[shiorihyugawrites]

Savoring the Wind

One literal collision was all it took to leave Sanemi Shinazugawa branded. Between a ruined haori and a lipstick-stained address, the Wind Hashira finds himself at the mercy of the Head Chef of Akazuki. You aren't intimidated by his scars or his temper, and with a menu that has the entire Hashira corps on their knees, Sanemi is about to learn that some fires are better left to burn. (Sanemi x Reader)

Table Of Contents:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Masterlist | Patreon

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Spear & The Shield

"You hate them because you love what they destroy. I saw you during the spar. I saw your heart. You cover it in scars and anger, but the core of it... it is very warm."

Sanemi Shinazugawa is the Wind: abrasive, violent, and scarred by a lifetime of loss. Asami Hikari is the newly appointed Sky Hashira: gentle, oblivious, and possessing a terrifying defensive mastery born from a tragedy she barely survived.

When Oyakata-sama pairs the Corps' ultimate offense with its absolute defense, Sanemi expects a burden. What he finds is the only person who can see past his rage to the man beneath—and the only person fast enough to catch him when he falls.

A story of healing, ohagi, and the terrifying power of kindness. (Sanemi x OC)

Table Of Contents:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Masterlist | Patreon

[suksatoru]

003. DANDELIONS

When the long awaited bakesale arrives, your classroom’s air is tinged with the sweet and sugary aroma of all sorts of decadent treats. All of your students’ parents went above and beyond and happily brought desserts to share with everyone, and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t excited to try most of the options yourself. 

From the Bakugos bringing soft doryaki that had honey melting in your mouth, to the Ururakas bringing gooey chocolate brownies and chewy mochi—you glide around your classroom and assist each family with lining the tables with their plates, adding small labels with the name of each dessert brought in neat, sparkling pink pen.

“It’s busy today, huh?”

Your attention is pulled away from the tray labels you’d been making when you hear Keigo, an old friend of yours and a routine volunteer at school events. Despite not knowing any of the students, he shows up regularly to help you out on these types of occasions, and a smile spreads across your face as you greet him

“Kei! Hi! And yes—I’m happy to see so many faces… Thank you for coming.” You respond politely, and he offers you a grin before carefully taking the tray of delicacies you’d been labeling into his own hands

“I’ll go set these up on that free table over there so you can finish saying hello to all the parents. Sound good to you?” He questions, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief at his words

“Yes, that sounds good. Thank you,” you offer with a grateful nod of your head, and you’re off a second later to greet the incoming crowd that had just entered the classroom. As you’re busy greeting the Yaoyorozu family, you fail to notice Touya watching you from the window outside.

When he’d first arrived with Shoto, Touya was genuinely surprised to see how crowded your little classroom had gotten once the students’ parents had entered the scene. The moment he saw the mass of people inside, he made a detour with Shoto straight to the playground residing adjacent to the building to wait until the commotion inside calmed down a bit. 

But, as he was sitting on the bench—watching Shoto and the rest of his classmates play while precariously balancing a tray of cupcakes in his lap—Touya saw a man he’d never once seen on the premise of the school before chatting it up with you, and the flicker of jealousy that blossomed in his chest at the sight seemed to turn into a raging fire within a second when he watched the stranger put a hand on your shoulder and pull a laugh out of you.

Touya beckons Shoto over with an urgent hand, and Shoto blinks in confusion before pushing himself off the slide and approaching his brother

“Hey Sho, who’s that ugly short guy inside talking to Miss Pretty?” Touya questions with a frown. Shoto crawls onto Touya’s lap with pinched brows a moment later to see where Touya was pointing at, and his eyes squint before widening a bit in recognition

“Oh, that’s Mr.Takami. He was our substitute teacher one day when Miss was out sick, and I think he volunteers on field trips.”

“So they’re co-workers? Friends?”

“What’s a co-work… work..er?” Shoto murmurs in confusion as Touya groans, gently patting his brother’s shoulder and ushering him away

“Nevermind. Go play, alright? I’ll be watching. And tell that blonde haired brat to be careful going up the ladder! ‘s not a race,” He grumbles, slumping on the bench before letting his head fall backwards so he can watch you through the classroom’s window from outside. You’re still busy with all the other parents, and Touya wonders idly how long it’d be until you’re alone

It turns out it would be quite a while. 

Touya doesn’t like being in crowded spaces. You haven’t sat down for a single second this entire time either, and he wants to talk to you. It’d be hard with so many people inside, he reasons, but eventually Shoto and his friends want to head inside and eat some of the desserts, and he has no choice but to follow them.

Touya keeps a loose grip on Shoto’s hand, but he eventually lets go of it when he sees you looking over the desserts with a bowl of your own resting in your hand. There’s no parents surrounding you anymore, that stupid blonde guy from earlier isn’t in sight anywhere, either—and he grins before finally approaching you.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to see no one there, but Touya ducked out of view so he’d be standing in front of you once you turned back around instead.

“Touya! You made it!” you beam, and he can’t help the little grin that manages to come over his face

“Yeah. I was just waiting outside until it got less crowded. I didn’t think it’d get so busy,” he says, and your gaze finds the tray of cupcakes in his hands with a pleased gasp

“Oh—did you and your family make these?” you question excitedly, setting down your bowl to lean forward and inspect his tray with your hands tucked behind your back

“Our sister helped me and Shoto out. Though, I think he may be better at baking than me.” he murmurs, carefully setting them down on the table as you chose a cupcake for yourself, placing it carefully into your bowl before handing Touya one for himself

“Have you had anything to eat yet? If you haven’t, you and I can eat together since I’ve finally gotten a moment to catch my breath,” you smile, and that’s how you find yourself and Touya sitting across from one another and eating spoonfuls of enough sugar to last you a week. There’s small portions of each and every dessert spread out in front of the two of you, and you both go through them all diligently.

Naturally, as time passes and the sun begins to set, the families inside finish up their desserts and bid you goodbye before leaving for the day. After another hour goes by, the last few remaining kids come back inside from the playground—a trio consisting of Izuku, Katsuki, and Shoto. They approach you with purposeful steps after taking off their shoes and putting them away.

“Miss, Miss, Miss—did you like my momma’s cookies?” Izuku questions hopefully, but Katsuki interrupts before you have a chance to respond

“—If you’re wondering why the doryaki tasted the best, it’s cause I helped my mom make it. And it was definitely better than your cookies!” Katsuki argues, and Izuku pouts before you place a gentle hand on their shoulders

“Both of you brought delicious treats, there’s no doubt about that! Everyone made an equally wonderful dish. And Katsuki, nice job helping your mom bake.” You smile gently, and the tension from Katsuki’s little shoulders seems to seep away with a little huff at your praise, while Izuku beams at the fact that you enjoyed his mother’s cookies. Soon enough, Katsuki is tugging on both Shoto and Izuku’s hands and dragging them to the play corner of the classroom.

“That kid scares me sometimes,” Touya mumbles quietly, squinting his eyes as he watches Katsuki boss around Shoto and Izuku as he explains whatever game they’re about to play while both boys listen happily, and you can’t help but laugh at his words

“Katsuki’s a real softie once you get to know him. Definitely more aggressive in nature compared to the other children, but he’s been learning to be nicer.” You reassure, and Touya hums before sliding the final dessert that hadn’t been tasted your way

“You said you’re saving the best for last, huh?” He teases, and you beam as you bring his cupcake closer. The batch his family had brought consisted of marble cupcakes—both vanilla and chocolate—with creamy frosting swirls decorating the top. He watches intently as you bite into the cupcake, and you have no time to feel the weight of his gaze because you’re distracted by the flavor on your tongue—the cupcake practically melts in your mouth, delicious and fluffy in a way that has you biting back into it for a second taste.

“Mmm. This is—this is so good.” you hum with bright eyes, and Touya seems pleased by the fact that you enjoy them.

“Yeah? I’ll be sure to let Fuyumi know.” he says with a soft grin

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had so much sugar in one sitting,” you say embarrassed, and he shrugs

“I saw the kids eat a hell of a lot more. Their parents are lucky they got all their energy outta their systems by playing around outside in the playground. I’m pretty sure I saw one of ‘em hanging upside down from the monkey bars.” Touya comments, and you tilt your head in thought and try to guess which one of your students he was talking about

“Did she have blonde hair? Pigtails?” you question, and Touya nods wordlessly

“Himiko,” you giggle, and he huffs, telling you how she’d also chased Shoto around for a while in a game of tag and how he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his little brother so afraid. 

Moonlight streams through the classroom windows once the sun has completely set. You and Touya are still seated across from each other, laughter slipping past your lips at every crude joke he cracks and every story he recalls for you 

“—course I didn’t even know how to drive back then. Still got there in one piece and not a single scratch on the damn car.” He tells you, referring to the day Natsuo had forgotten his school project at home and Touya had managed to get to his school in time for his presentation a couple of years ago

“All this while Shoto was in the backseat?” you question in disbelief, and he grins

“Yup. Stayed asleep the whole car ride, can you believe that?” Touya huffs as he shakes his head, and you smile fondly as you pull your leg to your chest and rest your cheek against your knee in thought.

You admired how involved and present Touya was with his family, but even with everything he’s told you about them, he’d never once mentioned his father. You’re not sure if he’s simply not in the picture or if something else had happened to him, but today didn’t seem like the day to ask about something so personal

While sitting quietly in thought, you fail to notice Touya’s lingering gaze on your face. It moves from the flutter of your lashes to the slope of your nose before catching onto the corner of your mouth, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat when he notices the smudge of frosting at the edge of your lips. Your cheek raises from your knee the same moment his hand reaches out towards your face, and you blink rapidly once his warm palm settles over the curve of your cheek

“What—”

His thumb brushes over the frosting, and your hand quickly raises to cover the spot he’d just cleaned when he pulled away before your mouth forms a little ‘o’ in realization. His dark eyes glitter with mirth, all before his tongue parts the seam of his lips to lick the small dollop of cream right off the tip of his finger

“You had a little frosting there. Better?” He questions with a casually raised brow, and your mouth clamps shut as your eyes widen from being flustered to the point of being rendered absolutely speechless

“Thank you,” you barely manage to squeak out, cheeks heating up as you look away. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you can still feel Touya watching you intently all before his attention is pulled away by little Shoto tugging on the sleeve of his jacket

“Tired,” Shoto murmurs, dropping his head against Touya’s metal arm as he blinks down in surprise. You raise your head to look at Shoto, observing at his adorably sleepy state before nudging him gently

“Shoto, did you have fun today?” you question softly, and he turns to look at you with a small smile before nodding his head. Touya ruffles his little brother’s hair before finally standing up, rolling his shoulders 

“These brats fall asleep so easily.” He grumbles, and you laugh quietly before standing up yourself and following him and Shoto. Since Touya was taking all three of the kids home, you helped him with getting all their outerwear and shoes on. As you finish buttoning up Katsuki’s jacket, Touya approaches you with a sleeping Izuku laying peacefully in his left arm and his other hand holding Shoto’s, who rubbed his eye sleepily with a yawn

“Shoto, what do you say for today?” Touya prompts, peering down at his little brother as Shoto looks towards you with an appreciative nod of his head

“Thank you for letting us stay late and play, and thank you for hosting the bake sale.” Shoto says, and Katsuki follows him quickly with a quieter thank you. You smile gently and bid the two younger boys goodnight, walking them towards the exit

“Drive safe, Touya.” You call out softly from the door, leaning against the frame as Touya turns around in surprise, and he offers you a smile that’s boyish and mellow in a way that makes your chest feel like it's being warmed from the inside-out.

