
His hand flies to his chest and he grips the fabric of his shirt right above his heart. “Do you… do you not believe me?” His bottom lip starts to quiver. “I… have failed you as your lover.”
You’re stunned, and your hands hover in the air on either side of him, unsure of what to do. “What? No, that’s not true.”
Tears start welling in his eyes. “It is. I’ve failed to make you feel worthy and loved.”
You cup his face as you speak to him. “Choso, I’ve been like this way before you… you’re not the issue.” your thumbs swipe his tears away.
His hands rest atop yours on the sides of his face. “How long… have you thought of yourself like this?”
“I’m… not sure. For as long as I can remember, I guess.” you look away.
His hands carefully slide around your waist and he sits you down on his lap. “Well… it needs to stop. I refuse to let you think of, or speak of yourself in this way.” he sniffles, although now he sounds more sure of himself.
You look back at him, only to be met with a look of determination.
“I love you, and I want you to love yourself as well.” he mutters before burying his head in the crook of your neck. “So please… promise me you’ll see yourself the way I do.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” A light chuckle escapes you. “But I can promise that I’ll try.”
He pulls away to look at you. “That’s good enough for me. Just… please don’t use words like that again. They pain me.” he nudges the underside of your jaw with his nose. “You’re beautiful.”
You pull him closer to you, wrapping your arms around his neck. Leaning in, you whisper against his hair. “Okay… I won’t.”
A satisfied hum escapes him. “Thank you,” he mumbles before pressing a kiss right under your ear. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you answer, right before he pulls you down on the couch with him.
ᯓ★ Toji Fushiguro
You were trying really hard not to overthink this. After all, you knew nothing crazy would happen. You’d told your boyfriend very clearly a while ago that you wanted to take things slow. And he’d agreed with no hesitation, of course.
So why were you so nervous about him spending the night over at your place for the first time?
He’d finished his work today (you weren’t sure exactly what his job was, but you didn’t want to force him for an answer), and had asked you if you wanted to fall asleep on the phone with him.
On a whim, you suggested him sleeping at your side instead. He hesitated, and asked you if you were sure, but upon hearing your insistence, he accepted.
Once he arrived, you’d eaten dinner together, watched trashy reality tv, and had offered him a change of clothes.
Now, you were both in your bathroom. He was brushing his teeth, while you were combing your hair.
Earlier, you weren’t so nervous. But now that you were getting ready for bed, it was starting to settle in.
Standing side by side in the cramped bathroom, with your shoulders touching, you occasionally glanced at him. But every time you did, he would already be staring at you with his signature lopsided smirk.
Looking away, your gaze returns to your hair in the mirror.
He spits out the toothpaste, rinses his mouth out and cleans the toothbrush before putting it away. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he uses the towel to wipe his face.
Once he’s done, he turns back to you, and stares at your reflection.
You try to ignore the weight of his gaze on you, and manage to keep your eyes glued to your hands as you continue brushing. “What?” you ask.
“Nothin’” His smile softens. “You look pretty.” he adds before snaking his arms around your waist, his chin resting on top of your head.
“Toji, I’m trying to brush my hair here.” you groan in annoyance, despite the blush forming on your cheeks.
“What’s the point? It’ll just get messy again when you sleep.” he chuckles dryly.
You roll your eyes.
His head dips down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m tired.”
Your heart stutters as you feel his fingers trail further down, and reach the hem of your sleep shirt. “... go to bed then.”
He hums, nuzzling himself against your neck and pressing another kiss. “Not without you.” His hands slip under your shirt, his palms laying flat against the soft and plush skin of your stomach.
“Toji!” You gasp, panic and jerk out of his grasp almost immediately while turning to face him.
His hands slip out of your shirt just as fast as they got in, and he looks down at you with wider eyes than usual.
Your eyebrows are knit together in a frown, and your shoulders are tense.
Guilt flashes across his eyes as he takes in your defensive stance. He takes a step back, letting his hands fall back at his sides.
“... m’sorry. I didn’t realize.” he mutters out, his tone quiet.
“Don’t apologize—” Your expression softens when you see him retreat. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”
“Yeah, because you told me you didn’t want me to do stuff like that.” he states blatantly, holding himself accountable. “And I forgot, like a fucking idiot.”
You place the hairbrush back on the counter near your sink. You look away, not sure what to say now.
His jaw clenches tightly, before he speaks. “... Do you want me to leave?”
You rush to answer him. “No! God, no... I just— give me a minute.”
He nods once, a hand slipping into the pocket of his dark sweatpants, while the other rests on his nape.
You stare down at the floor, hesitant. Eventually, you decide it’s best to be honest with him.
“I panicked because I don’t want you to feel how…” you start, but trail off, struggling to find words that won’t make you sound like you’re begging for his pity or compliments.
“... how what?” he asks, although he’s soft, not rushing you.
You take a deep breath. “How big I am.”
He quirks an eyebrow.
“I mean, it’s not like you can’t see how big I am, I’m aware of that—” you fidget with your hands. “But… what if you find it worse once you actually feel it?”
Noticing the fact your gaze is remaining downcast, and that you don’t intend on looking up at him anytime soon, he places one of his hands on top of your own. You stop your fidgeting, and finally meet his gaze.
“That’s why you don’t want me to touch you?”
You seal your lips in a tight line before nodding.
He sighs. “You should’ve said so sooner. We could’ve resolved this a while ago.”
You tilt your head to the side with a quizzical look.
“I don’t mind that you’re bigger.” he states. “I like it.”
Your eyebrows raise, your eyes widen, and your lips part. You’re speechless.
He chuckles as he takes in your expression. “But that’s not the only reason I’m with you.”
Your hands move to wrap around his.
“... I love you. And the way you look doesn’t change that for me. Never will.”
Your lips tremble, and he immediately catches sight of it. Pulling you in, he presses you into his warm chest.
“I’m sorry for crying… and thank you.” you sniffle.
He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
He waits a little while before pulling you away enough to see you properly.
“Do you really like that I’m… bigger?” you ask, skeptically.
He nods with a grin. “I thought you knew.”
You shake your head innocently.
“And here I thought I was being too obvious about it.”
Suddenly, it clicks. “Wait, is that—is that why you’re always staring?”
He doesn’t say anything, but by the way his grin only grows wider, you can guess the answer is a yes.
“I thought you thought I looked weird.”
“What? Fuck no.” he exhales heavily, before moving to pick you up, your legs wrapping around his middle. “Need you to lie down on me.” he speaks in a hushed tone as he walks over to your bed.
He can hear your heartbeat pick up in pace, and sits down on the edge of the bed.
“We won’t do anything you don’t want. I just…” he brushes your hair out of your face. “I wanna feel your weight on me. Feels nice.”
Your eyes dart back and forth between his own. “... okay.” you whisper.
He moves to slip you both under the covers, making sure at least half of your body is resting atop his.
“I love you too, by the way.” you add, resting your cheek against his chest as you look up at him.
You feel his scarred lip brush your temple in a soft kiss. “... go to sleep.”
ᯓ★ Ryomen Sukuna
Half a year had passed since you became betrothed to the king of curses. Although you knew about the arrangement years prior, it had only been officialized six months ago.
You were scared the night of your wedding. You shouldn’t have been, considering you knew what to expect. But you were still scared.
To your surprise however, he had asked you if you were willing. And upon hearing your refusal, he’d retreated to his own chambers in silence.
Ever since then, he’d honored your choice.
But in these last six months, things changed. Six months of longing glances, of not so accidental touches and brushes of hands and shoulders, of words left unsaid.
It was safe to say he had grown on you. You’d learned that although he was still the monster on the battlefield everyone claimed him to be, he had a different side reserved just for you.
As for Sukuna? The wait was killing him.
You had somehow managed to nuzzle yourself into the depths of his cold heart, and have stayed there ever since. He tried to stop it at first, but he quickly learned that it was no use in denying it anymore.
He loved you, because you’d taught him how to love.
But out of fear of scaring you off, and also because he found himself wanting to respect your wishes, he kept distance between the two of you.
So although you had spent multiple evenings walking side by side in the gardens with your arms linked, or hours in his library reading together in silence with your pinky fingers touching, neither of you had made a move.
The closest the two of you had ever gotten was sleeping cuddled up together.
The first time, he’d insisted on sleeping at your side when you’d fallen sick in the winter. He had berated you for being a weak human the entire time, whilst simultaneously holding you close enough so you could stay warm.
The second time, he had drunk one too many bottles of sake, and refused to let you go the entire night. You could only laugh to yourself as he kept you trapped in a bear hug, imagining how embarrassed he’d be the next morning.
The third time was tonight.
He’d grown restless from waiting. He wanted to be able to hold you without worrying about whether or not you would wake up the next morning or perish from a measly cold. He wanted to be able to feel the plumpness and curves of your body and remember the feeling, instead of clinging onto snippets of his foggy memory.
Hence why he’d called you to his chambers so late.
Six months ago, you would’ve been afraid to step anywhere near his quarters. But now? Now you trusted him.
So upon hearing his request, you assumed he’d want to do some late night reading again, or maybe listen to you play the koto like he sometimes liked to do.
But your heart jumped in your throat once you’d learned of his real reason for requesting your audience. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. This wouldn’t be the first time the two of you fell asleep together.
So, despite your heart hammering against your ribcage, you made your way over to his bed, carefully lifted the covers and slipped underneath them.
He didn’t take long before slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
Your noses nearly touching, you ducked your head, too flushed to face him. He didn’t force you to look back at him, instead focusing on mapping out the fullness of your waist with his large palm.
You focused on his touch as a way of distracting yourself from how close his face was to yours, but noticing how deliberate the caresses of his hand was, it only flustered you further.
“Sukuna…” you breathed out.
“... Hm?” he hummed absentmindedly, too focused on feeling you.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he whispered, before his hand moved further down, feeling the curve of your tummy.
Instantly, your hand flew to his, pulling it away from your body. He let himself be pushed away willingly, and finally stared at your face.
It was redder than he’d ever seen. And he could tell you were simultaneously flustered, and scared. Mostly scared. He almost hated himself for how attractive that was to him.
Upon noticing your hesitancy and silence, he takes the initiative.
“Speak.”
“... Don’t touch me there.” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.
His hand fully retreats now and he even scoots away from you a bit.
“Why?”
Your gaze snaps up to his, and you look at him incredulously. “Simply because I don’t want you to.”
You expect him to taunt you, to smirk at you. But he does none of that.
He looks solemn as he talks. “That’s not true. Tell me the real reason.”
You seal your lips and stare at his neck instead of his eyes, out of fear that you’ll fold if you stare into them for too long.
He tenses, and his gaze lands on your stomach. “Are you injured?”
You shake your head and sigh deeply.
A beat of silence passes. “... Is it me? Do I repulse you?”
“What?! No!” you tilt your head back up despite yourself. “That’s not it.”
“Then what is it if not that?” he urges, his tone of voice rising.
“It’s the opposite!” you retort. He looks stunned by your shouting, but you continue regardless. “I don’t… I don’t want you to be repulsed by me.”
He looks at you in total shock. How could you, the embodiment of everything beautiful in the world repulse him, a monster driven by bloodlust?
“What the hell do you mean?” his eyebrows knight tightly together.
“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb.” you roll your eyes, as if the motion could stop the tears from forming.
He only looks more baffled at your words.
“My weight, Sukuna. That’s the problem.”
“Your weight.” he repeats in disbelief, his eyebrows falling back in place.
“Yes, my weight. I’m all… pudgy and gross.” your tone grows quiet in your embarrassment.
His eyes narrow into a glare and he immediately spits out, “Watch your words when you speak of my wife.”
You scoff, before one of your hands rests atop your stomach.
“No one is allowed to speak ill of you. That includes you.”
“But it’s the truth. You can’t act like it’s not.” Your other hand moves to hide your stomach as well.
He lets out a dissatisfied groan, takes your hands away from your midriff, and instead lands your palms flat against his chest. “It most certainly is not.”
You hesitate at first but eventually lean into him.
His tone of voice softens at your gesture. “Who has put these foolish ideas in your head?”
You sigh once more.
“Tell me so I may have them executed.”
“No one, Sukuna. I grew up like this.”
He softens even more at the sound of his name slipping past your lips. “... Well get rid of them.”
You finally look up at him. “It’s not that easy.”
He meets your gaze instantly. “What is it going to take then?”
You shrug and shake your head once.
“Allow me to say this then,” he starts, and one of his hands moves to cup your jaw. “These thoughts and insecurities are beneath you. There is only one thing in this world that I am certain possesses true beauty in every sense of the word.” he tugs you closer to him. “And that is you.”
You feel the urge to deny his words, to pull away and call yourself berating things, but you hold back. Instead, tears well in your eyes and trickle down your cheeks.
He scoffs at the sight of your tears, but swipes away at them with the pad of his thumb regardless. “Cease these pointless waterworks. They’re unbecoming of you.”
“Sorry,” you mutter before nuzzling into his chest in an attempt to stop the crying.
He freezes at your sudden proximity, but quickly wraps his arms around you. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he adds “I don’t need your apologies. Just stop.”
You nod against him.
His hand awkwardly and tentatively moves, caressing your back in what he hopes is a soothing manner.
“The next time you feel like this, come to me. I’ll make sure to extinguish these idiocies from your mind.”
“Okay… thank you.” You sniffle the last of your tears away, before leaning up and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
He stays frozen in place for a moment, his eyes wide open. Eventually, he grunts out a small noise, acting as though he was annoyed.