DANDELIONS MASTERLIST.

tags; @nekobiii @aspinny @azra-x @ydkmsstuff

[neurodivergentminor]

A deceitful Flower

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Order to read: Chapter 1

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ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 2

Evening was the only time Naoya ever allowed himself to be quiet. The onsen steamed softly as the sky darkened, cicadas humming beyond the stone walls. He leaned back against the edge, eyes closed, heat loosening the tension in his shoulders. No servants. No elders. No obligations. Just water and silence.

Then fabric slid to the floor. Naoya opened one eye and immediately wished he hadn't.

You stepped into the bath without hesitation, robe discarded like it meant nothing, sinking into the water with a satisfied sigh. For a second, he just stared, irritation and disbelief tangling in his chest before he snapped his gaze away.

"What the hell are you doing?" he barked. "Have you lost all sense of shame? Stripping like that in front of your husband—do you know what kind of sin you're committing?"

You rolled your eyes, completely unbothered, settling deeper into the heat. "We're married, Naoya. And I wanted to relax. That's it."

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, leaning back again like this was beneath him, even as his ears burned. "You're impossible."

He told himself not to look. He failed almost instantly.

Even with the water covering most of you, the way you leaned back so comfortably, skin flushed from the heat, expression soft and pleased—it was distracting. Annoyingly so. He'd never shared an onsen with a woman before. Ever. There were always rules. Separation. Distance.

Now he was stuck in hot water with his gorgeous wife, and his composure was hanging by a thread.

You caught him staring. Your lips curled into a slow, smug smirk. "Aww," you teased lightly, "Naoya-kun... can't wait to consummate me?"

His face went hot all at once.

"Don't say stupid shit," he snapped, jerking his head away. "As if I'd be desperate enough to touch you."

You tilted your head. "Oh?"

He scoffed, arrogance snapping back into place like armor. "If anything," he continued coldly, "it'd be you crawling over here. Begging me. Crying for me to fuck you."

You stared at him for a moment—then laughed, actually laughed. "You're unbelievable. Completely delusional."

"Tch. You're enjoying this way too much," he shot back.

"Why wouldn't I?" you replied sweetly, stretching just enough to irritate him. "I married into the Zen'in clan. I deserve the best baths."

"You're spoiled," he muttered.

"So are you."

That earned him a sharp glare, but he didn't deny it. He sank a little deeper into the water, jaw tight. "You talk too much."

"And you stare too much."

"...Watch it."

You leaned back again, eyes half-lidded, clearly pleased. "You're cute when you're flustered."

"I'm not flustered."

"You're red," you poke his cheek

"It's the heat."

You smiled wider. "Sure it is."

The estate was quieter after the onsen, the air carrying the faint scent of minerals and clean linen. You changed into a pale yukata, hair still damp but neatly brushed, sleeves folded just right. The kind of appearance that drew approval without trying.

Naoya noticed the shift immediately as you walked beside him toward the dining hall, steps measured, hands folded loosely in front of you.

"Don't overdo it," he muttered without looking at you.

You blinked. "Overdo... what?"

He clicked his tongue. "That act."

"I'm just being polite," you replied gently.

That answer annoyed him more than a lie would have.

Dinner was already laid out when you arrived. A few elders were seated, conversation low and restrained. When you bowed, it wasn't deep or dramatic—just correct. Respectful. The kind of bow that said I know where I stand, not I'm trying to impress you.

"Good evening," you said softly.

Several heads turned. One of the older women smiled at once. "Ah. Naoya's wife."

You stepped slightly closer to Naoya, not touching him, but close enough to read as unity. "I hope I'm not late."

"Not at all," an elder replied. "Please, sit."

You waited just a second until Naoya took his seat first. That detail didn't go unnoticed. As the meal progressed, you spoke little. When you did, it was brief, thoughtful. You asked about the food, praised it once without excess, listened more than you talked. When tea needed pouring, you reached for the pot naturally, not hurried, not eager.

Naoya watched from the corner of his eye, irritation creeping in.

"You've adapted quickly," one of the elders said. "Life here isn't easy."

You smiled faintly. "I'm still learning. But I don't want to cause trouble."

Naoya scoffed quietly. Causing trouble was exactly what you were good at—when no one else was watching.

Someone laughed softly. "You're considerate. That's rare."

You dipped your head. "I was raised to be."

Naoya's chopsticks paused midair. Raised to be? You'd been bratty in the onsen less than an hour ago.

When the conversation shifted to clan matters, you went quiet again, eyes lowered—not out of submission, but discretion. You knew when not to speak. That, more than anything, earned respect.

To everyone else, you were the picture of an ideal wife. A gentle young woman who knew her place You spoke softly, bowed when expected, and never contradicted your husband in public. You walked a step behind Naoya.  But to Naoya it annoyed him. as you weren't so sweet and nice to him during Onsen. 

However at night Naoya real test began now.

 As per The challenge he won't touch you without your consent untill you don't kneel down and begged him to fuck every inch of your damn body for that  he need to be self controlled make sure you get in your place. 

however you slept in futon as if you own the place. He barely get any space in his side as you kept rolling into him. Finally he somehow sleep he feel something your chest was pressing his back it give him shocked feeling but didn't complain as you look so adorable.

But the moment he lay down, his confidence took its first hit.

You sprawled across the futon as if it belonged to you, limbs loose and unbothered, rolling freely in your sleep. Every time he shifted, you somehow followed, stealing more of his space without even waking. By the time he realized it, he was clinging to the very edge of his side, jaw clenched in irritation.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath. Sometime later, he almost sleep until Your chest was pressed against his back, now, close enough that he could feel your warmth, the soft weight of you settled there without permission. He can fell your body   His breath caught in surprise, instinct screaming at him to shove you away.

But he can't after all You looked peaceful.  Innocent in a way that made complaining feel ridiculous. Naoya clicked his tongue quietly, staring at the wall. Because he couldn't very well scold you for something you were doing in your sleep.

Next day he woke up not to some chipping of birds but to the smell that didn't belong it wasnt exactly foul but more like a burning of something.  He was on his feet instantly, sliding the side door open and stepping outside. The sight in the courtyard made his breath hitch in disbelief.

A pile of fabric smoldered near the stone path. which seems like your kimonos  Every one of them reduced to blackened silk and ash.

You were crouched on the ground in a wrinkled yukata, hair completely loose, sleeves slipping down your arms, crying like your life had ended while poking at the fire with a stick like it had personally betrayed you.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, storming toward you. "Have you completely lost your mind?!"

He grabbed your wrist and yanked you to your feet, grip tight, temper worse.

"Burning your clothes? In the middle of the estate?" His voice rose with every word. "Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you've caused me?!"

"I—I'm sorry," you choked, barely able to stand as tears spilled freely. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't give me excuses!" Naoya snapped. "You act all proper in front of everyone, and then you pull something this stupid—"

"I hated them," you cried. "They were suffocating ugly and cheep."

"They were clothes," he barked. "Not a curse object."

The shouting carried. Too far. Servants came running first, then members of the clan, panic spreading fast as whispers flew—Fire? The estate? They gathered at the quarters only to find Naoya towering over you, shouting, while you stood trembling in a messed-up yukata, sobbing openly.

But soon, everyone parted as Naobito entered. He took one look at the fire, then at you, and then at his son, who was yelling like a spoiled tyrant first thing in the morning. Naobito’s gaze snapped to him.

“Enough.”

Naoya, annoyed, tried to rebel. “Old man, this doesn’t concern you—”

But Naobito’s voice boomed over him. “You’re my guest,” he said to you, calmer now. “And my friend’s daughter. You will not be made to cry in this house.”

You bowed your head slightly. "I'm sorry for causing trouble."

Naoya clenched his jaw. "You're enjoying this."

Naobito turned back to his son. "Lower your voice. You're married man now. Act like it."

Naoya laughed under his breath. "You have no idea what you married me to."

You stepped closer to Naobito, keeping your posture perfect, voice soft and gentle. “Please don’t be angry,” you whispered. “I’ll behave.” Then you bowed deeply. “I’m so sorry, Naoya-sama. It’s all my fault… I guess we were just… being ourselves.”

Naobito’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the stern lines of his face easing. “You… you remind me of Udo,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “A calm, proper lady. I’m grateful to see that my only friend’s daughter has grown into someone like you… and that I’ve found someone like you for my spoiled, arrogant son.”

Naoya, naturally, barely seemed to care. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression a perfect mask of bored irritation. “Mm,” he muttered, not looking particularly impressed.

Naobito’s gaze snapped to his son, cane tapping sharply on the floor. “And you! Stop standing there like an idiot! Show some respect! She is your wife now, and I will not have you embarrassing her!”

Naoya clicked his tongue lazily. “Relax, old man. She’s fine. I’ll survive,” he said with a smirk, clearly unconcerned.

Naobito didn’t flinch. “Enough of your nonsense. You’re going to the market with her. Buy your wife what she needs. Be a man for once in your life.”

Naoya froze, incredulous. “You’re serious?”

“Very serious,” Naobito said, voice flat and unyielding. “Consider it… character building.”

Naoya clicked his tongue again, muttering under his breath, but he knew there was no arguing with that tone. Finally, he exhaled and shot you a look somewhere between irritation and reluctant surrender. “Fine. Let’s go. But if you buy half the city, don’t expect me to carry your bags.”

You tilted your head sweetly, bowing once more. “Thank you, Naoya-sama. I promise to behave… mostly.”

He rolled his eyes but reached out his arm for you, letting you link with him as you left the estate. Even as he grumbled about spoiled daughters of jujutsu families, there was a hint of reluctant amusement in his eyes—you had already managed to make him a little… compliant.