He pulls the covers over you both properly. “Sleep.” he orders one last time before you drift off into slumber.
masterlist
a/n: this took soooo long to write because its such a sensitive topic and i didnt wanna mess it up
taglist for jjk works: @freyao7@henry-marchbanks-winter3
❀ tags: fem pronouns used in geto's, gn for the rest (it was easier that way, srry!). fem pronouns used for kirara i do not care. around 1k⁓1.3k for all except nanami (2k⁓) and kirakari (1.8k⁓). i got carried away pls read anyway. i've never written for these characters, prepare for ooc stuff!
❀ read part 1 with yuji, megumi, toji, choso and sukuna here !
❀ Okkotsu Yuta
If there's someone who'd run to you the moment you needed absolutely anything from them, it'd be Okkotsu Yuta.
Even if you didn't need anything, and you only wanted his presence, he'd go without thinking twice or making questions.
So when you texted him that you wouldn't go to your date because you're feeling under the weather, he didn't waste a second to rush to your side.
"Oh, darling... look at you." Yuta coos as he finds you bundled up in your covers, sheer concern etched in his features. You startle briefly at the sound of his voice, but you soon relax again. You can't even pretend you're surprised to see him. You're too tired to point out his presence, anyway.
Yuta presses his hand to your cheek, before moving it to your forehead. You're burning up for sure, and it's making his heart squeeze on his chest. You finally open your eyes, noting the sadness in his. But before you can reassure him, he's already on the move. "Wait for me, I'll be right back."
You accidentally fall asleep while he's gone, waking up at the feeling of a washcloth being gently pressed against your forehead. You open your eyes blearily, a soft smile gracing your boyfriend's features.
"You're awake. I made you some soup, I know you probably haven't eaten." ...he hit the nail in the head. "It's all natural, 'kay? No cup noodles for my darling. You should have it now before it gets cold."
How he got soup done so fast by himself you don't know, you probably fell asleep for longer than you thought. Still, you humor him, slowly getting up, not without being immediately assisted by him.
After successfully sitting up with your back against the headboard, Yuta holds the bowl and tries feed you. You huff, you're not that tired to be unable to feed yourself, but the gentle nudge of the spoon against your lips makes you cave. You instantly hum in delight, genuinely how he made something this good with your practically empty fridge is beyond you. Makes you realize he probably bought everything himself in the way. Oh, Yuta. Your dangerously considerate boyfriend.
"Is it good?" He asks as he feeds you, and you nod in response. He visibly softens, continuing to feed you until you can't eat anymore.
Yuta sets the bowl aside, patting your head and telling you that you did a good job by eating almost all of it. As if you were a little kid. You kinda wanna flip him off, but god do those headpats feel nice.
Gently easing you back in the covers, Yuta rubs your cheek with his thumb. "I'll stay with you all day," He announces, and you can tell he meant to from the start.
Yuta's doting on you like he's got nowhere else he'd rather be, but you know there are other places where he should be right now. What if a powerful curse is spotted and they need his help? You'll feel a bit bad if you hoard his attention the whole day. And though it's pointless to try, and how stubborn you know him to be when it comes to you, you still have the gall to attempt it.
"Yuta...?" You mumble, your voice groggy and quiet from not having spoken all day. His eyes immediately fix on your face, something about your unusually soft tone doing a number on his heart. "Yes, angel?"
"You don't have to stay the whole day, I feel better now."
You push through the ache in your throat to speak, and oh, he notices. Wetting the rag from earlier again, he smiles ever so softly, before giving you the most deadpan "no ♥" he can muster.
You blink, sighing. "I mean it-" but he's already pressing a finger to your lips.
"Don't strain yourself, love, I bet it's difficult for you to talk right now." He pauses. "Wait, does your throat hurt much? I can ask Toge for the medicine he uses. Actually, how do you feel about sign language for the time being? You won't have to speak and it's pretty-"
"Yu. I'm serious." You interrupt him, cringing at how your own now wobbly voice reminds you of Rika's for a second. Yuta wrings out the cloth and places it on your forehead, before caressing your face again.
"Oh, my angel, always thinking of others before yourself. I want to stay and make sure you're well fed and hydrated, it doesn't bother me in the slightest. The rest of the world can be taken care of by someone else, but I'm the one to take care of you."
You grumble pityfully at his expected refusal, the sound more a whine than anything. Yuta exhales a soft laugh, fingers tapping your cheeks. "You look so cute like this, with your face all puffed up. Like a little squirrel."
You're certain your reddened eyes and swollen face look everything but nice right now, but fighting Yuta on that would be like arguing with a wall. You tire of his poking with time, moving your head to try and bite his finger. He flinches at first, successfully avoiding it, before smiling and poking you again. Literally letting you bite him again if you want to.
"So aggresive, darling." So lovesick, Yuta.
"You're being annoying." You croak, and his face softens further at your voice, if possible.
"Sorry, I can't hear you over your squeaking. You sound like a little mouse, you know? It's adorable." You bite him for real this time, but his smile only widens, finding your attempt at aggression lovable. It seems to be all it takes for the affection in his chest to burst, because in a second, he drops everything and embraces you, attached to your body like a leech.
Oh, this is bad. You've somehow triggered Yuta's clinginess, and you know it's difficult to escape from it. He just doesn't attend to reason in this state, even though he could literally get sick from being close to you. You try to push him away, but he only nuzzles closer.
"Get off... you'll get sick." You complain half-heartedly, but he only squeezes you further.
"I'm just sharing my body heat with you."
"That's not how it works."
"It is, trust me."
Okay, he's definitely bullshitting now. Purring like a contented cat, Yuta has his nose buried against your neck and his arms held tightly around you. He keeps going off on how much he loves you and how adorable you are, pinching your cheek. He remains gentle, though, always careful not to hurt you, specially knowing you're unwell.
Long story short, you are not able to get Yuta to stay away from you. The warmth of his arms makes you sleepy again, and you end up falling asleep while cradled against his chest. Two days later, you already feel better, but find that Yuta has gotten sick instead.
With a sigh, you tuck him in bed and scold him, telling him how this could have been avoided had he listened to you.
Yuta apologizes meekly while leaning into your touch, only half-listening.
That's how you know he doesn't regret a single thing.
❀ Nanami Kento
It's too early for you to be up.
You know it, your drooping eyes are telling you so, and you sure know your dear husband would point out the same thing. He won't be able to do so until he wakes, though, so you're trying to make most of the time you have until then.
You have a valid excuse to be doing this, anyway. After eyeing a beautiful new bakery that's right on Nanami's way to work, you shared your discovery with him immediately. You thought he'd like to get some baked goods to bring to work, something to keep him in a good mood. You couldn't make him food that required to stay fresh the night before after all, and he was firm on not letting you get up so early just to make him breakfast.
But how could you not after he told you he had to go in earlier today, and that he wouldn't have time to go by?
Specially, after watching the slight dissapointment in his face be masked so he wouldn't worry you?
Maybe to him it was a small thing, but you could barely sleep after that. So for your husband that's always looking for little things to make you happy and accomodate your life, you got up early for bed and began baking.
You went for blueberry bread. you had frozen blueberries you had bought to make some smoothies, so it was a good pick (you could always buy more later, anyway). Following a recipe you found in the internet, you're now putting your creation in the oven, a proud smile in your face at the progress you've made.
The only problem is that you now have to wait. Like, an hour or so. You don't know if you'll have enough time to finish it before your husband wakes up, and it's making you pretty nervous.
To occupy your mind, you use the rest of the of the ingredients to make blueberry muffins. After some time, you're also done with their preparation, the muffin tin sitting in the counter and waiting for it's turn to be baked—the reminder that Nanami's alarm will probably go off soon making your anxiety spike up.
You scroll in you phone, scoop the remaining batter with your finger and eat it, and literally do anything to distract yourself. When it's close to the finish time estimate, you look into the oven, following the toothpick trick to check if your blueberry bread is miraculously finished ahead of time. It is not. With a groan, you let it continue.
When it's been exactly an hour, you try again, your toothpick still not coming out clean. You're getting stressed, you really wanted to surprise him. It's not a surprise if he catches you in the act. So in your distress, you bump the temperature up slightly, hoping it somehow helps.
Rookie mistake. The classic 'if the heat's high it'll cook faster' mentality. At your age it should be obvious that it doesn't work like that... but you're also kinda desperate and not in your right mind.
You let your poor oven work again, pacing in the kitchen. You genuinely hope your muffins are still in good shape. Actually, should you put them in the fridge for the time being? No, your bread will be ready to come out any second now. You'll just give it a minute, and it'll be fine. What if, in the meantime, you just keep scooping the batter from the bowl until it's entirely clean? It's tasty, distracting, and you're pretty sure you left something in there. You're sure that when you're done with it, the bread will be in perfect shape.
Too lost in your thoughts, you don't even look where you're walking, suddenly bumping into something solid. Your tired brain thinks it may be the fridge for a second, but this is softer, and warmer. Looking up, your eyes widen, right in time for a familiar voice to reach your ears.
"Dear? Why are you awake at this time?" You freeze entirely, caught red-handed. Nanami's standing in front of you, weary eyes fixed on your frame. His hair's tousled, and he's still wearing his pajamas, clearly not having begun to prepare for work yet.
Wait... isn't it a bit early? You're pretty sure his alarm would go off a bit later than now. You checked it on his phone. He probably realized you weren't in bed anymore, and went looking for you... Now that you think of it, you were lucky he didn't wake due to our absence sooner.
"Ken!" You jolt, giving him a sheepish smile. "I could't sleep well, woke up a bit early. I wanted to make some tea. Why don't you go back to bed? You said you'd set your alarm for like... 10 minutes from now, no? You should enjoy those while you still can. I'll prepare a cup for you too!"
Your rambling does little to appease him, judging by the way he's barely budging as you push him out of the kitchen. Placing his hands on your arms, he makes you halt, eyes locking into yours. "Are you sure you just wanted to make some tea?"
You're practically sweating. "Yes...?"
"Oh, really? Because I can smell something else in the air, and it's something closer to dough and flour than the teabags you tend to buy."
You exhale heavily, giving up. A not so discreet glance towards the oven and the cupcake tin still in the counter lets you know that pretending is useless, you're busted.
Mind telling what you were actually up to, sweetheart?" Nanami prods in that low, rough from sleep voice, nudging your chin so you'd look at him, and you relent.
"I just wanted to bake something for you, Ken," you admit in a small voice, "since you weren't going to be able to stop and get something after all. I noticed you looked like you wanted to try that bakery for a second, before realizing it wouldn't be possible... I wanted to satisfy that craving in a way."
Nanami's brows rise slightly, all the drowsiness leaving his body for a second. It didn't take a genius to realize you were baking, it was obvious the moment he got a whiff of the scent in the air. Still, knowing you, this could've been something you randomly decided to get up to— you give him enough gray hairs with your shenanigans in the daily. So to make the correlation and realize you were doing this for him does something devastating to his heart.
"Oh, darling... you didn't have to." Nanami murmurs, voice still groggy from sleep. "I wasn't going to be bothered by it. We could've gone to that place together some other day. There was no need for you to sacrifice your sleep for me."
"I know, but I wanted to." You insist. "That's what you'd do for me, anyway. I wanted to take the opportunity to do something nice for you too, regardless of how convenient it'd be."
Oh, of course you wanted to. He knew you'd say that. His heart squeezes in his chest, his thumb now brushing your jaw. "Well, isn't my dear spouse so thoughtful. There's no stopping you at this point, so I'll just say I'm glad you thought of me."
"i always think of you, Ken," You whisper, before looking away, "I just wished I had finished before you came. I wanted to surprise you."
Again, of course you'd feel bad about that. With a sigh, he presses a kiss to your forehead, fighting the inmense affection he feels for you at this moment.
"There's no need for surprises, sweetheart. You've already made me happy with the sole intention."
Your eyes soften at his words, a faint smile gracing your lips. He wipes away a smudge of batter left in your cheek, his touch gentle as always. You giggle softly at the contact, some of the sadness from feeling unsuccessful lifting. His heart lurches violently in his chest, making him lean in and rest his head on your shoulder.
"You're something else, seriously. Reducing a working man to nothing with sweet gestures hours before his shift. I don't know how you expect me to survive." He mumbles against your shoulder, voice slightly muffled.
"You're exaggerating, love," You reply, now smiling widely.
"Not when you look at me like that, I differ," He says after he meets your gaze, looking completely smitten.
Your hand slides to the back of his neck, his forehead resting against yours. Nanami leans down just enough to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth, almost spell bound.
In a shaky breath, Nanami mutters, "I don't doubt your skills, but I don't think what you're making can surpass the sweetness of your kisses."
With a smile, you tilt your head, "Why don't you get a taste before checking?"
Nanami exhales softly, trying to rein in his emotions. His eyes are fixed on yours, closing the distance painstakingly slow,
...until a thought makes you pull back.
Nanami barely processes it, concern in confusion reflected in his face. "What's wrong, darling?"
But the horror in your face is unshakeable.
"The bread!"
You only notice the smell of smoke in this moment, coughing when you open the oven. You weren't supposed to leave it at such a high temperature for long! Damn it, you weren't supposed to bump the heat up in the first place!
Almost burning yourself by touching the loaf pan barehanded, Nanami carefully steps you aside, putting on the oven mitts and getting your bread out of the oven.
It looks... questionable, to say the least. Practically burnt in most of the outside, not really fully baked in the inside. Your last minute decision comes back to haunt you right now, the uneven finish of your work reminding you why you must never try to rush procedures in the kitchen.