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Tags: @bimboo444, @blssfljjk, @alebrasil0101, @chososcupoftea

Tags are open if anyone else interesting message or comment

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To be continued..

[suksatoru]

002. DANDELIONS

Garden work is a good skill to teach your students for a number of reasons—children have small, pudgy hands that are clumsy and uncoordinated at times, so teaching them how to plant flowers in the ground slowly but surely allows them to build patience and nurturing tendencies. The weather is warm out today, the sun bright in the sky and offering everyone a blanket of glittering gold—and you’re happy to be able to say that the entire class is in high spirits.

The children are each equipped with a small gardening apron and gloves, and they all sport their own hats from home as they run around and play in the grass field adjacent to the garden, waiting for their turn with you. Right now, you and Shoto sit crouched in the field of blooming flowers with the page of a small book pinched between your fingertips.

“Do you see this root system in the diagram, Shoto? These roots are deep, just what plants need to grow big and strong! We want to make sure our plants have enough space to do that, so, let's make this hole in the soil just a little bit deeper, alright?” you offer, and Shoto nods in understanding before digging his shovel back into the ground, lips pinched together in focus as he worked dutifully to follow your instructions. You smile at his enthusiasm, prepared to ask him if he’s chosen which flower he wants to plant before you hear a shout come from behind you

“Shoootoooo. And Miss Pretty!”

You turn around in surprise at the sound of his voice, and Touya’s grin stretches wide as he waves a hand in greeting. His eyes take in your appearance next—adorable floral overalls and a dazzling smile—before he steps carefully into the garden, hand reaching out to ruffle Shoto’s hair

“Look what you forgot at home, kid.” Touya announces as Shoto’s eyes widen, shovel dropping from his hand as he quickly reaches for his lunchbox

“No way, Touya-nii! I remember putting it in my bag..” Shoto murmurs in confusion, but Touya shrugs with feigned innocence as he looks away

“You sure? You must’ve forgotten it Sho’… not very good behavior, is it Miss Pretty?” Touya drawls, and you laugh as you shake your head

“Don’t worry about it, Shoto. Why don’t you go put it back inside so it doesn’t get dirty out here in the garden?” you offer gently, and Shoto’s pout melts away as he nods slowly, standing up and taking his lunchbox with him back towards the classroom. Touya lets out a laugh at Shoto’s retreating figure, and it’s then when you finally notice his appearance

He’s sporting a simple black shirt, but the pants he wears are a loose and deep beige. It’s the belt that loops around his waist that has you peering up at him in surprise

“I didn’t know you were a firefighter!”

Your smile is bright and curious, starry-eyed in a way that has Touya’s pride blooming, and he smirks as he hooks a thumb over his shoulder

“I was actually just heading over to the station. Figured I’d drop off Shoto’s lunch on the way there. Looks like you guys are… digging for worms?” he questions with a tilt of his head, and you laugh

“Planting flowers, but close. Do you want to see how well one of Shoto’s has grown?” you suddenly question, and the hopeful smile on your face is too precious for Touya to turn down—so, he nods his head, kneeling beside you on the grass.

You peer around the ground surrounding you, and Touya watches as you pull forward a small potted plant with a flower blooming from its center in the soil. The petals of it are soft and a deep shade of orange, small dew drops hanging from the curved leaves as they wink in the sunlight, and you hold it up with a proud smile

“Shoto worked very hard on making sure it got watered on time every day. He’s one of the few students who understood the entire concept of photosynthesis, too!”

Touya leans closer to look at his little brother’s creation, a genuine smile coming over his face as he huffs out a laugh

“I’m not surprised. That brat always puts his all into whatever he does.” Touya murmurs fondly, and you nod before carefully setting the plant back down

“Well, I’d also like to hear about you being a firefighter! When did you become one?” you question, and Touya smiles at your genuine interest. He hates small talk more than anything because of how pointless it feels, but the glimmer of excitement in your eyes as you lean towards him is all he needs to know that you truly were interested in what he had to say. He hums, looking away in thought before speaking

“Hm… well, when I was a kid, we had an accident that could've ended a lot worse for my family if the town’s fire department hadn’t responded so quickly. They were real heroes for me and my family that day and I… I guess I was inspired. It’s a really cool thing for a sixteen year old to see, you know? That day changed a lot of things for me.” Touya says wistfully, a faraway look in his eyes as you sit and listen beside him quietly

“I’m the oldest one in my family too, and work was something I needed to do to help my mom out—I guess it all started from there but… I really do fuckin’ love it. Glad you asked,” Touya murmurs, and he finally turns to look back at you 

For a moment, he thinks you might pry—ask him if the fire was where he lost his arm, or maybe even question his father’s whereabouts because of his lack of mention in the story—but you don’t.

“That’s a very selfless reason to become a firefighter. Shoto must be so proud to have such a cool older brother,” you tease, and a grin overtakes Touya’s face when your shoulder gently bumps against his own

“Miss Pretty thinks I’m cool? Now that is a feat,” he smirks, and you look away with a laugh at his words. Touya takes a moment to admire you—the bright pink gardening gloves you wear and the worn-out converse on your feet match you well, and when his gaze catches onto the way your eyes seem to light up at the sight of Shoto running back towards the two of you, something warm like sunshine spills into the cavity of his chest.

Shoto’s still tugging back on his gardening gloves as he sits down beside you, and he looks up at Touya with squinted eyes

“Why are you still here, nii-chan?” Shoto questions, and you laugh as Touya rolls his eyes

“Jeez, you really want me to leave that badly?” he asks, and Shoto’s eyes widen a bit as he quickly shakes his head

“N-No, that’s not what I meant… I thought you had to go to work!” Shoto accuses, and Touya winces at the reminder of where he was supposed to be

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll head out in a few minutes, alright? How about I watch you plant this and then go?” he proposes, and Shoto seems to ponder the thought before eventually nodding his head in agreement. Touya grins and gets comfortable on the ground beside you, close enough that his thigh is almost brushing your own, and he grins cheekily at the way you react when his hand casually grazes yours—he’s not sure if the flush dusting your cheekbones is from the heat or from him, but he’s happy regardless to see the sight.

One thing he notices as you work is that you’re unbelievably gentle with Shoto. Touya watches quietly as you guide his baby brother’s hands and teach him exactly how to treat the soil and plant his flower, and he finds himself leaning closer to watch you work. There’s a sudden moment where a ladybug crawls onto the back of Shoto’s hand, and you quickly call over one of the children to come see

“Izuku really likes ladybugs,” you tell Touya before a little boy with green curls and a freckled face appears from behind you, shyly greeting Touya before his eyes zero in on Shoto’s hand

“S-Shoto-kun! It’s a ladybug!” he whispers in a hushed voice, and you and Izuku both peer over Shoto’s hand eagerly

“Izuku, why don’t you show Shoto how we help out our smaller friends?” you ask, and Izuku’s entire face lights up at your words before he shuffles closer to Shoto. Touya watches the entire interaction, unsure when he blinked and his brother went from barely being able to say hello to strangers to having actual friends. Touya’s gaze flits to you for a moment after that thought, but you’re too occupied with the two boys in front of you to notice it.

“Bring your hand near that leaf. ‘kay…’kay… look!” Izuku whispers with wide eyes, and you watch the ladybug crawl off of Shoto’s hand and onto the plant his hand had wavered near. The two boys fall into a heap of giggles and sweet laughter, and the ladybug disappears into the mass of green around you a moment later. 

“Miss! Did you know my momma is making ladybug-themed cookies for the bake sale?” Izuku questions, smiling as you let out a surprised "ooo!"

“That’s great to hear, Izuku! Shoto, will you be attending the bake sale this year?” you question as you turn towards the little boy, and Shoto offers a small smile as he shrugs

“Uh… I’m not sure.” He says quietly, and Touya frowns before he nudges his little brother with the back of his hand

“Hey, whady’a mean you’re not sure?” Touya questions, and Shoto looks away with a small pout on his face

“It’s on a Saturday…”

Ah. That was the one day of the week their mother went to her therapy session. Is that why Shoto thought he couldn’t go?

“Well, I can take you.” Touya grumbles, but he understands why Shoto hadn’t asked him to once his little brother turns to him with a sassy remark

“You don’t know how to bake. You burned your cheesecake the last time you tried baking, remember, nii-chan?”

This comment sparks a sudden burst of laughter from you, and Shoto blinks at the sound before a confused smile overtakes his face

“That was one time years ago, Sho’. And I was trying to surprise Mom! Where were you again? Right, in dreamland, drooling and snoring away.” Touya huffs, and Shoto turns towards you insistently

“He woke us all up with the fire alarm!”

You laugh again at Shoto’s words and Touya watches the way your shoulders shake from the movement. Izuku observes as the three of you interact with his own quiet giggles and beaming smile—and soon enough he’s tugging on Shoto’s sleeve, asking him questions about the incident as Touya calls for you

“Hey, I’ll bring him in for that bake sale. We can have our sister help us if the brat’s so worried about me burning his treats or whatever. When is it?” Touya questions as he stands, and just as you shift onto your knees and get ready to stand yourself, he offers you his hand. 

You meet his eyes, but he’s already looking at you with a barely concealed grin. You take his hand, and it’s warm. It’s strong and it’s calloused, no doubt from the demanding labor that comes in his field, but it curls around yours carefully, and he pulls you onto your feet gently despite it all.

“Next week at five. It’ll be hosted inside the classroom, and you can bring whatever dessert you’re up to making!” You respond, and Touya nods as he looks towards Shoto

“You hear that, Shoto?” Touya questions, and Shoto nods quickly

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you then,” you smile

“Even if I end up burning whatever the hell it is we’re supposed to bake?”

“Even then.”

Touya grins at your response, but your attention is taken away when Izuku asks you a question and points towards the field outside the garden. He takes hold of your hand, tugging you along, and you offer Touya a small wave over your shoulder before you’re led away

Before Touya can say goodbye to you, he feels Shoto’s hand tug on his wrist. He peers down, and his brother peers up with round eyes

“Thank you, nii-chan.”

“Thank you for what?” Touya prompts teasingly

“You know, lunch, and…and the bake sale.” Shoto murmurs, and his arms wrap around Touya’s waist in a hug a moment later as he hides his face in the fabric of his big brother’s shirt. Touya huffs, grabbing hold of the nape of Shoto’s neck and rubbing a knuckle into the crown of his head as Shoto lets out a rare giggle before ducking away

“Bye, nii-chan. Have a good day.” Shoto says, and he's waving and running after you and Izuku a moment later, slipping his hand into your own as you lead the pair back to the rest of the class

Touya watches the three of you walk away, an unknown feeling rooting itself deep in his chest as he turns and walks back to his car. There's a moment right before he reaches the vehicle where he turns around to look for you, and even though you're so far away that he can barely make out your form—the unmistakable sound of your voice doesn’t go unheard by him—carried by the breeze and music to his ears the moment it reaches him.

Sweet. The sound of your voice is so, so sweet.

DANDELIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; IT'S TOUYA DAYYY!! let's all hold hands and sing happy birthday <3

tags; @nekobiii

[camgirlallegedly]

TOO HOT TO FIRE

〃contains: pro hero!dabi x pro hero!reader, enemies to lovers, functional todoroki family 😭😭, brief mentions of reader having a spider quirk (basically spidergirl)

working at endeavor's agency was supposed to be a career move— a serious one. long hours, impossible standards, and possibly enough fire-related OSHA violations to last your next 3 lifetimes. but hey, atleast it meant proximity to the top of hero society.

however, what you did not sign up for was touya todoroki.

endeavor's son. hotter flames— blue flames to be exact, unfairly attractive, and even more unfairly arrogant. he's been embedded in the agency since his UA days. being trained in-house, fast-tracked, and molded under his father’s watchful eye has clearly gotten to his head after all these years.

touya knows the building, the system, and his own untouchable status far too well, and he wears that familiarity in the form of an intolerable smirk.

you wish you could say touya todoroki was the worst thing about this place. but unfortunately, surviving the transition from russia to japan— and the heat that came with it had already consumed most of your patience.

cold was something you were raised inside of. it shaped your mornings and nights, your training, and hell, even the way you breathed. you'd learned how to move efficiently through it, how to see, smell, and touch through the cold, how to ignore the ache in your bones long enough to finish your hero work.

heat, on the other hand, demanded attention.

japan greeted you with it the moment you stepped off the plane— heavy, humid, clinging in a way the cold never did. it pressed against your skin, seeped into your clothes, and quite literally followed you indoors.

endeavor's agency was... something.

the headquarters radiated heat in a way that made your skin prickle. not just from the climate, but from the people inside it. fire-based quirks were common here— encouraged, even. and the temperature reflected that. (not that you could even tell if that was normal, since you were too used to the cold.)

his office was exactly what you had expected. large but minimal, with warm lighting of the sunset seeping through the glass windows. flames curled steadily from his shoulders, filling the space with heat that pressed against your skin like a challenge.

he reviewed your file in silence.

“your performance metrics are high,” he said at last. “combat efficiency. quirk control. decision-making.” a pause. “no deficiencies.”

you nodded once, relief filling your body as if you didn't already know your own performance.

“there is one concern,” endeavor continued, eyes lifting to meet yours. “heat tolerance.”

you didn't argue, you already knew. "i'm adjusting, sir." you pause before opening your mouth to speak again. "since my webs are organic, prolonged exposure to open flame breaks them down. still, they can withstand high temperatures up to a point— after that, fire degrades the fibers faster."

“i’m aware.” he gave a little hum of acknowledgment. “which is why you’ll be assigned to work closely with one of my operatives. his specialization makes him.. suitable for acclimation.”

that caught your attention.

"he's currently on assignment," endeavor added. "across the country. he'll return in a few days."

of course.

“until then,” he said, setting your file aside, “you’ll familiarize yourself with the agency. patrol observation. local response protocols. civilian operations.” his gaze sharpened. “and the environment.”

in other words: adapt faster.

"yes, sir."

“your results suggest you won’t need long,” endeavor said. “don’t prove me wrong.”

that was dismissal enough.

you left his office with a single thought circling your mind. you were already exceeding expectations, and someone was being brought in specifically to push you further.

for now though, you had time— time to adjust, time to learn japan— and apparently time before meeting the person endeavor thought could handle heat better than anyone else.

working alongside endeavor's sidekicks was surprisingly seamless, even though you weren't taking on real missions just yet. your favorite was burnin. she was was loud and relentlessly energetic, but she watched you closely, quick to adjust formations the moment she realized you didn’t need babysitting.

you kept up.

"good run, you're terrifying in alleyways." she told you, which earned her an earnest smile from you.

"high praise," you huff out a laugh.

by the end of the week, assessments were already being updated, and you were working on your latest report.

until.. a sharp tone cut through the agency’s background noise.

"MISSION COMPLETION" plastered bright on a few screens, return confirmed, ETA logged. one name flashed briefly before disappearing into internal routing.

burnin's expression shifted to amusement. "looks like he's back," she said, glancing in your direction.

"huh? who's back?" your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the 'operative' you were supposed to be working with completely slipped your mind.

kido checked his tablet once, then looked up. "you're scheduled to meet him, actually."

oh right.. the one deemed 'suitable for acclimation.'

"eighteenth floor," burnin added. "try not to kill each other."

a sigh leaves your lips as you run a hand down your face. you've had a long day and now burnin is saying this? what type of guy was he? "that feels.. uneccessary to say."

still, as you watched the numbers on the elevator go up, a strange tension settled in your chest. you’d handled the agency. the sidekicks.. but whoever this was— he sounded like a problem.

and something told you this adjustment would be intolerable.

unfortunately, you were right.

standing riiight outside the door, you were trying to calm your nerves before knocking, which should’ve been uneventful.

instead..

“—i don’t see why this can’t wait until tomorrow,”

the voice was tired, and unmistakably annoyed. way too comfortable arguing with endeavor to just be a random sidekick.

“i just got back,” he continues. his voice was a little raspy too. “four days, no sleep. if this is about ‘acclimation’ or whatever, i can do it tomorrow.”

there’s a pause.

then endeavor, sounding oddly restrained..

“this won’t take long, touya.”

“that’s what you said about the last ‘quick meeting’,” the voice fires back. “it took two hours and it ended with both of us facing mom’s wrath for missing dinner.”

you blink. mom? dinner?

“you need rest,” endeavor says, and for the first time since your arrival japan, he doesn’t sound like a top hero. he sounds like a man trying very hard to say the right thing. “but this is important.”

a scoff. "everything's important to you."

“you’re the best fit for this,” endeavor says. “your heat tolerance is unmatched. you’ve trained for this environment since—”

“since birth?” the voice cuts in. “yeah, i know. you bring it up all the time.”

your spine straightens slightly. you feel bad for eavesdropping but.. they're expecting someone so… this one's really on them.

endeavor exhales— like actually exhales. and it’s almost.. awkward?

“i’m trying to say,” he continues, slower now, “that you’re uniquely qualified. and i trust you.”

silence.

then, incredulous laughter.

“wow,” the voice says. “you could’ve just said that without making it weird, dad.”

you freeze.

'dad..?'

before you can process that revelation, the voice adds, louder now, “also, you’re really underselling the part where this new sidekick is already passing every assessment and doesn’t need me babysitting her.”

endeavor clears his throat. “she’s adapting well. exceptionally, actually. this assignment isn’t corrective— it’s strategic.”

“mmhm. sure.” a beat. “does she know she’s being paired with your son, or is that part of the surprise package?”

your stomach drops.

endeavor's son.

the door slides open before you can knock. before you can pretend you didn't hear any of that.

touya todoroki stands there, blue eyes that matched endeavor's, sharp with exhaustion and something so dangerously close to amusement. he looks down at you, takes you in, and then smirks.

“…well,” he says. “this is awkward.”

behind him, endeavor looks between the two of you, visibly bracing himself. he realizes his mistake the second he processes you're there. not a mistake. all of them. at once.

you straighten immediately, putting on your best poker face— like you’ve just materialized out of thin air instead of standing there long enough to learn half of the todoroki family's lore.

“—you’ve been waiting,” endeavor says, unnecessarily loud.

“yes, sir,” you reply smoothly. too smoothly. “i just arrived, sorry if i kept you two waiting.” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from cracking up.

you mentally cursed yourself for your damned self-sabotaging habit of laughing when you lied.

touya snorts.

“good,” endeavor says, nodding once, clearly clinging to procedure for dear life. “good. that’s… good.”

touya leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, as his eyes drag over you with blatant curiosity.

“just arrived, huh?” he repeats. “crazy timing.”

you meet his gaze without blinking. “sorry, i don't follow? i apologize again for taking so long to arrive. it seems like you were about to leave.”

oh man, you wonder if you were selling this act or if you were absolutely selling this act.

endeavor clears his throat. again. louder this time.

“(y/n), this is—” he starts, then stops. starts again. “this is touya. he’ll be assisting with your heat tolerance training.”

touya raises a brow. “assisting. wow. that what we’re calling it now?”

“this meeting is happening now,” endeavor snaps, then immediately softens his tone like he remembers this is, unfortunately, his child. “because efficiency matters.”

touya grins. “sure, dad.”

the silence that follows is deafening.

endeavor pinches the bridge of his nose.

“i could have worded that better,” he mutters. then, louder, “you’re both dismissed. brief introductions only. get to know each other during your own time.”

"touya's your son, sir?" you air out, not really a question, but just to really clarify. because this sure as hell doesn't feel real.

"my eldest." endeavor nods, "also, (y/n), i'd appreciate if you helped touya work on his close combat skills aswell." he adds. "i'll leave you two to it." quickly closing the office door before touya could turn around to give him another one of his smartass responses.

touya clicks his tongue before he pushes off the wall and steps closer, just short of your personal space. “so,” he starts. “you’re the one who’s ‘passing with flying colors.’”

you nod politely, using every braincell you had to not bitch slap him and run off. "so i've been told."

“uh-huh.” his smile widens. “and you definitely didn’t hear anything you weren’t supposed to.”

“of course not,” you say, deadpan. “i just got here.”

all the cringe videos you watched trying to practice your poker face are really coming in clutch right now.

behind the office door, endeavor exhales. deeply regretful.

this was supposed to be simple.

instead, he’s paired his most promising new operative with his most difficult son, and neither of you look even remotely inclined to make it easy.

the both of you start making your way to the elevator, and you're so ready to just get this over with and jump into your bed.

but for touya, the same couldn't be said. how could he want to return home now when there's such a cute face right infront of him? especially one that's supposed to learn from him— take his orders.

"russia," he says, stepping into the elevator after you.

"japan." you cross your arms, leaning back onto the cold metal wall of the elevator. you eye him, who was leaning on the opposite wall, hands in his pockets.

he snorts. "fair."

you decide to test the waters, since it didn't seem like he was one to respect workplace professionalism. "looks like i hit the jackpot," you said sarcastically. "endeavor's son helping me get stronger? i've been truly blessed."