It loos so pitiful you want to cry, shaking your head in disbelief. Nanami, attentive as always, notices, taking off the mitts and making you look at him. "Don't look so discouraged, it appears edible. You did a good job for a first time."
Oh, bless his sweet soul for trying to comfort you despite your mess of a creation. "I'll try it anyway," He promises, and now you want to cry out of emotion.
"You really will...? You don't have to. I know it doesn't look appealing."
"Maybe not, but you made it for me. I'd be a really bad husband if I didn't try what my spouse sacrificed so much to make, right?"
You hug him at his touching comment, and he embraces you. Tightly, oh, so tightly. You're so sweet you don't even know it, killing him with how caring you are. He wishes he could just hold you in his arms the whole day, but alas responsabilities are awaiting him.
"Ken, wait," You say after pull away (because of course he didn't do it first), "I made some muffins in the side too. Why don't you go prepare for work while I bake those? They take less time. Then you can actually leave with something decent."
Nanami smiles at your thoughtfulness, already thinking on how you can make up for this—as if he were unhappy in the first place. With a new kiss to your cheek, and another, and another, he nods in acceptance. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."
You're smiling really hard at his attention. Not like he doesn't give you plenty already, but it's not so common to wake up and have this amount of affection being handed to you so easily. You usher him out of the kitchen, a fond laugh escaping him, as you both get to work in your respective areas.
Almost an hour and so later, you're already done. Patient pays off miraculously, and your muffins are in perfect shape. Nanami stays in the kitchen with you for a bit, the two of you proof tasting what you made. And when he hums and mutters "delicious", you get so happy you could burst.
You pack a muffin for him, and some of your bread in the side per his request (he really is adamant in showing you he cares). With a goodbye kiss and an 'I love you', you part ways for the day. Him, to work, and you... probably to bed. You still have some unfinished business over there.
At work, Nanami was the only one who arrived (a few minutes) late to the meeting.
But, he was also the only one who brought blueberry bread and muffins made by his lovely spouse to work.
The affection he felt at home is still sitting in his chest, getting close to affecting his productivity and focus with how intensely he's feeling it.
But as he stares at the half-burnt, crispy bread with incomparable love and longing, he knows that out all of his coworkers, he's the one who's having the best morning.
❀ Geto Suguru
The temperatures are rising as summer rolls by, food and game stalls being set up somewhere around. Festivals are popular around this season, so you went ahead with all the preparations so you, Geto, Mimiko and Nanako could all go and have some fun at it. It's the first time you go to a festival like this, at least in a while, and you can't help but feel excited. So while Geto had to finish some affairs before meeting you three, you and the girls were shopping for comfortable and cute attire to wear for the festival.
Geto has to admit, the thought has him in a mellow state. Just picturing his girls shopping and having fun together is a wholesome thought, he wishes he could be there helping you all pick. Sadly, responsabilities won't just dissapear if he ignores them in your favor, and you'll probably be finished when he's there to pick you all up.
It's boresome, and pretty dissapointing. The only thing that's keeping him going is knowing he'll get to see you all dressed up by then. But hey... who says he can't just check how you're doing while he gets there? And maybe get a sneak peek. The thought makes itself home in his mind, and soon enough he's facetiming you with anticipation.
The phone rings once, twice... before it's picked up, except not by who he was expecting. Two familiar faces take up the whole screen, speaking in unison in a high pitched tone. "Hello, Mr. Geto!"
A smile makes it way to his lips, tilting his head questioningly. "Hello to you two. What are you up to, and why's this phone not with its rightful owner?"
"Oh, we're in the changing room!" Nanako answers, "(name)'s inside a booth right now, so we picked it up for her." A muffled "hi!" can be heard, your voice recognizable despite the distance.
"Hi, sweetheart," He answers you before directing his attention back to the girls, "So I assume you're both done picking your outfits?"
"Mhm! We are." "We would've been done sooner if Mimiko wasn't so indecisive." "Hey, you tried out half of the store's clothes!" "You-!"
"Now, now. No need to fight." Geto interrupts, to which they straighten up immediately.
Mimiko resumes speaking, calmer now. "We're just waiting for her. You should tell her something, Mr. Geto. She's been trying on outfits for longer than us combined."
"Not true!" You argued, and he almost wanted to laughed at how you, so fixated on being a good role model for the girls, couldn't help but join the banter when prompted.
"...I just don't tend wear traditional clothing," You comented from inside, a bit of sulking to your tone. "So I don't feel like they suit me."
"Big fat lie, by the way," One of the girls chimes in, "you should come out and pick one of the last ten you tried on. They all looked amazing."
"Actually, I'm inclined to agree with them, pretty girl." Geto adds as if he had seen it all, playfulness lacing his tone. "Why don't you show me?"
"...You?" Your hand froze at the handle, an obvious pause going in there. You sigh, before the door budges and gives in. "...Fine."
Nanako, who was holding the phone, flips the camera and points it towards you. And though he's seen you in beautiful outfits before, he can't help but be blown away by the sight. You're wearing a yukata with an intricate floral pattern, its vibrant colors highlighting your natural features. The true cherry on top for him is the shy expression you're sporting, hands folded together meekly as you wait for judgement.
"So...?" You mutter at his continued silence, the girls both leaving squeals and hums of approval. Geto, blinks, recomposing himself. "You look beautiful, as expected. You should pick that one."
"You haven't even looked at the other options..." You complain, but you feel your face heating up at that compliment in such a confident tone.
Geto only smiles, "I'm sure you'll look equally mesmerizing, no matter the choice. You always do, sweetheart."
A chorus of "eww" and "stopp!" come out from the pair behind the phone, making him chuckle lightly. An idea strikes him, making him straighten up. "Can you all get in frame together? I need to see all of your outfits combined."
That gets them to stop whining, adjusting so you'd all be shown in front of the camera with a good look of your clothing. The sight of you with the girls he raised, all wearing matching yukatas, cute hair accessories and showing your pretty smiles almost kills him in the spot. He already has enough when you send them pictures of your hang outs together, his heart warming at how the three people he adores grow closer so smoothly. But now? He can't even hear Nanako explain the process of their choice or Mimiko's comments on the hairstyles, as he's stuck in this state of awe.
"Suguru?" Your voice brings him back to earth, he was deep into a trance for a second.
"Why did you turn off the camera?" You ask, and only now he realizes he did that out of reflex. His brain worked slow, but his sense of embarrassment didn't, apparently.
His brain scrambles for an excuse, he's completely bluescreened. For someone who prides himself in being composed, he's not living up to it at the moment. He skips giving an explanation, instead changing the topic. "...I'm almost there, I should focus on the road. You all wait for me right there."
"...Alright, we'll wrap things up over here, then." You roll with it smoothly, and he's thankful. Now hanging up the call, he stops the car in the nearest place he can, hands sliding from the steering wheel as he rests his head against it. Oh, he's doomed doomed. His heart hasn't stopped racing. Geto wants to put you all in a snow globe and shake it relentlessly. That wouldn't be morally correct nor safe, so he brushes the thought away.
All he has to do is calm down enough he doesn't squeeze the guts out of your body when he sees you. Which is proving to be dificult, by the way.
Geto arrives 15 minutes later than expected, heart heavy but mellowed out at this point. He blames his lateness on traffic, once again diverting the topic and talking about the festival instead. Only he knows the demons he had to fight to act normal when he saw his girls all dolled up acting adorable together.
If the way he struggles to keep his gaze off you after picking you guys up says anything, he'll have a hell of a day. In the best way possible, but still. If you catch him staring, please look the other way. No one else can now how soft he gets when it's just the four of you.
❀ Ino Takuma
"You are... a force of evil."
"Huh?"
Sat in the couch with a bowl of ramen in your lap, you blink cluelessly at Ino, confused by his sudden outburst. He's been reviewing some info beside you about a curse sighting, studying diligently so he can make Nanami proud. He had been pretty calm, humming and making comments to himself, so this sudden energy rush makes no sense. Or at least it doesn't for you, who failed to notice him stealing glances at you every once in a while.
Thing is, you had just woken up recently. Still in your hello kitty pajamas and with your hair messed up, Ino can hardly resist you. All he wants is to ditch work, lead you back to bed and cuddle you until noon. But you woke up pretty late and are reasonably hungry, and he knows better than to bother you when you're in such a state.
He knows better, but he can only resist so much. You look so huggable in the mornings, and it doesn't help that you're doing such domestic things right beside him. Like trying to hold your bowl earlier to eat and flinching at how hot it was, your chopticks slipping from your fingers from how dazed you are from sleep, and the ocassional grumble from that early grumpiness.
You don't find it amusing. You're just trying to start your day albeit late, and the little misfortunes happening are not doing any favors to your mood. But all Ino's brain fixated with is your early clumsiness and how adorable it is.
That's why it wasn't long before he snapped, with you still staring at him in utter confusion. Ino doesn't elaborate, grumbling like a child throwing a fit, making you squint at him further. "What?"
"You're just... there. Being distracting. I'm trying to work, you know?" He accuses dramatically, as if you were actively trying to inconvenience him.
"Takuma, I'm not doing anything, I'm just hungry and trying to eat some noodles. You were pretty focused just now, just get back to it." You cross your arms, stating the obvious. Sometimes you feel like you're scolding him whenever he pulls up some nonsense, but you're both too used to it to mind. He adores some tough love, he's said himself. You're just not fond of being annoyed when you're eating.
"Okay, okay, bad timing," He acknowledges, "but your presence is still distracting me."
"I was here first, silly."
"But I'm most comfortable in the couch!"
"Then I'll just eat at the-" "No."
"Takuma..." You're using the scarier tone now, his hand which had fled to your wrist quickly retreating. You exhale. "So you can't focus with me here, but you don't want me to leave. Won't you at least tell me what am I doing that's so distracting, so I can stop it?"
"Well, you're just..." He trails off. "...I'll just get back to work."
You raise an eyebrow, not expecting him to give up so suddenly, but don't question it. You look at him for a second longer, watching him go back to reviewing the info from earlier, before focusing on your food again.
Did he just want attention? Clingy man. You love that from him, but right now you've got bigger fish to fry. Or eat, technically.
Meanwhile, Ino is doing his absolute best to not spare you a glance, his face scrunched up and he wills himself to focus, but to be honest... he's failing miserably.
Okay, maybe he should have left or let you leave when you suggested that. The words he's reading aren't even registering in his brain at this point. But you're so close! So, so close and he's a weak man! He'd miss you and wouldn't stop thinking on what you're doing if you were away, and he can't focus when you're so close.
His priorities have clearly tilted, but he just told you he'd get back on business, so he doesn't want to go back on his word so fast. He can at least pretend he's being responsible for a little while, then take a small rest and cuddle when your bowl is empty. Maybe you'd even kiss him on the cheek and tell him he's made good progress. Okay, that thought's as distracting as it is helpful.
Now with renewed determination, Ino straightens up and reads from start. But his retention capacity betrays him every handful of seconds, and his eyes tilt smoothly towards you. It's like there's this little worm on his brain asking him what you're doing every single minute, and every time he can't help but check to answer. Even if every moment right now you're just chewing, humming to yourself and watching something on your phone.
You're watching something in your phone, he suddenly notices. You have one earbud on, despite there being a whole tv in front of you two. It hits him that you're doing that to avoid distracting him with whatever you'd decide to watch, leaving the room quiet for him to work with. And that perceived thoughtfulness is what it takes for him to break.
"Awww...!" Ino gushes loudly, making you flinch at the sudden sound.
"What?" You set you almost finished bowl in the coffee table, taking off your earbud.
"You..." He sniffles, eyes sparkling and hands to his face. And before you can even question him, he spews, "You're so cute! 🥺"
Ino lunges towards you, making you squeal. he embraces your waist, nuzzling his face on your stomach." "'Kuma, be careful!"
"Sorryyy," He replies in a whiny tone, "But I'm serious. You can't just do that. You know, existing beside me, being so adorable and all that."
"Well you can't live without me, so you should get used to it already."
"I know, but I can't." He exhales dramatically, genuinely afflicted. "You're so perfect and lovely and adorable and-" A tight squeeze, "Just... so amazing that I can't get used to it."
"You're just looking for excuses to slack off, and I'm your closest distraction." You call out.
"And the most attractive one! And most effective! I am so doomed."
"You didn't deny it. Don't you wanna make Nanami proud?" You purposely tease.
Ino sits up straight, "I do! I will. But everyone needs a good break once in a while. I've been working for so long today, I can't focus because I'm burnt out."
"Takuma, you've worked for exactly 14 minutes since I sat here."
"Well you don't now how long I was on the grind before you did!"
You finally crack, laughing out loud. It's a sound Ino loves, but one that only makes his heart throb violently right now. He embraces you tightly again, biting your shoulder lightly and instinctively.
"Ino!" He winces at your scolding, pressing an apology kiss in the same area. "Sorry, babe. It's mandatory cuddling time, though."
"Mandatory."
"Mhm."
You sigh, suppressing a smile. "If it'll boost your productivity, I'll cave."
Ino grins, obviously pleased.
It did not boost his productivity, by the way.
He just pulled you to lay down in the couch and cuddled you as you both watched a comfort show.
He held you tightly, squeezing ocassionally like he couldn't get enough.
Thing is, Takuma Ino doesn't need you to do anything special to worship you.
He thinks you're the best thing in his life every single day, and he's barely surviving the affection in his chest every living moment with you nearby.
He's just better at managing it some days than others... he already does enough with how much he has you on his mind.