"yeah yeah," he replies, lazy grin already in place. "keep your panties on, babe. it's temporary."

"first of all, ew. second of all, not your babe," you give him a face of disapproval. "but good. i don't like uneccessary supervision."

that gets his attention.

his eyes sharpen, the amusement shifting into something more alert. “supervision,” he repeats. “that what you think this is?”

“you’re here because you’re heat-resistant,” you say calmly. “not because i need help with my work.”

touya snickers, his piercings glinting from the overhead lights. "wow. flew halfway across the world to insult your boss's son?"

“i flew halfway across the world to do my job,” you correct. “wouldn't waste my breath insulting a nepo-baby. plus, you're incidental.”

he grins wider, clearly delighted. “oh, i like you already.”

you don't return the sentiment.

because before either of you can esclalate, the sound of the elevator chiming interrupted as it reached the ground floor. the doors slid open to the cool night air filtering in through the lobby— mercifully cooler than inside. you stepped out first, not looking back.

the city's nightlife was one thing you liked about this place. the neon lights were beautiful. you pause long enough to orient yourself.

behind you, touya spoke again. "guess i'll be seeing you tomorrow."

"unfortunately," you glance over your shoulder.

he smiles lazily, sharp around the edges. "try not to miss me."

you didn't bother stopping as you walked away.

"i'll do my best." you reply coolly.

you could hear him huff out a laugh behind you and muttering something you couldn't quite hear over the traffic and voices overlapping in the language you were still learning to fully navigate.

tomorrow was going to be a long day.

you’d hoped first impressions would be the worst of it— that whatever irritation touya todoroki sparked would dull with familiarity. instead, it only sharpened.

your first mission together made that abundantly clear.

it went sideways almost immediately.

touya didn’t wait for confirmation before engaging. blue fire tearing through the space with reckless efficiency, forcing you to abandon what little structure you’d planned. you compensated on instinct, working around the heat, adapting faster than you should’ve had to.

somehow, it worked. the damage was contained, civilians were safe, and every hostile was accounted for.

that didn’t make it acceptable.

"subtlety isn't your thing?" you muttered into the comms, grimace on your face as you swung on your web around the site to assess damages.

"still breathing, aren't you?" he shot back. "plus, this shitty warehouse was gonna get demolished anyway. saved the workers a days worth."

the argument started the moment you were out of earshot of the news reporters.

“what the hell's your problem?” you said, trying to hold back the urge to just punch him right in the back of his head. "do you not understand the concept of waiting?"

touya scoffed. “waiting gets people hurt.”

“rushing does too,” you retort, now running a hand down your face. “you spiked the temperature past my tolerance threshold.”

“and you adjusted,” he snapped. “that’s literally what you’re here for.”

you stopped walking.

he turned, surprised to find you no longer following.

“i’m here to do my job,” you said evenly, though your pulse hadn’t settled at all. “not to clean up after yours.”

for a moment, the air between you felt heavier than the heat. dangerous in a way neither of you were used to. touya’s flames flickered, responding to something heavier than anger.

“you think i don’t know what i’m doing?” he asked, voice low.

“no. i think you don’t care who has to adapt around you,” you replied. “there’s a difference.”

silence.

then, unexpectedly, touya laughed— not mocking this time.

“…you’re the first person who’s said that to my face.”

that should’ve defused it.

(it really didn’t.)

“next time,” he said, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours, “say it before the mission.”

your jaw tightened. “how about.. you try listening for once.”

the tension lingered long after the argument ended— unresolved and uncomfortable.

because now it wasn’t just irritation.

you don’t realize it’s a problem until you found yourself being slowed down by a crowd. it was already irritating enough that improving your heat resistance means staying in touya’s vicinity nearly all the time— but somehow, he makes it 100x worse, turning every patrol into a string of petty arguments and unnecessary commentary.

the stares come first, and the attention comes with him.

people recognize touya instantly. phones are already out before anyone gets close, whispers spreading faster than you can track them. someone else nudges their friend hard enough to nearly knock them over.

"ohmygod, it's dabi!"

touya notices and sighs, like this is mildly inconvenient at best. still, when people approach, his posture shifts— relaxed, open.

“hey,” he says easily when a fangirl greets him. “careful, you’re blocking the sidewalk.” he moves her out of the way with a hand on her waist, a charming grin on his face.

and the fangirls absolutely eat this up. squealing and screaming nearly deafened you.

the girl laughs, flustered but thrilled. then, a few quick words, a few photos. he keeps it light, respectful. which was oddly considerate for him.

and then someone notices you.

“wait,” a voice says. “that’s her.”

you freeze.

phones swing in your direction. cameras zoom. suddenly, you’re no longer standing beside touya— you’re on display.

“she was with him in that warehouse mission!” “she’s new, right?” “she’s foreign— did you hear her accent?”

your chest tightens, forcing a smile. small and polite, hands folding together without you realizing.

“um— hi,” you say softly. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t—”

questions overlap.

“your debut mission was amazing! how does it feel?” “what’s it like working with dabi?” “are you partnering with him permanently?”

touya glances over and steps half a pace closer— not blocking you, but grounding the space.

“relax,” he says calmly. “one at a time. she isn't going anywhere.”

it works immediately.

you blink, then take the opening. “i’m still adjusting,” you say, voice gentle but steady. “but i’m grateful for the support. truly.”

a few people smile. someone says you did great. another waves.

and by the time the crowd thins, your cheeks hurt from smiling and your head is buzzing. but when it hits you, your head snaps towards him.

“..so,” you say, a mean look on your face. “you are capable of being normal.”

touya glances over. “what?”

“with them,” you continue, sharp now. “you’re respectful. you're calm. how come i get— this asshole?”

he snorts. “they didn’t tell me my patrol route was inefficient.”

“that’s because they don’t work with you,” you scoff. “and apparently that’s a prerequisite for you being a dickhead.”

he stops walking.

you do too.

“wow,” he says, genuinely amused. “you jealous, babe?— don't worry. you know i only have eyes for you.” he continues sarcastically.

you cringe at the petname. “of that?” you gesture vaguely back toward where the crowd had been. “please. i just didn’t realize you were only unbearable by choice.”

then, working together becomes routine. a loud one at that.

you’re paired constantly— patrols, drills, debriefs, paperwork that somehow turns into arguments. you clash over routes, over timing, over whose fault it is when something goes wrong (it’s always his, according to you; yours, according to him).

and yet— by the end of the day, the job is done. every time.

you sit across from each other at the conference table, both talking at once, correcting each other mid-sentence. endeavor looks like he's aged 20 years since you and touya were assigned to each other.

“she overcomplicates things,” touya says.

“you oversimplify,” you counter. “if you read and write at a third grade level, just say that and move on.”

“wow,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “didn’t know they trained that in russia.”

“they train literacy,” you reply calmly. “among other things.”

endeavor closes his eyes and clears his throat. "moving on.."

when the meeting finally moves on, touya leans toward you just enough to murmur, “y'know, for someone who hates me, you sure put a lot of thought into insulting me.”

you don’t look at him. “practice.”

his smile lingers far longer than it should. annoyingly, you know he’s enjoying this.

and somehow, despite everything, the metrics improve.

but unfortunately, work has a habit of bleeding into everything else.

rei, touya's mother, brings it up over tea. she doesn't look at him at first, just pours carefully, steam curling between her and touya.

"you're on the news way more lately, it's always so exciting to see." rei says gently.

touya hums. "comes with the job."

"yes," she agrees. then, after a pause, "you aren't alone anymore."

that makes him look up.

"(h/n), was it? the spider girl?" she continues. "she seems polite and thoughtful when she’s interviewed."

"well, don't let looks decieve you, mom," he says flatly. "she's annoying and argues with me constantly."

rei nods like it's acceptable information. "good. you sound fond."

"good?" touya frowns, taking the cup of tea rei places infront of him.

"she argues with you," she smiles softly. "that means she's not afraid of you. not afraid to stand her ground."

touya just stares at his mother as if she's gone crazy. they clearly don't know the same version of the girl they were talking about.

rei finally looks at him. her expression is soft. unyielding.

"i'd like her to come to dinner."

"wha— that's not— why?—"

"because. i'd like to meet the person who stands besides you. and i want to thank her for watching your back." rei says. "also, because you bring her up all the time."

"first of all— i do not," touya tries to explain. "mom— if it weren't for dad forcing me to help her with her damned heat tolerance—"

"you will ask her." rei cuts in, the mom aura™ immediately shutting him up.

"you're impossible..." he exhales after a moment, shaking his head.

"drink your tea before it gets cold," rei smiles, ruffling his white locks and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "i'm looking forward to seeing her."

which was how you found yourself infront of the todoroki estate— trying to calm your nerves before knocking. feels like deja vu.

you don’t dress to impress.

that’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

the sweater is simple—soft, fitted just enough to look intentional without trying too hard. jean shorts because it’s still warm, because you refuse to melt on someone else’s property, and because you don’t want to look like you overthought this.

the door opens before you even get a chance to knock. seriously— it felt like deja vu.

except this time, its touya's mother standing in front of you.

"oh," rei's eyes light up as if you dangled candy infront of a child. "you're here!"

before you can respond, she steps a little closer, taking you in with a gentle, unhurried gaze— not critical, or invasive though. just observant.

“you’re even prettier in person,” rei adds, smiling warmly. “the cameras don’t do you enough justice.”

your brain short-circuits.

“oh—” you laugh, flustered, heat rushing to your face. “thank you, ma’am. that’s very kind of you.”

“touya didn’t exaggerate.” rei hums, clearly pleased. “also, please, call me rei.”

“i absolutely did not say that,” a voice mutters from somewhere behind her.

rei doesn’t even turn around. “you did not deny it either.”

you glance past her just in time to see touya standing in the hallway, arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between resigned and deeply uncomfortable.

your smile widens just a little. “good evening.”

he exhales through his nose. “you look… normal.”

“that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

rei laughs softly, reaching out to guide you inside. “come in, please. you must be tired.”

as you step over the threshold, you feel a shift. the same nerves as before, yes, but softened now by warmth and the unmistakable sense that you’re being welcomed.

behind you, touya closes the door.

rei barely gives you time to recover before ushering you further inside.

“oh, you’re just in time,” she says pleasantly. “everyone’s here.”

'everyone' is not comforting.

you step into the dining area and immediately clock that this is not just a quiet family dinner— it’s a todoroki event.

fuyumi is the first to notice you. she looks up from setting the table and freezes— then beams.