So sure, Ino is a bit of clingy partner. But he really loves you and he's doing his best. Just be sure to kiss him in the cheek and tell him he's a good student, but an even better boyfriend. That's all he needs to be happy today.
❀ Hakari and Kirara
You've been dating Kirara and Hakari for a few months.
It was strange to you at first, to be joining an already existing couple, but things went smoother than expected. Specially considering how welcoming they were towards you, since they liked you as much as you liked them.
You hang around them at the fight club often, sometimes helping around on what you could or just existing beside them. So, naturally, you've shared many experiences together already.
But something you haven't shared yet, has been the pleasure of getting a few drinks together.
Hakari was the one that drank the most of your little trio, though Kirara didn't hesitate to join him at times. It was a bonding thing, more often than not, relaxing with a drink of their choice while watching matches or lazing around.
You were really hesitant to indulge, though.
You got offered whiskey by Hakari once, told him it's too strong to your liking. Beer? You're not a fan of the taste. Random alcoholic can you all bought from a convenience store? You didn't finish yours.
They wondered if you were just shy, so besides some teasing, you didn't really get pushed by them to drink anything. You were content to just be around them, why would they pretend they didn't feel the same? If you were just not a fan of drinking that's fine by them.
They assumed so for some time, not really expecting you to drink anything at this point. That was, until tonight.
"Kira, what are you doing?" You ask curiously from your seat beside Hakari, his arm looped around you as per usual. Kirara had been mixing some drinks and fruits in the background, kneeling in front of the coffee table in front of you, and you had been too distracted to notice. Now though, your curiosity has beat you.
"This? I'm making something different to drink. Ever had a sangria?" Kirara questions, mixing everything together. The swirling of the liquid with the diced fruits is entertaining to watch, eyes trained on the jug even as you shake your head.
Kirara takes your continued attention as interest, a faint smirk in her lips. "Wanna try it? Don't wanna drink it alone."
"Won't Kin drink with you?" You doubt, Hakari's eyes darting towards you two at the mention of his name. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.
"Nah, not a fan of the fruity bullshit. Though you might enjoy it, doll. Barely tastes like alcohol anyway."
"Sooo?" Kirara smirks playfully, lifting the jug playfully. "Want a glass? Tell me now, or else I'll add some extra alcohol to it."
"Wait... I wanna try it." You finally decide, Kirara's eyes lighting up at your words. She gets two glasses and pours the drink on them, the contrast between your drinks and Hakari's whiskey which he's currently drinking almost funny to watch.
"Cheers!" Kirara clinks her glass against yours animatedly, her emotion making you smile. You take a sip from it, and end up more pleased than you expected.
"Seems like someone's a fan." Hakari smirks, tugging you closer as Kirara sits on the other side. You want to argue with him, to not give in to his teasing, but it's hard when you're already going for another sip.
"The fruit gives it a nice touch." You comment, earning a 'right?' from Kirara as she reaches to make hers stronger. Hakari rolls his eyes, still in disagreement, but pleased enough that you seem to be enjoying yourself with this.
You get in the mood pretty easily after, savoring the taste and even getting a refill after your first try. "Don't drink it like it's juice, it still has alcohol, 'kay?" Kirara warns, but you only hum in acknowledgement as you watch the colorful liquid filling your glass to the brim.
Kirara tried warning you.
Alas, those were the last words you heard from her while sober.
"Woooow, that guy's like, super strong," You slur your words as you point at the tv, the fight club still in full swing at this hour.
"That guy? They've beat the shit out of him, babe. Never won a single fight." Hakari comments in response, a bit confused at your commentary. You never really say much unless there's something interesting happening, and this is just a filler match with a guy you've all seen before. So why...?
"Aw, so Kin-chan didn't bet on him?" You interrupt his train of thought, "Now I'm kinda sad."
"What was that?" KIrara sharply turns to face you at the nickname, poking your cheek, "Don't copy me, silly!"
"Why would I do that?" Hakari responds to your question, "It's obvious he'll lose."
"Well, everyone deserves to have someone who supports them!" You huff, before facing Kirara. "Kiraaa, stop!"
Hakari squints at you, watching you whine and complain at Kirara's playful nagging. He's puzzled for a second until it clicks, a slow smirk making its way to his lips. "Are you drunk?"
"Huh...?" Your eyes dizzily meet his, making Kirara stop for a moment. When you don't even register the question, she catches on as well, watching you refill your glass.
"Oh my god, you're sooo drunk." Kirara grins wolfishly, attaching herself to your side. You're now poking at a lime slice inside of your glass, trying to fish it out.
Is this why you refused to drink with them? Okay maybe Kirara did add more alcohol to the jug at a certain point, but she didn't think you'd keep refilling. You didn't have that many glasses anyway, only a lightweight would get wasted from that. So that was your secret, huh. Your partners are now less interested in the fight on the screen, and a thousand more times interested in your behavior.
"Oh, sugar, you shouldn't be eating that!" Kirara coos at you, but makes no move to stop you from bringing the lime to your mouth. Hypocritical, much? Maybe. But watching your face scrunch up after you take a big bite of the it is worth it.
You cough it out immediately, eyes growing watery. With a whine, you bury your face in Kirara's chest, looking for reassurance.
"Aww, it's okay, my baby," She embraces you, rubbing your back comfortingly. She's so pleased with herself for getting cuddles from you for free, even though she kinda set you up. Hakari raises an eyebrow from his side of the couch, while she stares back smugly.
"So what," Hakari breaks the silence, "Does your boyfriend get no cuddles?"
You lift your head your head to look at him, and your flushed face paired with your disoriented gaze would have moved him, if not for your next words: "What boyfriend?"
Hakari visibly flinches. "Excuse me? The one who lends you two his card so you can buy whatever the hell you want, obviously."
Kirara stifles a laugh at Hakari's tone, low and gruff yet obviously pouty if you know him enough. You don't pick on that in this state, though, his tightly knotted eyebrows making you think there's something genuinely wrong.
"Did I upset you, Kin?" You ask wobbily, face contorted in genuine sadness. You disentangle from Kirara's embrace, much to her dismay, now gluing to Hakari's side in an attempt to console. "I'm sorry..."
Hakari huffs like he's not sure, looks away like he's not melting in the inside. You obviously don't realize why he's upset, but he commends you for trying to appease him anyway. His arm hugs around your waist as usual, pushing you to his chest. "Guess I can forgive you." He's smirking once you can't see him, clearly cocky at having the upper hand again.
"Heeey, what about me?" Kirara pouts immediately, glaring at Hakari who's winking at her triumphantly. You look back at her. "Hm?"
"You don't have any affection for old little 'rara?" She crosses her arms, sulking. This has somehow become a competition for drunk you's attention, and you're none the wiser.
"Uh... Kirara is pretty." You mumble, and she grins.
"How pretty?" She asks as she scoots closer, beaming at you.
"You're given an inch and you wanna take a mile, doll." Hakari points out. She sticks her tongue out to him, and he squeezes you further.
"So...?" She insists, and you hum thoughtfully.
"Very. Like the stars."
"Aww, you're a cutie too!" kirara squeals, pinching your cheek with a little more force than necessary.
"But, like the glowing green stars you glue at the ceiling." You add, like the information is crucial. Kirara gives you a weird look, but she still wraps her arms around you.
"Kin has cool hair and coat, by the way." You comment, looking at him. Okay, you're a chatty drunk. That's obvious now. Your words are barely understandable due to the cadence and clumsiness of your voice, but it's entertaining to listen to at the very least.
"How cool? Cooler than Kirara's?" He asks in an obvious attempt to tease the latter, an amused glance thrown her way. Your back is against his chest now, while Kirara is crowding your front. They're pretty clingy at the moment, hanging onto every little word coming out from your mouth.
"Well... both is cool. Like, for example..." You trail off and completely forget you were talking in the first place. You instead stare at Hakari. "Can I use your coat?"
"Yeah, yeah, doll." He agrees before he knows what he's doing. "Just don't throw up on it or something."
You smile dopily, haphazardly throwing the coat over your shoulders. You mumble something about being 'as cool as Kin-chan now', and he has to take a moment for himself so he doesn't crush you against his chest.
"Comfy?" Kirara asks, showing she has way less self control than him with the way she's nibbling on your shoulder. When did she start? You didn't even feel it. Guess you'll notice tomorrow when you see the bite marks littered on your skin.
"Yeah... I am." You answer her, eyes drooping. "Just let me get my..."
You attempt to grab your forgotten glass, almost knocking it over. They both pull you back, dissaproving. "No more drinks for you tonight, sugar."
"Awe... but the fruit..." You weakly protest, but Kirara's already blocking your view, while Hakari holds you firmly.
"Think it's time for you to rest, babe."
You grumble something, but you can't even tell who's speaking to you. Mere seconds after you're slumped against them, snoring like your body only needed to be told to give up into rest.
"Huh. Out like a light." Hakari notes amusedly, smirking as he pokes your cheek.
"Shame. Was having lots of fun." Kirara answers, yet she's also smiling.
"Of course you were, you two were ganging up on me." He grumbles.
"Kin, baby, don't be like that. You got plenty of attention too." Kirara uses that tone that easily convices him each time, and though he acts indifferent, he's clearly pleased as well.
The night passes quietly after you fall asleep, the two watching over you in strange contentment. You wake up confused and remembering practically nothing, eyes widening in disbelief at the tales of how you acted.
You're obviously embarrased, specially with your awfully smug partners teasing you back and forth. But despite it all, they're already hoping you'll let them see that side of yours once more.
❀ notes: not a fan of alcohol so i've never been drunk, i was bullshitting my way through the last one. i genuinely do not know how to write kirara and hakari, but i love them so they're here. this was written as a thank you for the support on pt. 1 and 100 followers btw so yeah! extra long. hope you enjoyed! <3
point nemo | fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, ieiri shoko, ino takuma, kamo choso, kong shiu, yuuta okkotsu
↳ making them sleep on the couch? you might as well have banished them to another planet.
a/n: this is what won the poll!! it was actually super close between this and a nanami fic, so I'll be posting that tomorrow :) this is baby's first smau, so hope you enjoy it! I feel like I'm actually pretty bad at texting irl, so this is probably awkward and bad, but fuck it. I also cuss a lot, but I feel like that's fine. some of these are more intense than others. warnings: cussing, mentions of violences and injuries, substance abuse, some toxicity. methinks that’s all. anyways, leave smau requests for sure, but honestly, I prefer writing....so don't expect like daily smaus or anything. love y'all <3 (also, this is just a random assortment of characters whom I was able to come up with ideas for....so if you want specific characters lmk).
something old, something new - ft. yuuta o. x fem!reader
cw: special grade reader inplied, fluff, lowk mean reader?, sassy yuuta ml
an: this isn't exactly how his ct works but the idea came to me while i was sleepy and i thought it was cute
“babe, are you ready? we're gonna be late-” yuuta's words came to a quick halt as he stepped into your shared bedroom, jaw almost falling slack at the sight infront of him. you, still clad in a towel, holding up two outfits on racks to rika— yes, his shikigami, rika. “what are you doing.”
gojo invited you both to a social networking event for sorcerers— mostly because he didn't want to attend alone, partly because he wanted you both to interact with other sorcerers that were on par with you. the event started at 7:30 and was a thirty minute drive. to be on time, you two would need to leave at seven; it was currently 6:45 and you weren't even dressed.
“i'm asking rika for her opinion, duh.” you responded with a roll of you eyes. meanwhile, rika lifted a pale, boney finger, pointing to the outfit on the right. “oh, i was thinking this one too. she has such good taste, doesn't she?” you beamed, holding up the outfit rika chose to yuuta, who was still standing in the doorway and absorbing everything around him. he never thought he'd meet a girl that didn't feel threatened by the curse lingering around him, much less befriending it “you could've asked me, y'know. i'm your boyfriend.”
at his words, you scoffed as a snarl curled at your lips. rika let out a child-like giggle, long fingers reaching out to you, gently curling a tress of your perfectly styled hair around jagged fingers. sometimes, he thought rika liked you more than she ever did him “rika's a girl. she understands these things better than you."
“i highly doubt that,” yuuta refuted, his tone carrying a hint of sass as he placed a hand on his hip. “you do realise rika still has the mentality of an eight year old, right?” at his words, you just scoffed with a dismissive wave of your hand as rika let out a wounded noise, scurrying behind your smaller frame. yuuta's face almost contorted in shock.
“tsk, you hurt her feelings," you stated before turning to rika, giving her a gentle pat on the.. nose? with a fond smile. “don't be sad. come, i'll let you help with my eyeliner.” rika immediately perked up at that, purring contently as she preened under your touch. yuuta stood in the doorway, betrayed and appalled, but he also knew that he'd never trade this for the world.
“is it supposed to feel slimy, baby?” yuta muttered softly, you chuckled, rubbing in the hydrating serum into his already perfect glass-skin. “kinda. you’re just not used to it silly” you poke his nose, he scrunches his face in response.
he’s so fucking adorable, the way your pink headband is pushing his black silky hair back, he stood there still as ever. watching you like a puppy waiting for commands.
you grab the small tube of eye cream, squeezing out a reasonable amount on the flat surface of your finger.
“this is eye cream yu! it’ll help with your eye bags” you gently massage the cream under his eyes, he sighs at the cool feeling, his hands find your waist—just resting there.
the pads of your thumbs massaging whatever tension, stress, and puffiness he had throughout the day, away. “that feels nice” he completely melts, you can see his shoulders loosen up, he’s completely melting into your touch.
“i think you’d like the jade roller..” you open the bathroom drawer, pulling out your little jade roller. “what’s a jade roller?” he asks, hands still attached to your hips “it helps with puffiness and bloating! and it feels really nice.” —not that he has any puffiness or bloating to begin with. you rub some gentle oils on his pretty face—
now slowly moving the roller, he melts once again, he straightens his legs now standing up properly. “yuta. i can’t reach your face anymore.” you pout.
his large palms grab the back of your thighs unexpectedly, lifting you up with ease. “this better?” he smiles. you wrap your legs around his slender waist “much better” you pull him closer. both of your noses brushing.
his mouth meets yours in a slow kiss. his hands squeeze the plush of your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. he pulls away—
“i really needed this, thank you flower” he smiles, pearly whites flashing brightly.
“you’re very welcome yu” you murmur, adjusting his headband, “you look so silly in this” he smirks “and you look very cute when you’re focused.” he pokes your nose. kissing you again.
summary. what did he get after coming back from Africa? a fucking huge ego and the nerve to make you fall in love more. which, isss so fucking unfair not that you have to make him ask you to be his girlfriend.
triggers/warnings. fluff, emotionally constipated yuuta, dumbass to lover pipeline, soft virgin $ex (implied), first time, mutual pining explosion, goofy flirting to full-on intimacy, extremely affectionate makeout session, long slow kiss descriptions, teasing turned sincere, gentle undressing, consent check (verbal), heavy petting, reader-on-top position, soft dom yuuta, praise kink (gentle), internal ejaculation (mentioned), implied aftercare, lots of “i love you” mid-thrust energy, dumb relationship talk, boyfriend reveal post-orgasm, soft but emotionally unhinged dialogue, swearing / explicit language.
it was that kind of twilight where the sky went lilac, like it couldn’t decide whether to die down or scream one last color into the day, and the courtyard between dorms hummed with the lazy static of summer insects drunk off heat. your legs stuck a little with every step, your thighs brushing as your too-short cotton strawberry-print sleep shorts rode up—not because you’d rolled them, but because they were honest-to-god tragic at staying down where they were supposed to. the white t-shirt hung shapeless and limp, just long enough to look like you weren’t trying to be indecent, just short enough to flash a whisper of lower belly if the breeze kicked up. your hair was a half-washed mess. no bra. no socks. this was war.
plastic bag of snacks swinging off your wrist, crinkling loud enough to announce you two corners away, you clutched it like a peace offering, or a bribe, or a confession. everything in it had a story: the milk soda gummies he’d once nearly cried over. that dumb pink shrimp chip brand you always fought over because the flavor was “emotionally damaging” (his words). a tiny green tea cake with icing you’d pressed your thumb into by accident. the whole bag smelled like saccharine surrender. you hadn’t seen him in months.
yuuta had been sent to africa—yes, the continent, not the band—because gojo had gotten it into his hollow skull that yuuta needed “recalibration,” like he was a satellite that went a little too sharp after the shibuya aftermath. the accident—those cursed children, that nightmarish tangle of residuals, the stupid thing with the shrine and the way his voice cracked saying “i didn’t mean to—” right before gojo shoved him on a plane—had left him looped up in his own head. not dangerous, not even spiraling. just… too tuned in. too raw. so gojo, in his infinite “big brother but worse” wisdom, had sent him away. not to punish, not to exile. just to breathe somewhere far enough that even his regrets would echo slower.
you had hated him for it. not yuuta. gojo. because you missed him. and because you didn’t know how to say it.
he had texted, of course. photos of monkeys stealing his food. long meandering voice notes about heatstroke and rogue cursed spirits in old mining towns. one audio message that was just six minutes of wind and then “...it smells like burnt cinnamon here, isn’t that weird?” and then more wind. you’d replayed that one until the file started glitching.
now he was back.
you walked up the stairs with knees that didn’t work right, heartbeat like a stray drumroll in your chest. the hallway smelled like that vaguely bleachy institution-funk, overlaid with someone cooking too much garlic too late. but his door was the one with the taped-up polaroid of a lizard on the peephole—he’d named it jerry and claimed it once saved his life in botswana by pointing at a cursed talisman with its tail (you didn’t believe a word but loved him for trying)—and it stood exactly as you remembered. slightly misaligned. always looked like it wanted to be a secret.
you stood there too long. shifted the snack bag from left to right. considered fleeing. considered kicking the door down. did neither.
instead, you knocked. once. twice. then a little impatient third one that said “hey, i’m still me.”
the hallway was quiet.
your hand still hovered, a little curl of fingers like maybe you'd knock again but also maybe you'd just rest it there and feel how solid the door was between you. it didn’t matter. the moment had already bent in that soft surreal way, like a movie scene that couldn’t decide if it was a comedy or a tragic romance. behind that door was him. your friend. the dumbass with the soft hands and the eyes like old moonlight and a voice that didn’t realize it made you ache.
you licked your lips, wiped your palm on your thigh. you told yourself you were ready.
the plastic bag rustled. it sounded like a heartbeat.
the door opened with a click that sounded way too loud for the sleepy summer hallway and maybe also a little like the climax of a drama scene about to spiral into something stupid and irreversible, and there he was—yuuta okkotsu, fucking alive, standing barefoot in the doorway like he’d just walked off a fever dream you had eight weeks ago, except realer and worse, because reality had done something to him that memory never could: it made him taller.
not metaphorically taller, not emotionally expanded, not some symbolic “he grew while he was away” bullshit—no. he was literally, absolutely taller, which was rude as hell because you were already tragically average and now standing in front of him, your face came up to his stupid newly-broadened neck and you had to tilt your head back to look at his face and that made your neck hurt and now everything was his fault. again.
“whoa,” he said, voice a little low and scratchy like he hadn’t talked much today, maybe a little sleepstill lingering at the edges, but then he smirked, and it was the kind of slow curling thing that should’ve come with a health warning. “what the hell are you wearing?”
you didn’t answer. couldn’t, really. because your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes tracked the line of his collarbone visible through that worn white t-shirt—the one clinging just enough to expose the ghost of his abs underneath, because apparently he had those now, just a casual six-pack sculpted out of trauma and climate change and moral injury—and then lower, to where the hem of the shirt barely brushed the waistband of those indecently low athletic shorts. shorts that screamed “i don’t own dignity” but in a confident way. and legs. endless, lean, travel-worn legs like he’d gone on a side quest for new muscles.
his hair was parted to the side, a little messy but shaped like it meant to be, probably from running his fingers through it a hundred times, and his eyes were brighter than you remembered—not in that overworked, glassy way he used to have, but something steadier, like he’d seen some shit and come back joking about it. and his smile was sharp now. not mean. just sharper. more boyish menace than anxious darling.
“you okay?” he asked, still holding the door open, leaning one shoulder against the frame like he’d taken a class in posing over there. “you’ve been standing there like i’m a ghost. is this the part where you tell me i’ve been dead the whole time?”
“no,” you blurted, then immediately hated how your voice cracked like a teenage boy about to confess his love to the back of a girl’s head in a shoujo anime. “no, you’re just—i didn’t realize you’d... grow vertically.”
he raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down, dramatically, then back up. “you’re just short.”
“liar. you’re taller than before.”
“am i?” he tilted his head. “i thought you just shrank. maybe that’s what all the strawberry-print shorts are doing to your brain. estrogen shrinkage. is that a thing?”
“you look like a backup dancer for a washed-up j-pop group,” you fired back, finally stepping past him into the dorm, brushing his shoulder on the way, pretending it didn’t buzz like an electric fence when you touched him. “no right looking like that at home. i almost dropped the snacks.”
“the what now?” he snatched the bag from your wrist with a dramatic flourish and held it up like it was the holy grail, peering inside. “is this—are these shrimp chips? you do love me.”
“i didn’t say that.”
“your shorts said it for you.”
“fuck you.”
he shut the door behind you with a little too much smugness in the click, dropped the snack bag onto his desk like it was a reward for something he didn’t work for, and turned to look at you fully. “okay, but seriously. hi. you look... like you lost a fight with a dryer, and then won the war of being adorable.”
“you’ve been back for five minutes and i already regret everything.”
“but you missed me.” his voice dropped just half a note, not sultry, not teasing—just confident, and you hated that it made your stomach go soft and fluttery like a tragic anime side character about to say something embarrassing and get hit by a car. “you missed me so bad, didn’t you?”
“i missed you like a hole in the head.”
“that’s still a kind of love,” he grinned, stepping closer, just a little, enough to tilt his head down so his forehead almost bumped yours. “cursed and irreversible.”
you tried to back up, hit his desk instead. fuck.
“you’re an idiot.”
“you look like you wanna cry.”
“i do. because of your face.”
“because you love my face.”
“yuuta.”
he laughed, that soft exhale kind of laugh, warm and real and too close. his fingers grazed the snack bag again. your heart forgot how to perform basic rhythm.
you hated him. you hated how he looked better than before. more whole. more like himself. and that he wasn’t scared anymore. and that now you didn’t know if you were allowed to want him without breaking something.
“so,” he said, turning to open the mini fridge, crouching slightly, letting his shirt ride up so you could see the shadow of his lower back and the waistband of his shorts pulling low, “what’s the plan, captain? movie night? tears? declaration of undying devotion? all of the above?”
you hated him. you hated that he knew. that he was waiting.
but you were here now. no takebacks. and your knees had already lost the ability to lock.
you said, “movie night.”
he grinned again, not looking back. “mmhm. coward.”
you stared at him for a second too long, a long dumb second where he was still bent over with the fridge door hanging open and the lamplight just so, highlighting the curve of his spine and the soft dip of muscle above his waistband, and he was rattling a soda can around like it owed him something, humming some godawful off-key jingle under his breath while absolutely oblivious to the fact that you were contemplating both murder and marriage at the same time. and that was dangerous. because the moment you started thinking thoughts like his back looks like a religious experience and i want to punch him in the throat, you were in too deep.
so you did the only thing your tragically flustered nervous system allowed: you walked up and kicked him square in the shin.
“ow—fuck, what the hell,” he yelped, straightening with the drama of a man shot in war, dropping the soda in the process which landed with a thud and rolled under the desk like it knew what was good for it. “was that necessary?”
“yes,” you said, stepping around him like he was debris, heading straight for the tiny kitchenette shoved into the corner of the dorm like an afterthought. the popcorn bag was already in your hand, pre-buttered and microwavable and honestly the only real symbol of stability in your life at the moment. you yanked open his one cabinet, found a bowl shaped like it had been purchased in a panic, and set it down with the finality of someone trying very hard not to scream. “i am asserting dominance.”
“by kicking me like a rabid toddler?” he called from behind you, and you heard the stupid amusement in his voice, the I’m-smiling-but-I’m-also-plotting kind of grin that made you want to wrap your legs around his head and drown him in it. “wow. you really did miss me.”
you ignored him, shoved the bag into the microwave and typed in numbers that weren’t the time but felt emotionally correct. then you heard it—that sound. the soft, quiet approach. sockless feet brushing linoleum. and then—
his fingers in your hair.
it started small. just a gentle flick, like he was testing the texture, maybe reminding himself what it felt like to touch you. and you told yourself you weren’t going to react. you were strong. you were composed. you had kicked him in the shin, for god’s sake.
then he twirled a strand, slow and deliberate, looping it once, twice around his index finger like he was braiding the concept of being insufferable. and he was close. not body-pressed-close, not oh-no-we’re-about-to-kiss close—worse. emotionally close. best-friend-who-knows-what-makes-you-crack close. and that was the real danger zone.
“i don’t remember giving you permission,” you mumbled, not looking back, hands busy pretending to rearrange popcorn bags that didn’t need rearranging.
“you didn’t,” he said, twirling harder, tugging it gently like he was testing how far he could go before you screamed. “but it’s not like you’re gonna stop me.”
“you’re violating the geneva convention right now.”
“it’s hair. not nuclear arms.”
“i will scalp you.”
“hot.”
you froze for a half-second, horrified by the small laugh that slipped out of your own throat, because how dare he be funny and disgusting and weirdly charming all at once. and the worst part? the actual worst part? his fingers were still in your hair. just resting there now, tangled lazy, like he belonged. like you were a thing he was allowed to touch. and your whole body was doing that thing again—heat in the gut, soft static under your skin, a flush crawling its way up your neck like shame dressed as desire.
“i hate you.”
“you keep saying that but you’re not convincing,” he said, voice close to your ear now, low and amused and awful and warm. “you didn’t even flinch.”
“i’m biding my time. waiting for the perfect moment to shiv you with a butter knife.”
“you are so bad at pretending you don’t love me,” he whispered, fingers giving your hair one last tug, then releasing like he hadn’t just incinerated every single one of your higher brain functions.
you whipped around, popcorn forgotten, bowl cradled in your hands like a weapon. “you’re the most annoying man i’ve ever met.”
“you’ve only met like four men.”
“and three of them were fictional.”