“you must be her!” she says, already crossing the room. “oh my gosh, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

finally is doing a lot of work there.

“i’m fuyumi, this one's natsuo, and the other one's shoto.” she adds quickly, gesturing to them. “i'm touya’s sister. we’ve— uh— we’ve heard a lot about you.”

touya groans from behind you. “no you haven’t.”

“we absolutely have,” natsuo cuts in from his seat, eyeing you with open curiosity. “you’re the spider hero, right? the one who keeps him from blowing things up?”

you smile, a little sheepish. “i try.”

natsuo snorts. “yeah, that tracks.”

before touya can respond, a heavier presence shifts at the head of the table.

you don’t need an introduction to recognize endeavor.

endeavor sits stiff-backed, flames mercifully subdued for once. his gaze sharpens as it lands on you— familiar in a way that makes your spine straighten automatically. (although he's way less intimidating outside of his hero costume). "welcome, (y/n). you're adjusting well, better than expected."

you blink. "thank you, sir."

fuyumi shoots her father a look. “dad. dinner. not a debrief.”

endeavor clears his throat. “…of course.”

rei sets a hand gently on your shoulder. “please, sit. you’re our guest.”

you take the seat touya pulls out— grudgingly polite, like he’s doing it on principle rather than instinct. when you sit, he takes the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows nearly brush.

you settle into the chair, smoothing your sweater instinctively as rei moves around the table, setting dishes down. the quiet hum of conversation starts up again. it soft, overlapping, domestic in a way you’re not used to.

you’re just starting to relax when—

“can i ask you something?”

the voice is calm. direct.

you turn to find shoto looking at you with polite focus, he even had heterochromatic eyes.

“of course,” you say.

“i’ve seen your patrol footage,” he continues evenly. “your movement is very efficient. you change direction mid-air without losing speed.”

touya groans beside you. “oh my god, not this.”

shoto doesn’t even glance at him.

“is that purely quirk-based,” he asks you, “or is it something you trained?”

you were surprised, but not uncomfortable. “training. my webs helps with momentum, but the control comes from repetition."

and you hesitate for half a second, then offer, “if you want, i could show you sometime. just drills.”

touya stiffens. “absolutely not.”

shoto tilts his head, half slurping on his soba noodles. “why?”

“she’s busy,” touya says flatly.

shoto returns to his food, satisfied, like the matter is settled. you exhale quietly, realizing your shoulders have dropped somewhere along the way.

you turn to touya. “i can decide that.”

natsuo snorts. “wow. she’s already family.”

“eat,” their mother says gently, and the argument dies on the spot.

after eating, conversation flows from there— easier than you expect. questions about russia, about what foods you missed. you even learned that natsuo was currently visiting from college, and fuyumi was an elementary school teacher.

when the plates are cleared, conversation softening into something looser, easier. fuyumi offers to help rei in the kitchen, natsuo disappears muttering about something having to meet up with his friends, endeavor retreats into silence like he’s powering down for the night, and shoto heading to bed.

you’re mid-sip of tea when rei turns to you again, eyes bright.

“come,” rei says gently. “i want to show you something.”

touya flinches immediately. “no.”

rei pauses. “you don’t know what i’m showing.”

“yes, i do,” he says flatly. “and no.”

she smiles at him the way mothers do when resistance has already been accounted for. “it will only take a moment.”

you hesitate, glancing between them. “i— um—”

rei takes your hand lightly, already guiding you toward the sitting room. “it’s nothing important,” she says. “just memories.”

“mom,” touya warns behind you. “i am begging you.”

that’s when you know it’s already over.

she sits you down and pulls out a worn photo album, opening it with careful hands.

“oh.”

the first photo is bad. the second is worse.

touya, mid-tantrum, arms crossed, face scrunched in fury— caught forever in the act of being dramatically upset about something no one remembers.

you choke on a laugh. “you looked like a little— something. i don't know what, but something..”

touya groans from the doorway. “well get this, idiot, i was a child.”

rei hums. “a very expressive one.”

“that picture is not for public viewing,” touya snaps. trying to snatch away that damn photo album from your grip.

you glance up at him, grinning and dodging all of his pathetic attempts. “aww, but you were adorable.”

he points at you. “do not side with her.”

and that’s when you realize you absolutely can.

you turn back to rei, instantly softening your expression, hands folding together like you’ve never argued a day in your life.

“i’m sorry,” you say sweetly. “i just think it’s really precious that he was so… passionate.”

touya stares. “you are lying.”

rei smiles at you like she sees exactly what you’re doing— and approves.

“he was,” she agrees warmly. “very passionate.”

you nod earnestly. “you can tell he cared a lot.”

touya exhales sharply. “it's like everyone's against me..”

rei flips another page.

you lean in closer, eyes bright and entirely unrepentant.

and watching you laugh with his mother— comfortable and unafraid— touya realizes something far worse than embarrassment has occurred.

you’re winning.

which meant that it was time for you to go.

“you should probably head out,” he says, already standing like this has been decided. “it’s late.”

"oh, right. i'm so sorry for keeping you so long, dear." rei hums thoughtfully. “touya will walk you home.”

you wave your hands infront of your face, not wanting rei to apologize. “oh— really, it’s okay. i can—”

“she can literally swing across the city,” touya cuts in, gesturing at you. “with webs. on buildings. she’ll be fine.”

rei looks at him. just once.

touya opens his mouth. closes it immediately. and you bite back a smile.

“i don’t mind walking,” you offer, entirely innocent. “if it’s not too much trouble, touya...”

he glares at you. “you’re enjoying this.”

rei smiles at both of you. “be back soon.”

it’s not a request.

five minutes later, you’re standing outside the todoroki estate again— cool night air, city lights humming in the distance— with touya beside you.

“unbelievable,” he mutters.

you glance at him as you bend down to tie your shoes. “what?”

“she knows you can get home on your own,” he says. “this is on purpose.”

you shrug, stifling a laugh. “mothers know best.”

touya scoffs— but doesn’t argue, just shoves you softly into the direction of the road.

and as you start down the quiet street together, you realize this is the first time you’ve been alone with him outside of work.

“y'know,” you say casually, “you’re not that bad when your mom’s around.”

touya snorts. “wow. high praise coming from you.”

“i’m serious,” you add, glancing at him. “she keeps you in check.”

he shoots you a look. “she absolutely does not.”

“you behaved,” you hum. “almost no arguing. no commentary. barely any attitude.”

“that’s because she raised me,” he mutters, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. (well it was..)

“and yet,” you continue, undeterred, “i still get this.. version.”

he smirks. “yeah? lucky you.”

you bump his shoulder lightly as you walk. “so what, you save the asshole personality just for me?”

"mm. special treatment just for you, babe." which earned him a harder nudge from you.

after giving him a quick 'ew', you walk a few steps in silence, then slow just enough to glance at him sideways.

“hey,” you start.

"what now?" touya sighs. “you're even more talkative tonight.”

“you said i looked… normal,” you continue, like this just occurred to you.

he stiffens. just barely. “and?”

you tilt your head, innocent. “you think i just looked normal?” he doesn’t answer right away. so you push. “not even a little pretty?”

“don’t start.”

“i’m just asking,” you say lightly. “i got dressed up and everything.”

“that sweater was.. fine.”

“fine,” you repeat. “woww.”

he scratches the back of his neck, irritation creeping in. “you want a performance review now?”

you grin. "yeah sure, why not?"

he exhales, looking straight ahead. “you looked good. okay?”

you beam. “good?”

“stop smiling,” he snaps.

you don’t.

the corner of his mouth twitches despite himself.

and that’s the thing— you weren’t really fishing for the compliment.

you just wanted to see if he’d give it to you. and he did.

you let the moment stretch just long enough to be annoying.

“so,” you say, hands behind your back, walking a little slower now. “you do know how to give compliments.”

he side-eyes you. “don’t get used to it.”

“oh, i absolutely am,” you reply. “i’ll mark it down even. ‘touya todoroki— capable of basic decency when pressed.’”

he huffs. “you had your ego fed. move on.”

“can’t,” you say cheerfully. “i’m savoring it.”

he shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth now— one he doesn’t bother hiding. “careful,” he says. “you keep this up and i might start returning the favor.”

you glance at him. “that a threat?”

“a promise.”

your grin widens.

and that’s when it hits you— this isn’t just bickering anymore. it’s lighter. like you’re both in on the joke.

and speaking of jokes, yours doesn’t last long.

because endeavor and his sidekicks are called away on a short business trip not even a week later.

however, the invitation doesn't get cancelled.

a formal dinner. high-profile. cameras guaranteed. the kind of thing that requires a polished front and a reliable stand-in.

unfortunately, that stand-in ends up being you and touya todoroki.

which means, for once, you can’t afford to be the two bickering idiots everyone’s gotten used to. you had to behave.

later that night, touya stands alone in his room, staring at his phone with your contact open. meanwhile, you're doing your hair and getting all dolled up until your phone buzzes.

Touya (smartass): u alive

You: define alive

Touya (smartass): nervous?

You: i am not i am prepared

Touya (smartass): u convincing me or urself

You: u've done this before i havent... these people eat each other alive for fun

Touya (smartass): oh yeah they're worse in daylight

You: ?? why are u trying to scare me even more hello

Touya (smartass): relax its js dinner no ones expecting anything from you

You: they absolutely are??? i'm the foreign hero crawling on walls swinging from building to building and an accent

Touya (smartass): theyll forget about all that in 5 minutes

You: how do you know

Touya (smartass): because i'll be there

You: wow hogging the spotlight as usual how comforting thanks

Touya (smartass): if anyone gives you trouble i'll handle it

you bite your lip, holding back a smile.

You: since when are you reassuring

Touya (smartass): yeah yeah don't make a thing out of it

You: shit there goes my plans for next week

Touya (smartass): hush be ready in 20 omw

you barely finish fastening your necklace when the sound hits. a low, aggressive rev tearing down your driveway— unapologetic and very much impossible to miss. “…of course.”

there’s no need to look out the window. you already know. no one else announces their arrival like that.

you grab your bag, do one last check in the mirror— hair in place, makeup settled, perfume lingering just enough to feel intentional— and head downstairs just as the engine cuts.

when you step outside, the car is exactly what you expect. sleek. expensive. entirely unnecessary.

and leaning against it— the man himself, touya todoroki.

suit jacket slung over one shoulder, tie slightly loosened like he never learned how to wear it properly, blue eyes flicking up the second he sees you. he straightens when he sees you, just a little.

he isn't staring. or gawking. just.. looking, like the sight of you caught him off guard.