“and you still picked me.” he grinned, then leaned in so close you could count every unfair eyelash, all fluttery and boyish and violent. “tragic.”
you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the microwave dinged, loud and shrill like an alarm you didn’t set, and both of you jumped. he stepped back, smirking like the devil in gym shorts.
you hated him.
you also loved him.
but that wasn’t the point.
you reached past him to yank open the microwave, your arm brushing his chest on the way, and you could feel the heat of him, the bare skin under that translucent white shirt, like he’d been designed in a lab to make you clinically insane.
he didn’t move.
you didn’t either.
not yet.
fast forward past the microwave war crimes and the traumatic realization that the strawberry-print shorts rode up every time you bent even slightly, past the part where he insisted on filling a second bowl “for tactical snack separation” and then immediately kept both within his reach like a possessive gremlin, past the flickering mental images of throttling him versus maybe gently kissing him just to shut him up—it was later now, and you were on his bed, which felt like a decision made under spiritual duress.
you were laying on your stomach like a lazy sea creature, arms folded under the ridiculous puff of one of his old pillows, probably the one he drooled on based on how aggressively it smelled like shampoo and existentialism. the tv on his desk across the room played soft flickers of color over your bare legs, the blue hue of a night scene washing over your skin like cinematic bathwater. the pillow squished your ribs uncomfortably but you refused to move because you were locked in a delicate standoff between comfort and pride. your shirt had ridden up, naturally. you ignored it. you were committed to the bit.
he was leaned back against the headboard beside you, long legs stretched out like a relaxed golden retriever who knew he owned the whole damn room, the popcorn bowl balanced delicately between the two of you, technically for sharing but realistically under his complete jurisdiction. every now and then, when you reached for some, he’d shift the bowl slightly like a petty little landlord, then smirk when you glared without heat.
“this is a hate crime,” you muttered, palm in the bowl fishing blindly for something that wasn’t just kernels and betrayal.
“this is a romantic crime,” yuuta corrected, chewing obnoxiously loud next to your ear. “we’re bonding. we’re creating memories. you’re gonna look back at this one day and cry.”
“i’m gonna look back and sue.”
“i’m gonna bring this up in my vows.”
“what vows—are you marrying my corpse?”
“god, you’re so dramatic,” he said, nudging the bowl toward your face just as you gave up. “here. have a sympathy handful, you absolute victim.”
you grumbled something incoherent but shoved your hand in before he changed his mind. your fingers touched his for a second and he didn’t flinch, just looked down at you with that dumb fondness in his eyes like he’d won a prize at the fair and couldn’t decide whether to eat it or keep it on his shelf forever.
on screen, ana steel was currently having her lip bitten by christian grey for the twelfth time in twenty minutes.
“i can’t believe you made me watch this,” you groaned, mouth full of popcorn, turning your face into the pillow like it might drown out the secondhand embarrassment.
“excuse me?” he gasped, mock horror fully engaged. “i am blessing you with culture.”
“you made me watch a billionaire man-child stalk a woman into a bdsm contract.”
“and he bought her a car,” yuuta pointed out, as if that somehow absolved the war crimes happening on screen.
“he sold her car without asking.”
“okay, that part was unhinged,” he admitted, stuffing another handful into his mouth. “but also kind of hot, like in a ‘don’t do this but also do this if you’re rich and emotionally damaged’ way.”
you turned your head to look up at him, chin digging into the pillow, eyebrows furrowed. “so you identify with him?”
he didn’t miss a beat. “i identify with ana.”
you snorted so hard you nearly inhaled a kernel.
“what, like you want someone to rescue you with their trauma and a playroom full of sex toys?” you asked, half choking on laughter.
“no,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head with criminal smugness, “i want someone to look at me like that and let me sign a contract that outlines exactly how often i’m allowed to be annoying.”
you rolled your eyes so hard you almost left your body.
“god, you’re insufferable.”
“but lovable,” he added, nudging your shoulder with his knee. “admit it. you like watching horny garbage with me.”
you didn’t answer right away, just flopped your face sideways into the pillow again, watching the screen, because the thing was—this was maybe the dumbest and coziest version of hell you’d ever experienced. the soft weight of his blanket tangled over both your legs. the occasional crunch as he kept eating your popcorn with the rhythm of a man chewing through existential dread. the quiet hum of the fan above you both. his presence looming, always just close enough to lean into. or over. or on.
“you’re the garbage,” you finally said, voice muffled. “the movie is fine.”
“awww,” he cooed, leaning down, voice dripping with weaponized smugness. “is that your love language? bullying me into intimacy?”
“don’t flatter yourself, grey.”
he reached over and tugged at your shirt gently, pulling the hem down over the small of your back, only to immediately pull it back up again like he was testing how much he could get away with. you smacked his hand blindly, but it made you laugh anyway, because this was him—yuuta fucking okkotsu, sweet and mean and flirty and dumb as a brick in love’s stupidest architecture. and you hated how soft it made you feel, how completely unguarded and ridiculous and… happy.
“we should recreate the elevator scene,” he whispered suddenly, like a war criminal.
“i will push you down the stairs.”
“you’re no fun. i could be your emotionally stunted dom.”
“you literally cry at those dog rescue videos.”
“emotional depth isn’t a crime.”
“you own one pair of handcuffs and they’re for cosplay.”
he gasped like you’d just ruined his career. “you promised never to bring that up.”
“you wore them to the school halloween party and said you were ‘sexy rehabilitation.’”
“and it worked! i won second place! gojo voted for me!”
you couldn’t breathe. your face was buried in the pillow again but this time from hysterics, your body shaking against the mattress while the movie’s dramatic music swelled in the background, completely ignored. he reached down and started playing with your hair again, soft and absentminded, fingers running over strands and occasionally tugging just to make you twitch.
“you’re the worst,” you muttered into the fabric.
“i’m your worst,” he said, and it was so quiet, so offhand, so horribly gentle that you had to close your eyes for a second and hold your breath just to survive it.
the tv glowed soft and blue. the popcorn was half gone. and yuuta’s fingers were still tangled in your hair like they’d never stopped.
you don’t remember when the popcorn bowl was exiled to the floor like a fallen soldier, when his knees bent to cage your hips in place, one on either side like he wasn’t subtly climbing you like a tree, like he didn’t just decide that personal space was a capitalist lie invented to keep you from enjoying the sheer horror of his presence, but suddenly there he was—perched over you like a smug gargoyle with perfect posture and absolutely no sense of shame, one hand tangled in your hair again, the other casually draped over the small of your back like he was claiming territory or maybe measuring how far he could push you before you screamed into his pillow.
you were still lying on your stomach, still pinned to his stupid bed with your stupid dignity melting through the mattress like slow death, still pretending you were unaffected by the fact that he was now fully lounging on top of you like a sunbathing menace, his weight gentle but inevitable, like gravity got a personality disorder and started flirting.
“you know,” he drawled, voice sliding right beside your ear like a heat rash in audio form, “if i didn’t know better, i’d say you planned this.”
you tried to lift your head but his palm gently but very firmly pressed it back into the pillow with the same exact energy as someone telling a golden retriever to “stay.” your voice came out muffled, somewhere between indignation and a breakdown. “planned what? the fucking suffocation?”
“you brought snacks,” he said with a completely unserious shrug you could feel vibrate through your entire spine. “you wore the shorts. you’re lying on my bed like a sacrificial offering. i’m just connecting the dots.”
“you’re connecting shit. you’re a conspiracy theorist with a god complex.”
“mmm,” he hummed, tracing a lazy circle between your shoulder blades with one finger. “god’s out of office. i’m your problem now.”
you flailed halfheartedly, kicked one heel back into his thigh. “i’m filing a complaint.”
“please do,” he said brightly. “i love getting fan mail.”
“you’re so—so annoying.”
“you’re blushing,” he said.
“i’m overheating under your weird emotionally co-dependent weight.”
he bent low enough that his breath tickled the back of your neck and you wanted to slap him and kiss him and throw yourself out the window in equal measure. “you like it. just admit it. you like when i’m all clingy and dramatic and a little mean. you missed me. so bad. like it hurt.”
you choked on a noise that wasn’t a denial. it might’ve been a dying bird. maybe a baby crying. the tv was still playing in the background, some intense jazz instrumental under a scene where christian grey was earnestly making eye contact while unzipping something. you hated this. you loved this. you wanted to throw the remote at his head and then press your mouth to his collarbone like you could bite the word finally into his skin.
“you’re getting cocky,” you whispered, tilting your chin just enough to glance up at him, your face twisted in dramatic pain. “something happened to you out there. in africa. the mosquitoes gave you a superiority complex.”
he laughed, short and loud and delighted, collapsing just slightly more against you, his chest brushing your back in a way that felt like someone turning a page too slowly. “nah. you just forgot i was a menace before i left. it’s all coming back now, isn’t it?”
“i blocked it out for my mental health.”
“you missed me so much you forgot your own coping strategies.”
“you’re projecting.”
“you cried when i posted that video of the meerkat hugging the baby goat.”
“because i have empathy.”
“you sent it to me with ‘this is us.’”
“because you’re the goat and i’m the burdened soul holding on for dear life.”
he snorted, finally rolling just enough to the side so his weight settled against your hip instead of directly on your back, one leg still draped over yours like he was trying to win a game of human jenga. “you love me.”
you groaned, pulling the pillow over your face. “stop saying that.”
“say it back, coward.”
“no.”
“say it.”
“absolutely not.”
“say you love me or i’ll quote the contract scene verbatim.”
“i dare you.”
he took a deep breath.
you shrieked, flung the pillow directly into his face, which he caught with both hands while wheezing with laughter. “you fucking menace. you—how do you still know the words? do you memorize garbage?”
“yes. and you. same folder. same cherished label.”
you glared at him. he was laughing so hard his cheeks were flushed, his hair a mess again from rolling over too much, one curl sticking to his temple with sweat and popcorn grease, and the sight of him—real and here and loud and breathing all over bed space—hit you so hard you went still for a second, like your body realized before your brain did that this was the moment, the moment, the breath before you said something you couldn’t walk back.
his eyes caught yours. quiet for once. sincere. amused, yes, always, but... waiting.
“you are so fucking annoying,” you whispered.
“you’re stalling,” he whispered back.
“you smell like corn butter and laundry detergent.”
“say it.”
“you’re ugly.”
“say it.”
“you’re literally the worst person—”
he grabbed your jaw. not hard, not rough—just enough to tilt your chin up and look you in the eye, eyes glinting with something unbearable and infuriating and stupidly, ridiculously beautiful. “say it, or i’m gonna say it first and you’ll be mad about it for the next thirty years.”
your chest hurt.
your legs tingled.
your mouth was dry and also stupid.
“i love you,” you said, like it was a dare.
he blinked.
paused.
then, grinning like a man who just pulled off the greatest heist of his life, he leaned down, brushed your nose with his, and whispered—
“took you fucking long enough.”
you wanted to hit him. not with your fist. with a book, probably, or maybe a bag of frozen peas, or something heavy and full of metaphor like the complete works of shakespeare annotated by someone with too much time and a vendetta. because he was smiling now, but it wasn’t even a normal person’s smile—it was a stupid, slow, predatory, cat-that-ate-the-whole-zoo grin, the kind of smile that said “i’ve already won and now i’m just here to gloat about it while reclining dramatically on your grave.”
he was leaning in, still half-laughing, half-devastating, his forehead brushing yours again like he couldn’t quite resist the gravitational pull of your face and the disaster inside it. your breath hitched and your brain short-circuited and all your blood decided to throw a rave in your ears. you couldn’t look at him. so, obviously, you did.
“say it again,” he whispered, and the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying to be hot. he was just obnoxious and needy and chronically underloved in the most annoying way possible, which made it ten thousand times worse, because now he’d tasted victory and he wanted seconds.
“you didn’t even say it back,” you said, mouth dry, fingers curling into the pillow like it owed you emotional support. “why should i go again if you’re gonna keep holding your words hostage?”
“oh,” he said, tilting his head dramatically like a villain who just heard a plot twist. “do you think this is transactional?”
“everything’s transactional when your heart is on fire,” you snapped, voice high and stupid and a little wobbly.
“jesus christ,” he breathed, grinning wider, “you are in love with me.”
“no, i’m just suffering.”
“same thing.”
you made a sound. an actual sound, like a dying kettle or a kettle that’s just learned about taxes, and buried your face in the pillow again, except this time he didn’t let you escape. he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you back, just enough to keep you looking at him, just enough to make you feel every inch of him, the soft weight of his thigh over yours, the heat of his hand wrapped around your arm, his breath a lazy ghost near your cheek.
“okay,” he said, voice lower now, still soft but stupidly smug, “you ready?”
“for what,” you mumbled.
he raised a single, unnecessary eyebrow. “i’m gonna say it back. you better not cry. or kiss me. or cry while kissing me.”
“i am deeply unattracted to you right now.”
“shut up.”
you did.
he took a breath. unnecessarily long. dramatic as hell. he looked like he was about to deliver a monologue on a stage with a spotlight, except instead it was just you and him and the flickering tv in the background showing a guy tying a tie around someone’s wrists, and the half-empty popcorn bowl on the floor like the saddest metaphor for your relationship.
“i love you,” he said, finally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it wasn’t news, like he hadn’t already been living it out loud every day since you met.
you blinked.
he blinked back.
then: “there. now we’re even. now it’s not weird anymore.”
“it’s still weird.”
“you’re weird.”
“you love someone who’s weird.”
“you’re right,” he said. “i’ve got horrible taste.”
you tried to shove him off the bed. he caught you by the waist and laughed so loud you swore someone in the next room probably heard, and you didn’t even care anymore because it was so easy now—laughing with him, being angry with him, being alive with him—it all made the same kind of impossible sense.
you fell back against the mattress, still tangled in him, still dumbfounded by how something so long-simmering could feel so sudden, so now. and he was staring at you again with that specific kind of expression that should be illegal—soft and knowing and just a little too satisfied with himself, like he’d cracked the code to life and it was just your name on repeat.
“you’re gonna marry me one day,” he said casually, like he was mentioning the weather.
“oh my god,” you groaned. “please shut the fuck up.”
“you are,” he insisted, lying flat beside you now, one arm under his head, the other tracing the hem of your shirt with a pinky like he wasn’t doing it on purpose. “we’re gonna fight over dishes and have a weird little dog named knife and every time we argue i’ll remind you that you confessed first.”
“you’re a walking restraining order.”
“and you fell in love with me. tragic.”
you turned your head to glare at him. he was so close his breath hit your cheek every time he exhaled. his eyes were stars and graveyards. his mouth was curled in that same stupid smile that made your stomach try to escape out your knees.
“yuuta.”
“yes, my beloved nemesis.”
“if you don’t shut up in the next five seconds i’m going to kiss you so hard it’ll reset your nervous system.”
“that’s the opposite of a threat.”
you lunged.
and he caught you.
and he kissed you like he’d already been kissing you for years. not perfect. not polished. just yours. messy, crooked, smiling into your mouth kind of kissing, hands in your hair, your fingers twisting in his shirt, legs tangled and breathless and stupid. kissing like a fight and a promise and an inside joke all at once.
when you pulled back, he was already laughing.
“told you you’d cry while kissing me,” he said, wiping under your eye with his thumb like the smug idiot he was.
you slapped his hand away.
and then you kissed him again.
it was deranged, truly, how fast the air changed—one second you were sprawled like a corpse of sarcasm and poor life choices on your stomach, cheeks warm, laughing against his mouth, his fingers still in your hair like they’d grown roots there, like they were meant to stay, the whole room vibrating with that ridiculous bubble of mutual idiocy and love and “did that really just happen?”—and the next thing you knew, he was shifting, moving with that new, awful confidence like he’d been holding back for years and the dam finally cracked. your brain barely registered the shift in weight before he sat up fully, legs folding beneath him, his hands sliding down your sides with terrifying purpose, and you were the one who ended up on his lap, straddling him like you’d been doing it since the dawn of time and the world just hadn’t caught on yet.
the tv was off. when had the tv turned off? it didn’t matter. the screen was black now, and you could see your own reflection in it behind his shoulder—wide eyes, wild hair, expression like someone who’d just been told the apocalypse was romantic—and the room was dim, barely lit by the single desk lamp glowing soft yellow, its bulb on its last legs, everything cloaked in that kind of warmth that made skin look flushed and intentions look softer than they really were.
you didn’t remember putting your hands on his shoulders. you didn’t remember him pulling you closer. but there you were, knees pressed against the outsides of his thighs, his palms anchored at your waist like you were something solid, something worth holding onto even now, especially now, and his thumbs were rubbing gentle circles through the hem of your stupid strawberry-print shorts and you could feel the electricity behind his breathing, tight and shallow and not teasing anymore.
no more games. no more sharp-edged banter. just this.
“you’re quiet,” he whispered, voice the softest it had been all night, reverent almost, like he was afraid if he said it too loud the moment would fold in on itself.
“i’m overwhelmed,” you answered, honestly, stupidly, because you couldn’t lie to him anymore, not now, not when his mouth was this close and his hands felt like home. “you’re being—serious.”
he blinked, slow and soft, then smiled—not the usual grin, not the toothy, boyish mischief. this one was small. sad in the corners. sweet in a way that hurt.
“i’m always serious with you,” he said, brushing his nose against yours like punctuation.
“no, you’re not,” you laughed, even as your voice trembled. “you’re a menace.”
“a menace who’s in love with you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the edge of your jaw, a soft thing that made your entire ribcage vibrate. “deeply. irrevocably. stupidly.”
“you forgot ‘violently’,” you whispered.
he kissed the corner of your mouth. “violently,” he echoed.
then he kissed you. properly. finally. again.
but this time it was different—no more smirking into the press of lips, no more tongue-in-cheek or cocky little nips meant to drive you crazy. this was slower. deeper. like something he’d been holding in his lungs for a decade and now he could finally let it out. he kissed you like he wanted to memorize every reaction, every shift in breath, every way your hands trembled slightly against the curve of his neck when he tilted his head just right and exhaled into you like a confession he couldn’t quite say out loud yet.
his mouth moved against yours with that awful sweetness that made your knees weak even though you weren’t standing, the kind of kiss that said stay. the kind of kiss that didn’t have to ask.
your hands slid into his hair before you even thought about it, fingers tangling in those soft strands, pulling him closer like it wasn’t enough, like it would never be enough. and he let you, of course he did, tilting into your grip, mouth parting just enough for your teeth to catch his bottom lip and make him sigh—a sound so soft and desperate it knocked every thought straight out of your head.
his arms wrapped around you tighter, one slipping under your shirt like he needed proof you were really there, fingertips ghosting up your spine, warm and shaking and tender. he kissed you again, and again, in between breaths like he was scared the distance might kill him.
“fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, his voice breaking around the edges now, none of that performative sass left, just raw affection and nerves and that unbearable sincerity that always lived under the mess. “i missed you so much it made me fucking sick.”
you closed your eyes. rested your forehead against his. let your nose bump his cheek. let your entire body lean into him like the safest place in the world.
“i thought about you every day,” you whispered. “like a freak. like some pathetic little lovesick idiot.”
he kissed your cheek. your temple. your chin. “yeah,” he said, “same. we’re freaks together.”
“soulmates in idiocy.”
“co-presidents of the tragic dumbass society.”
“yuuta.”
he looked up at you again, eyes wide and stupid and full of too much feeling.
“yeah?”
“don’t stop,” you whispered.
so he didn’t. he kissed you again. again. again. slower now. messier. the kind of kiss you fell into and never came back from. the kind that changed your blood type.
you didn’t know where this was going. you didn’t care. all you knew was this—his hands on you, his voice in your ear, his mouth against yours like he was trying to rewrite your entire existence one breath at a time.
and god, it worked.
he kissed you like he was running out of time and breath and restraint, like every press of his mouth against yours was both apology and reward, thank you and finally, and it didn’t feel like escalation, didn’t feel like foreplay or some slippery slope into the inevitable—it felt like something older than either of you, something pulled up from under your skin and cracked open between your teeth. you could barely think. you were breathing through him, your whole world tilted on its axis and centered now around the place where your hips were pressed against his, knees bracketing his thighs, your hands still tight in his hair because if you let go you might float straight out of your body and never come back.
his palms splayed across your back like he was trying to memorize the exact pressure needed to keep you tethered, moving in soft little circles that made you shiver even though the room was hot, and his tongue flicked against your lower lip again and again, coaxing little sighs out of your throat that made him groan like he was the one unraveling. and maybe he was. maybe you both were. maybe this was the only way either of you knew how to be real—half-laughing, half-crying, wrapped around each other like idiots in love and out of options.
you dragged your mouth away long enough to gasp, “we’re so dumb.”
and he, breathless and flushed and grinning like the devil had just offered him a promotion, replied, “yeah, but we’re hot.”
you snorted, chest heaving, and dipped your head into the crook of his neck, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you laughed directly against his pulse. “you’re ridiculous.”
“you’re hesitating,” he shot back, and it took you a second to realize what he meant, to follow the trail of thought through the haze of heat and affection and general hormonal disaster. your hands had shifted, were now fisted lightly in the hem of his shirt, that worn, thin white thing clinging to his chest in soft folds, semi-transparent under the lamplight. you’d tugged it up just a little—just high enough to expose the first dangerous inch of his stomach—but then stopped. froze. like a coward.
“i’m not hesitating,” you muttered, because lying was easier than having a panic attack mid-makeout.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and amused and way too full of affection for someone being slandered. “you’re totally hesitating. you’re scared of my abs.”
“i’m not scared of your abs.”
“you’re scared of my hot, missionary-sent-me abs. you’re intimidated.”
“you’re literally the most annoying man alive.”
“you love my annoying abs.”
“yuuta,” you said, trying to be serious, trying to slow the momentum of the joke before it took over everything again. “i just—i don’t know.”
he went quiet. not in a bad way. not in a oh no now he’s overthinking way. just soft. aware. like he’d felt the shift in your hands, your posture, the way you were still touching him but also thinking too much.
he brought his hand up to your cheek, tilted your face back toward his with two fingers under your chin, and whispered, “hey. look at me.”
you did. of course you did.
his eyes were stupidly gentle, like a blanket you didn’t ask for but needed anyway.
“we don’t have to do anything. we don’t have to do anything,” he said, clear and calm and slow like he wanted to make sure every word landed in the right place. “i just wanna kiss you. i could kiss you for, like, seven years. we can pause for snacks. maybe a nap.”
you blinked, suddenly a little breathless again but for a different reason.
“you’re so dumb,” you whispered, but it cracked halfway out.
“and you’re still holding my shirt like it personally offended you.”
you looked down at your hands, still clenched in the hem like it owed you rent. the skin under your fingers was warm, soft, the faintest hint of tremble under his calm like he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be.
slowly, carefully, you moved your fingers again. just a bit. tugged the fabric higher.
yuuta didn’t move. didn’t help. just watched you. patient. still.
you pushed it up over his stomach, revealing more—soft skin, lean lines, that ridiculous little dip under his ribs that was definitely not helping your composure, and finally, the undeniable definition of his abs. stupid. taut. completely unnecessary. like someone designed him with the express purpose of making you go into cardiac arrest.
“jesus,” you mumbled. “i thought this was just the lighting earlier.”
he smirked, tilting his head. “you can say it. you’re turned on.”
“i’m not gonna feed your ego.”
“baby, you’re literally in my lap.”
“on accident.”
“sure.”
your hands slid higher, just a little more, and he leaned back slightly to help you, finally, tugging the shirt off the rest of the way and over his head, tossing it to the side with a casual flick that really shouldn’t have been so hot but unfortunately was. his chest was bare now, lit golden in the low light, the shadows making every line look sharper than necessary. he sat there, proud and obnoxious and gorgeous, arms resting loosely around your waist, eyes half-lidded and waiting.
“so?” he said. “what’s the verdict?”
you stared for a beat too long, then shook your head. “i hate you so much.”
he leaned forward, mouth brushing yours, and whispered, “you’re drooling.”
you kissed him before he could finish laughing, kissed him hard and hungry and full of frustration and gratitude and longing that had nowhere else to go. his hands slid back up your spine again, then down, slow and warm and steady, and you pressed your chest against his, skin to skin now, breath tangled and mouths moving in sync like it was muscle memory.
this was different now. not just soft. not just playful. it was still dumb, still full of laughter and half-whispers and too many feelings, but it was honest. real. the kind of closeness you only earned after months of pretending not to want it.
his mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve until you shivered, his hands holding you like you were fragile and indestructible at the same time.
“okay,” you breathed, fingers threading through his hair again. “okay. maybe i am turned on.”
he laughed against your skin, a low hum that made your whole body vibrate.
“yeah,” he said, voice low and satisfied. “me too.”
you felt it before you saw it—his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, slow and reverent, like he was approaching a religious artifact and not your tragically old white cotton tee that probably still had mystery stains from dorm laundry hell and smelled vaguely like microwaved snacks and anxiety. his hands were warm, thumbs dragging along your ribs, and your breath caught halfway out of your throat because he wasn’t being cocky now, wasn’t making jokes or weird noises or doing that thing where he said something infuriating just to watch your face implode—no, he was focused. soft. maddeningly gentle. like he was scared of spooking you. like he was trying to do this right.
he looked at you the entire time, didn’t glance down once, even as the shirt bunched under your arms, his fingers pushing it up your back and then over your head in one smooth motion that felt too intimate to be legal, too slow to be real, and the way his eyes locked on yours as the fabric peeled away? criminal. unhinged. deeply dangerous. you could feel your heart trying to claw its way out of your chest cavity and throw itself out the window.
and then, like an idiot, like a grinning stupid horrible soft idiot, he said:
“whoa.”
“if you make a single joke,” you warned, voice threatening but also fragile, the kind of tone that cracked around the edges like old ceramic.
“no jokes,” he said immediately, holding up both hands like he was surrendering to the law but still resting them dangerously close to your spine. “i swear on gojo’s dumb designer sunglasses. you’re—shit. you’re so pretty. it’s actually rude.”
you didn’t know what to do with that. so you stared at him, blinking like someone who just got told they won a sweepstakes they didn’t enter, and tried not to melt into a puddle of hormonal regret.
you were still in your bra, obviously. thin-strapped, slightly crooked from his earlier manhandling, one cup sitting a little askew like you’d been in a romantic fender-bender. you felt like a hot mess. he looked like he wanted to write poetry about it.
“yuuta,” you murmured, unsure of what you were even trying to say.
he leaned in, kissed your collarbone with a soft press of lips that made your head tilt back instinctively, then trailed down—slow, slow, like a river taking its time to flood. and then his hands moved again, sliding up your back, thumbs brushing your shoulder blades, one finger hooking under the band of your bra in that way that made your stomach absolutely plummet.
his mouth was still on your skin when he said, half-muffled and far too casual:
“can i?”
the bastard had already found the clasp. one hand resting over it like it was a button to a secret door. your entire body was stiff and molten at once.
you breathed. shallow. shaky. said, “you’re asking now?”
he had the decency to chuckle into your shoulder, the vibration making your skin break out in chills.
“consent is hot,” he whispered, “even if i’m already halfway there.”
“yuuta,” you said again, but softer this time, more like a prayer than a warning.
he pulled back to look at you, and fuck—his face. flushed. open. stupidly beautiful. eyes wide and waiting, not pushing. not assuming. just there.
you nodded. slow. a little dizzy.