“okay,” he says finally, voice a little rougher than before. “yeah.”

“yeah?” you echo.

“just get in the car.”

then, like an afterthought, he holds out the bouquet— your favorite flowers.

you blink. once. twice. “…wow,” you say slowly. “am i being kidnapped or are you picking me up for prom?”

he scoffs. “relax. my mom made me.”

“uh-huh,” you reply, taking the flowers anyway. “so the sports car was her idea too?”

“that part was mine.”

you lift the bouquet slightly. “how'd you know these were my favorite?”

he shrugs. “take it or don’t.”

you smile, soft but smug. “oh, i’m taking it. i just want you to know i’m never letting you live this down.”

he opens the passenger door for you begrudgingly, but real. “get in,” he mutters. “before you make this weird.”

you slide into the seat, flowers in your lap, still grinning. “too late. you brought me flowers.”

then, he shuts the door a little harder than necessary, circling to the driver’s side. as he gets in, he glances over at you. “…you look nice,” he adds, quieter.

you glance back at him, eyebrows lifting. “just nice?”

he starts the car. “don’t push it.”

you laugh, settling back as the engine roars to life again.

the ride was short, all noise and motion, until the car pulls to a stop and the world seems to expand all at once.

in front of you, the hotel is excessive in the way only places meant for important people ever are— too much glass, too much light, doors tall enough to make you feel like you should’ve prepared an apology before stepping through them. the kind of place that doesn’t just host events, but expects something from you.

you slow without meaning to.

it’s stupid, really. you’ve faced villains, cameras, crowds that pressed in close enough to steal your breath. but this— this is quiet, polished, waiting. your heels crunch softly against the gravel path, fingers tightening around your purse like it might anchor you.

touya catches it.

he doesn’t say anything at first, just adjusts his pace so you’re walking together again, close enough that you’re aware of him without looking. then, casually— “don’t psych yourself out,” he says. “s'just a building. i'm here with ya'.”

you glance up at the towering doors. “..that was almost sweet.”

"don't tell anyone." he replies sarcastically, giving you a small nudge towards the door.

and suddenly, you’re inside it.

warmth washes over you first— the hum of voices, the clink of glasses, the low swell of music threading through the space like it belongs there. the interior is just as excessive as the outside promised. marble floors, soft gold lighting, ceilings that feel impossibly high. everything gleams. everything echoes. and everyone is important.

pro heroes clustered together in polished groups, recognizable even out of costume. agency representatives with practiced smiles and sharp eyes. business partners laughing a little too loudly, already comfortable in a space like this.

it’s a sea of familiarity you don’t quite share, faces turning as you pass, curiosity flickering in quick, assessing glances.

you feel it settle between your shoulder blades. the awareness.

before you can think too hard about it, a waiter glides past, tray balanced effortlessly in one hand. glasses of champagne catch the light, bubbles rising innocently.

you don’t hesitate.

you reach out, pluck one from the tray, and bring it to your lips like it’s instinct. survival, really.

a sip. then another.

you exhale, tension easing just a fraction as the fizz hits your tongue. there is absolutely no way you’re doing this completely sober.

“bold move,” touya murmurs beside you.

you glance at him over the rim of the glass. “self-preservation.”

he hums. “it’s barely alcohol.”

you take another sip, pointedly slower this time. “then i’ll just have to pace myself aggressively.”

his mouth twitches. “you’re already planning your downfall.”

around you, conversations swell and dip. laughter brushes past your ears. someone across the room says touya’s name, recognition lighting their expression.

your grip tightens briefly around the stem of the glass.

you lean a little closer to him without realizing it. “please tell me they won’t all try to talk to us at once.”

touya smirks. “oh, they will.”

it doesn’t take long for touya to get pulled into conversation.

not far— never far— but enough that the space around you thickens, bodies shifting and voices overlapping, the room reorganizing itself around people who know exactly where they belong. touya does. he always has.

he moves easily, answering questions, smiling when it’s expected, nodding in that practiced way that says i’ve done this before.

you stay close, close enough that your fingers catch on the rim of his sleeve, knuckles brushing fabric as you follow half a step behind him. you tell yourself it’s practical. easy to lose someone in a crowd like this. but every time he shifts forward, your hand tightens without thinking.

he doesn’t say anything— if anything, he subtly adjusts his pace so you don’t have to.

eventually, someone else joins the circle. older. well-dressed in that expensive, self-satisfied way. his smile is broad and curious, eyes flicking between you and touya with open appraisal.

“todoroki,” the man says warmly. “good to see you again.”

“likewise,” touya replies, pleasant.

the man’s gaze drifts to you. lingers. “and you must be the lucky companion.”

your shoulders tense, and before you can speak, he chuckles. “really outdid yourself,” he adds, voice dropping conspiratorially. “bagging a doll like this.”

his hand lifts, casual, reaching—

you lean back instinctively, discomfort blooming sharp and sudden. your fingers tighten at touya’s sleeve, grip betraying you before you can stop it.

touya notices. his smile doesn’t change.

but he steps just slightly to the side, placing himself between you and the man in a way that looks accidental to anyone not paying attention.

“ah,” touya says mildly, head tilting. “she’s not a prize.”

the man laughs awkwardly. “i meant no offense.”

“i’m sure,” touya replies easily. “still— best not to touch people you haven’t been introduced to.” his tone is polite. conversational. the kind that sounds reasonable enough to be unimpeachable.

the man hesitates, then lowers his hand. “of course. my mistake.”

touya nods once, satisfied. “happens.”

the conversation stumbles after that, momentum lost. within moments, someone else draws the man’s attention away, and the space around you loosens again.

touya doesn’t look at you right away, nor does he bring it up again. he just shifts back into place, close enough that your arm brushes his.

it turns out the compliments don’t stop. if anything, they multiply.

people are kinder than you expect— smiles genuine, voices warm as they take you in, eyes lighting up like they’ve just connected a headline to a person. they tell you the dress looks incredible on you. that it suits you. that you clean up dangerously well.

you laugh, a little breathless. thank them. wave it off. but inside, you’re glowing and mortified all at once.

every compliment lands like a spark, lighting up your chest and making your smile too wide, your hands restless. you keep ducking your head, brushing hair behind your ear like it might hide the way your cheeks feel warm. “you’re too kind,” you say for what feels like the tenth time.

someone laughs. “i’m serious. you look stunning tonight.”

you freeze for half a second, then laugh again, softer this time. “okay, okay— i get it.”

you edge closer to touya without really thinking about it, shoulder bumping lightly into his arm. not because you’re uncomfortable—just because it’s easier to hide your face when he’s there.

“you’re blushing,” he murmurs, barely moving his lips.

you groan under your breath. “do not say that out loud.”

he smirks. “hard not to notice.”

another compliment comes— your hair this time, the way it frames your face— and you laugh again, shaking your head, half-turning so your cheek brushes his shoulder.

“please,” you mutter. “i’m going to start believing them.”

he glances down at you. “what’s wrong with that?”

you look up at him, caught off guard. “…nothing.”

someone nearby comments on how well you two look together. you don’t even register it fully— you’re too busy trying to cool your face, fingers curling into the fabric of touya’s sleeve as you hide a smile.

he doesn’t tease you for it. just shifts closer, like it’s natural. like it’s nothing.

your dress really is a killer, judging by the attention— but standing there, half-turned into him, laughter bubbling up every time someone says something too nice— you don’t feel overwhelmed.

just a little dazzled. and maybe… enjoying it more than you’d ever admit.

by the end of the night, you are absolutely not okay.

the hotel fades behind you in a blur of warm lights and polite goodbyes you barely remember making. you’re guided more than you’re walking, heels clicking unevenly against the pavement as cool night air finally hits your face.

you laugh at something. you’re not sure what.

the car door opens, and you practically melt into the seat, bouquet long (but safely) abandoned somewhere between your knees and the floor.

“wow,” you sigh, staring at the ceiling. “cars are.. so..”

there’s a pause.

then touya closes the door a little more carefully than necessary and circles to the driver’s side.

“how many glasses did you have,” he asks flatly once he’s seated.

you squint at him. “define… many.”

he starts the engine. “that’s not reassuring.”

you giggle, leaning sideways in your seat, head bumping lightly against the window. “everyone kept refilling them. and i didn’t want to be rude. that would be—” you pause, very serious. “diplomatically bad.”

“uh-huh.”

“also,” you continue, pointing vaguely at him, “you kept saying ‘just one more’.”

“i did not.”

“you did,” you insist. “with your eyes.”

he snorts. “yeah, no, i really didn't.”

you grin at that, wide and unapologetic, then suddenly lean forward like you’ve just remembered something very important. “did you see that guy,” you say, whispering loudly, “who tripped over nothing?”

“…yes.”

“must be the work of the dark reunion,” you conclude, nodding to yourself.

the car pulls away from the curb, city lights stretching into long streaks outside the window. you hum under your breath, some partynextdoor song that was playing on the car speakers, hands moving as if you’re conducting an invisible orchestra.

touya glances over. “what are you doing.”

“enhancing the ambiance.”

“please stop enhancing.”

you laugh again, softer this time, then sink back into the seat, eyelids fluttering as the motion of the car lulls you just enough to make everything fuzzy around the edges.

after a moment, you mumble, “y'know… you were very cool tonight.”

he raises a brow. “yeah?”

“very,” you nod seriously. “like… socially competent. proud of you.”

he exhales through his nose. “thrilled to hear that.”

you turn your head toward him, eyes heavy but bright. “also you’re gonna have to walk me inside.”

“obviously.”

“because,” you add thoughtfully, “i don’t trust stairs.”

he smirks. “smart.”

you smile to yourself, words tangling together as the city hums around you, champagne still fizzing somewhere behind your eyes.

by the time you’re pulling into your driveway, you’re halfway slumped against the door, laughing quietly at a joke you never quite finish telling.

touya shuts off the engine and looks at you, expression softening just a fraction.

“…you had fun,” he says.

you nod, slow and earnest. “yeah.”

and somehow, that makes the whole night worth it.

although the car's come to a stop, you just sit there, fingers still curled around nothing, staring out the windshield like if you don’t acknowledge it, the night won’t end.

“we’re here,” touya says.

you hum. “i know.” you make no effort to open the door.

he watches you for a second, unimpressed. “you gonna get out, orr are we living here now.”

you turn slowly to look at him. squint. “i don’t want to.”

he sighs, already unbuckling. “yeah. figured.”

you barely protest when he comes around to your side, barely manage to stand on your own before you’re swaying, balance clearly optional at this point. he steadies you immediately, arm firm around your waist.