“yeah,” you whispered. “you can.”
his fingers moved without hesitation now—not rough, not rushed—just sure. the clasp gave way with a quiet click, the tension in the band loosening, and he slid his hands under the straps as if to say, i got you, even though he didn’t say anything at all. the fabric slipped down your arms like surrender. you let it. let him.
his eyes dropped, finally, but the look wasn’t hungry. it wasn’t some cliché moment of ogling. it was worse. it was tender. reverent. like you were something to be memorized, not devoured. like he was seeing you for the first time and the only thing in his brain was thank you.
his voice cracked a little when he said, “holy shit.”
you wanted to laugh. or cry. or combust. maybe all three.
so you did the only thing you could: you grabbed his face, held it in both hands like you were trying to mold it into something you could survive, and kissed him again. desperate. grateful. a little shaky. and he kissed you back like you were the only thing tethering him to earth.
he didn’t touch your chest—not yet, not even a hint of suggestion. he just wrapped his arms around you, full body, buried his face in your neck and whispered, “you’re gonna ruin me.”
and you whispered back, “good.”
and meant every word.
the air in the room shifted like it had caught on fire, not the loud kind, not the dramatic blaze that engulfed buildings and screamed for attention—no, this was the slow, creeping kind, the burn that started in your chest and worked its way outward, cell by cell, inch by inch, until even the dim, flickering lamplight felt like it was watching you both a little too closely. and there you were, bare from the waist up now, still straddling his lap like a disaster waiting to happen, like a headline, like a statistic in a very affectionate cautionary tale, his arms around your ribs so gently it felt like gravity was being polite about it, and his face buried in the crook of your neck like he was hiding from his own goddamn feelings.
he hadn’t moved since you said it—good—hadn’t laughed or made some snarky little comeback, which was alarming in itself because that was his whole brand, wasn’t it? being a menace in the shape of a boy you stupidly trusted with your life and now your shirt. but instead, he just exhaled. slow. hot. reverent. like that single word did something to him he wasn’t ready to admit.
and then, of course, because he couldn’t help himself—because silence was a threat to his personality—he whispered, voice muffled into your throat, “you’re evil.”
“you’re clingy,” you muttered, even as your arms looped around his shoulders like anchors, like reflex.
“you just said you wanted to ruin me. do you hear yourself?”
“i said good, which was not a threat.”
“oh no, it was,” he said, finally pulling back to look at you, and he looked wrecked already, hair a mess, lips bitten pink, cheeks flushed, pupils blown out like he’d seen some divine truth in the curve of your collarbone. “you’re saying things like that while sitting on my lap and half-naked and then acting surprised when i combust.”
“you haven’t combusted yet,” you said, tilting your head, “do i need to try harder?”
his jaw dropped. his hands—those goddamn hands, all heat and reverence and menace—gripped your hips a little tighter, not rough but anchoring, like he needed to confirm you were real and also possibly prevent you from flying off the rails, which was ironic because you were the one currently holding yourself together with a thread and a half.
“okay,” he said, nodding slowly, eyes narrowing like he was processing a new kind of threat. “okay. so this is what we’re doing.”
“what are we doing?”
“you’re playing innocent while literally breaking me.”
“i’m not innocent,” you said, inching forward just slightly, just enough to make his breath hitch in a way that made you feel like you’d grown wings, like maybe you could ruin him if you tried. “i’m just not doing anything.”
“that’s the problem,” he said, and then, like he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in again, lips brushing against your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone, soft kisses dropped like punctuation marks in a letter he hadn’t finished writing. “you’re not doing anything and i’m still losing my fucking mind.”
you reached up, brushed his hair back from his forehead, your fingers sliding into the mess like they belonged there, like they’d always been there. he looked up at you from under his lashes, and it hit you all over again—how stupidly pretty he was, how unfair his face was in this lighting, how every expression on him looked like a confession.
“yuuta,” you whispered, and it wasn’t a warning this time. it wasn’t even a question. it was just his name, soft and unsteady and full of every terrible, wonderful thing you hadn’t had the guts to say before.
“yeah?” he breathed, hands still on your waist, fingers twitching like he was trying so hard not to move.
you kissed him again. because what else could you do? his mouth opened under yours like it had been waiting, like it knew how to respond to your rhythm, your breath, your hunger before you even gave it a name. this kiss was slower, but not gentler. it was deep, exploratory, a little unhinged, teeth catching his lip, your hips shifting against his thighs without permission, and he groaned into your mouth like it surprised him, like the noise escaped before he could trap it.
“fuck,” he gasped when you finally pulled back for air, forehead pressed to yours. “you kiss like you’re trying to make me pass out.”
“good,” you said again, and he made a sound, something between a growl and a laugh and a strangled plea.
“you keep saying that,” he muttered, hands sliding up your sides now, not pushing, not groping, just holding, like he needed the contact, needed the skin-on-skin like it was a lifeline. “and it keeps getting hotter.”
you shivered, not because of the cold—there was none, not here, not with him breathing like that, not with your skin pressed against his, not with your heart trying to climb out of your mouth and build a shrine to his name in the back of your throat—but because of the weight of it. all of it. everything you’d kept hidden between laughter and fake arguments and eye-rolls. it was all out now. and he was still looking at you like you were the best decision he’d ever made.
“what happens now?” you asked, not quite trusting your voice.
he smiled, slow and devastating, one thumb rubbing a line across your waist like he was signing something unspoken.
“whatever you want,” he said. “this—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “—is yours.” he kissed your jaw, “you call the shots.” kissed the dip under your ear, “you tell me when to stop.”
you leaned into him, breathing fast, laughing a little even though it felt like you were about to cry.
“god, you’re such a dumbass romantic.”
“only for you,” he whispered, and meant it so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
and you believed him. like a fool. like someone ready to fall and call it flying.
you kissed him again. and this time, you didn’t hesitate.
the words slipped out like a crime, like you hadn’t meant to say them but also had meant to say them every second since you walked through his door with that bag of snacks swinging from your wrist like a peace offering and a loaded weapon—your lips grazed his, your mouth half-open from breathless kissing, brain so loud and full of him it almost cracked, and then there it was, out in the air between you, all soft and stupid and sharp at the edges:
“i want to do it.”
it wasn’t seductive. it wasn’t breathy or pornographic or dripping with confidence. it was shy and shaken and maybe even a little too high-pitched, like your body knew what it wanted before your voice had a chance to rehearse. but the second you said it, you felt it click. like the moment when you find a light switch in the dark and flip it without knowing what room you’re in.
he stilled. for once, yuuta didn’t grin. didn’t make a joke. didn’t even blink for a second. his hands were still on your waist, bare skin under his fingers, and his forehead was still against yours, but something in his eyes shifted—some soft, wide-eyed mix of holy-shit and are-you-sure and oh-god-oh-god-oh-fuck.
he swallowed. slow. shallow. said, barely above a whisper, “are you sure?”
you nodded. once. twice. then whispered it too, because it was true now, every part of you humming like a live wire, “yeah. i’m sure.”
and then he kissed you like it was his last chance to memorize the shape of your mouth, slow and deep and gentle in a way that was almost reverent, like you’d said something sacred instead of something horny. his hands moved with the kind of patience that should’ve been illegal, every touch featherlight but confident, and when he finally laid you back onto the bed, his fingers never left your skin—not once. it was less like he was trying to get you naked and more like he was trying to hold you steady while the world spun off its axis.
he made you laugh in the middle of it, too. of course he did. you’d accidentally kneed him in the thigh while trying to scoot back and he made a whole dramatic performance out of it—groaning, falling onto the bed beside you like you’d mortally wounded him, then catching you with one arm and dragging you down with him, both of you breathless and flushed and laughing like the dumbass soulmates you were. he kissed you through it, kissed your laughter, kissed the corners of your mouth like they were the most important coordinates he’d ever mapped.
and when the laughing stopped—when the air got heavy and quiet and full of warmth instead of nerves—it was slow. careful. so gentle you almost cried. hands and mouths and breath, the soft sounds of skin finding skin and hearts beating too fast. nothing about it was polished or poetic. it was awkward and intimate and full of stupid sweetness, little whispered “is this okay?” and “does that feel good?” and “i think i’m dying but in a good way,” and god, it was so real. when it finally happened—when he was inside you, when his breath hitched in your ear and his hand squeezed yours like a lifeline—you realized it wasn’t about perfect. it was about him. about you. about finally getting to say i love you in a language you didn’t know you spoke.
and then, silence.
warm, golden, soft-edged silence, the kind that only came when everything was said and nothing had to be explained.
the room was still. the sheets a little twisted. your legs tangled with his under the blanket he must’ve pulled over you at some point, and your head resting on his chest like it had always meant to live there. you were both still naked, but the air didn’t feel cold—it felt right. safe. like you were inside a bubble that nothing outside the dorm could touch.
his hand was on your back. slow circles. absentminded. your name humming under his breath like a song he didn’t want to forget. you could hear his heart, steady now. solid.
“you’re weirdly quiet,” he murmured eventually, voice low and raspy like he’d been yelling all day when really he’d only been falling in love out loud.
you nuzzled into his collarbone, lips brushing warm skin. “i’m trying to preserve brain cells.”
“did i ruin you that bad?”
“yuuta.”
“don’t lie. i felt your soul leave your body halfway through.”
“i tripped over the blanket and headbutted your chin.”
“exactly. transcendent.”
you laughed. he kissed your temple.
and in the quiet that followed, he whispered, softer this time, “i love you.”
you smiled, eyes closed, body sore in the best way possible.
“i know,” you whispered back. “i felt it.”
and you did.
everywhere. still do.
you laid there in that post-apocalyptic emotional soup of skin-on-skin warmth and sex-brain fog, limbs tangled like a pair of cats that fell asleep mid-fight, the blanket half slipping off one side of the bed like even gravity was too blissed out to care anymore. yuuta’s arm was still looped around your back like a seatbelt he refused to unbuckle, his hand absentmindedly tracing lazy, reverent little lines up and down your spine like he was trying to learn braille from your vertebrae. your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, because of course it was—because it was safe there, stupidly comfortable there, smelled like him there: warm skin and detergent and sweat and something sweet, like caramelized embarrassment. and for a while you just laid there, breathing slow, matching each other’s exhales, letting your pulse learn how to stop breakdancing.
and then your dumbass brain did what it always did in quiet moments.
it started thinking.
you didn’t mean to speak. not really. it started as a thought, then became a hypothetical, then suddenly it was a sound pushing its way out of your mouth without warning, wobbling on the edge of hesitation and a laugh and full-on dread.
“so, um,” you mumbled against his collarbone, lips barely moving, “does this mean you’re, like… my boyfriend?”
he stilled. dramatically. completely. like a lizard who sensed danger. you felt every muscle in his chest lock up under your cheek like you’d just asked him if he believed in god and monogamy in the same breath.
and then: “wait,” he said slowly, blinking up at the ceiling like he’d been personally betrayed by the sudden emergence of consequences. “we didn’t define the relationship before having sex? we’re heathens. we’re criminals. we’re going to moral jail.”
you groaned immediately. “never mind. cancel the question. take it off the table.”
“no, no, you brought the table out. now we’re gonna eat off it. we’re gonna have a whole discourse. with sides.”
“shut up—”
“you shut up,” he shot back, turning to face you properly now, rolling you a little so your leg slid higher over his hip, his hand gripping your thigh like punctuation. “you asked. so let’s unpack. do you want me to be your boyfriend? is this an exclusive, high-stakes, one-man show?”
“you literally said you loved me like five minutes ago.”
“people say crazy things during sex,” he said, eyes wide, clearly holding back a laugh. “i once said ‘let’s go’ in the middle of sex in my dream like i was about to ascend. anything’s possible.”
you slapped his chest. “yuuta. focus.”
he caught your hand before it retreated, laced his fingers through yours, and looked at you with that annoying mix of mockery and affection that made your heart feel like it was doing cartwheels in a minefield.
“you want me to be your boyfriend?” he asked again, quieter now, like maybe he wasn’t entirely joking anymore. “is that what this is?”
you swallowed, suddenly shy again, the post-sex high replaced with an equally stupid rush of panic and oh fuck this is real. “i mean… if you want to. if you don’t already have, like, a girl in every jujutsu region.”
“first of all,” he said, gently squeezing your hand, “you are the only dumbass i’ve ever stripped for. and second, of course i want to. i already am. i’ve been your boyfriend in spirit since the moment you called me a ‘walking restraining order’ and then gave me your last shrimp chip.”
you blinked. “you really consider that the turning point?”
“i fell in love right then,” he said seriously. “i knew you were the one.”
“you’re so full of shit.”
“your boyfriend is full of shit,” he corrected smugly. “say it. call me your boyfriend. do it. you started this, coward.”
you groaned again, burying your face in his neck, which was a mistake because now he was laughing and smug and warm and his stupid heartbeat was right under your ear, reminding you that yes, you loved this idiot. and yes, apparently, he was yours now.
“yuuta,” you muttered.
“say it.”
“you’re my boyfriend,” you grumbled, barely audible.
“louder, babe.”
“you’re my fucking boyfriend,” you said, half-snarling, half-laughing.
he grinned so hard you thought his face might crack. “fuck yeah i am. lock me in. relationship status: unhinged and fully committed.”
“i hate you.”
“you love me.”
“shut up.”
he rolled you both over until he was on top again, elbows on either side of your head, his hair flopping down into your face, and he kissed you quick and messy and happy, like he couldn’t help it, like he didn’t care about breath or rules or what happened next.
when he pulled back, his eyes were shining.
“girlfriend,” he said.
you rolled your eyes. “boyfriend.”
he smirked. “horny and in love. what a time to be alive.”
and then he kissed you again, just to seal the deal, because apparently, that’s what boyfriends do.