“easy,” he mutters. “you’re not indestructible.”

“but i'm like spiderman,” you mumble, forehead briefly resting against his chest like it belongs there.

he freezes. then exhales. “come on.”

you make it inside mostly on autopilot. the stairs are… offensive. rude, even. you stare at them like they’ve personally wronged you.

“nope,” you decide.

“yep,” he replies.

next thing you know, you’re being lifted, feet leaving the ground, arms instinctively hooking around his neck. “touya..,” you protest weakly.

“shh,” he says. “don’t fight it.”

you do not fight it.

he carries you up the stairs like it’s nothing, like you don’t weigh anything at all, and you’re too busy watching his jaw flex to comment on it.

your room comes into focus in pieces— the soft glow of a lamp, familiar sheets, the faint scent of you everywhere.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, movements careful despite the way his grip tightens like he’s relieved to finally have you still.

“stay,” he tells you, already crouching to slip your heels off. you watch him like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

he reaches for your makeup wipes on your desk, then pauses, assessing you.

“hold still,” he says, cupping your chin and having you look up at him.

“why.”

"want me to take your makeup off or what?"

"oh, right..."

he’s careful as he wipes away your makeup, gentle in a way that feels illegal. you try to keep your eyes open. fail. let them flutter shut instead.

“you’re very close to my face,” you murmur.

"have to see if i'm doing a good job."

when he’s done, he straightens, clearly intending to leave now that you’re settled— safe, shoes off, tucked in like you belong there. he turns toward the door.

“wait.”

he stops, hand hovering near the frame. “what.”

you push yourself up on your elbows, suddenly solemn, eyes glossy but intent. “i have to tell you a secret.”

he squints. “right now?”

you nod seriously. “yes. very important.”

he hesitates, then leans in anyway. “okay. what.”

you don’t whisper.

instead, you tilt forward and press a soft, clumsy kiss right onto his cheek. your lipstick leaves its mark immediately— warm and unmistakable.

he freezes.

you pull back just enough to look at him, smiling lazily. “you looked really handsome tonight,” you say, voice low and earnest. “like… really handsome.”

his breath catches, barely audible.

“…you’re drunk,” he says again, like he needs the reminder.

“maybe,” you shrug. “but i’m not lying.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t wipe the lipstick away. just stays there for a second longer than necessary, eyes unreadable, heart probably doing something annoying behind his ribs.

finally, he straightens. “get some sleep.”

you nod, already sinking back into the pillows, eyelids heavy. “don’t forget to wash your face,” you mumble. “you have a kiss.”

he snorts quietly.

and when the door closes behind him, it’s gentle— like he’s afraid of waking you, even though you’re already halfway asleep, smiling at a moment you won’t fully remember in the morning.

but he will.

and unfortunately for him, he’s reminded far earlier than he expects.

the todoroki household is still lit when he gets back— warm lights glowing through the windows, the quiet hum of a night that hasn’t quite wound down yet. it’s not unusual. friday nights tend to stretch.

he steps inside, toeing off his shoes, already halfway through shrugging out of his suit jacket.

“welcome home,” rei says gently.

touya looks up.

his mother is standing just a few steps away, hands folded, expression soft and familiar— until her eyes lift to his face. she pauses. just briefly.

then she smiles. slow, knowing.

“you had a nice evening,” she says. it’s not a question, he can tell. "dinner went well?"

touya frowns. “yeah. why—”

rei tilts her head, studying him the way only a mother can. then, without warning, she reaches up and brushes her thumb lightly against his cheek which causes him to stiffen.

she pulls her hand back. there’s a faint pink smudge on her thumb.

his stomach drops. “…oh,” he mutters, before dragging a hand down his face. “you were waiting for that.”

“i wasn’t,” she replies, stifling her laugh. “but i am glad i didn’t miss it.”

“she was drunk,” he adds quickly.

rei hums knowingly. and from the couch, a quiet click cuts through the moment.

touya whips his head around.

fuyumi is holding her phone, eyes wide and delighted. “oh my god.”

natsuo leans over her shoulder. “no way. zoom in.”

another click.

“delete that,” touya snaps.

“absolutely not,” fuyumi says cheerfully. “this is history.”

shoto looks up from where he’s been sitting quietly, gaze landing on touya’s cheek. he blinks once. “…you have lipstick on your face,”

touya groans. “i am aware.”

fuyumi gasps. “wait— stay still, the lighting’s better—”

that’s it.

touya bolts.

he’s halfway up the stairs before anyone can stop him, muttering curses under his breath, jacket abandoned, dignity left somewhere near the front door.

behind him, laughter fills the house.

rei watches him disappear, smile soft and satisfied. “drive safely next time,” she calls after him.

from upstairs, a door slams.

fuyumi looks at her phone again, grinning. “i’m sending this to the group chat.”

rei chuckles quietly. “be kind.”

“i am being kind,” fuyumi replies. “i cropped it nicely.”

and somewhere in his room, touya stares at his reflection, finally wiping the lipstick away— way too late.

because some things, once seen, are never forgotten.

hello im back after like a week DOES THIS NEED A PT2 THOOO THIS WAS WAYYY TOO LONG, i used up all my braincells writing this

TELL ME YALL SEE THE WORDPLAY IN THE TITLE

[suksatoru]

001. DANDELIONS

Tottori Elementary School was located on the outer edges of its prefecture, residing a couple miles from the sea and situated right near the center of town. While the older children resided in one school building, the kindergarten class, your class, was located in a smaller one about a hundred yards away from the main building. With colorful wind-chimes adorning the overhang of the structure and wildflowers blooming in the field surrounding it, it served as the perfect little slice of heaven for you and your adorable students.

The newest addition to this year’s class was a half-red and half-white head named Todoroki Shoto. He was a terribly shy kid the first day he came that mid-September—silent and nervous, too. You remember the way his mother had gently nudged him forward with an encouraging smile and how his little face scrunched up in fear as he stood in front of you and his soon to-be classmates with clasped hands.

“Shoto,” you had said, “We’re all friends here! There’s no need to be afraid, I promise.”

And it was then, when Shoto saw you smile, that he let go of his mother’s hand, looking back hesitantly before taking a seat on the colorful rug the rest of the class was situated on. It was no surprise that by the end of that month, he had fit into the class like he’d always belonged there.

Despite that, Shoto was still undeniably different from his peers, and he still needed to spend some more time to completely come out of his shell. You had a group activity planned for today where Shoto would hopefully be able to practice his communication skills a bit more, so to say you’re disappointed when you don’t see his familiar head of ivory and ruby sitting on the class rug during attendance is an understatement.

“Is Shoto not here today? Has anyone seen him?” you question while looking down at your clipboard, and a handful of quiet murmurs follow as all the children shake their heads no. You mark him absent for the day with a frown, knowing he hadn’t been sick the day prior and Rei hadn’t called to let you know he wouldn’t be in school today like she usually did if something ever came up. Odd, but you try not to think too much about it.

“Miss! Why isn’t Shoto-kun here today?” Izuku questions with a raised hand and a little pout tugging his lips downward, and you smile sadly as you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m not sure, Izuku. He may just be running late today. But that’s alright—let’s get started with our morning and hope he shows up later!” You affirm, and your students voice their agreement before you pull out a handful of books to choose from to read for the morning. It’s still relatively early in the day, nearing nine AM to be exact, and it seemed like the stormy sky outside was making everyone sleepy. Reading a book usually wakes the class up, so you pull out your top choices for today with an inquisitive hum to get started.

“Alright, what do we want to read today? I think our choices should be between reading from our fairytale book or this new story I got the other day called ‘The Empty Pot.’ What do we think?” you voice, and there’s an immediate uproar of voices and excited conversation as you hear everyone ask to read both stories rather than just one, and you shake your head with a fond huff

“Let’s read both!” Katsuki protests, little fists shaking in determination as the rest of the class follows along with his words. Their insistent cries of 'pretty please, miss!’ have you smiling widely. You relax further into your cushioned chair, nodding your head with a laugh

“Alright! Settle down then, everyone. Let’s get started…”

Everyone huddles closer, and the gentle symphony of the slow rain pitter-pattering against the windows outside creates an atmosphere that manages to calm your students down. They listen intently to the sound of your voice, both reassuring and strong, flowing through the air.

“Holding the empty pot in his hands, Ping went straight away to the palace. The emperor was looking at the flowers slowly, one by one—”

The sudden sound of a door being thrown open is followed by a rush of chilling wind through the classroom. You stop and quickly turn around to see who’d opened the door, eyes squinting when you feel a few stray raindrops fall on you and the children from the strong gusts of wind—and they all squeal in delight at the sudden surprise.

An adorable chorus of Shoto's here! sound through the air a moment later. Shoto stands by the doorway in his frog raincoat and a wobbly smile, and right beside your student stands a man you’ve never seen before.

The stranger’s wearing a dark leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, but it’s completely soaked through and sheer due to the rain that had been falling down so mercilessly outside. The near-transparent cloth reveals an intricate canvas of tattoos that travel all the way up from one arm to the side of his neck, sweeping his jaw. His hair, white as the purest of snow, is damp and tousled from the weather outside, and it sticks to his forehead in strands. He pushes back the unruly bangs with his right hand.

And his right hand was… metal. 

His right arm, more specifically, was. He's muttering a string of curses underneath his breath as he fumbles with little Shoto’s backpack, fingers digging into the cushioned fabric restlessly. His eyes are a deep blue, sharp yet somehow dark in the dim light of the classroom, but you have no time to inspect him any further than that when Shoto suddenly races towards you with wide eyes

“Miss! I’m here! I—I was late because of my big brother! I’m not in trouble, am I? I’m sorry I didn’t get here on time.” Shoto mumbles meekly, and the frenzied look in his eyes captures your attention as you quickly set the book down in your lap with a small frown

“Oh, Shoto—of course you’re not in trouble! We all run late sometimes, right?” you reassure him gently, and the hand you place on his shoulder seems to calm Shoto’s nerves immensely as he heaves a quiet sigh. His gaze flits to the man he’d entered the classroom with, and you watch his dual-colored eyes narrow into a steely little glare.

“Oi, you little brat, stop blaming me for…”

Touya’s voice trails off once he notices the dozens of curious eyes watching him and the half-hearted attempt his little brother was making to look intimidating. 

When Shoto glares at Touya, he looks like nothing more than an angry kitten. But then, Touya notices the hand on his little brother’s shoulder, notices you watching him with wide eyes blinking in confusion—and he realizes just how stupidly loud and obnoxious he’d been barreling into your classroom as if he belonged there and wasn’t dropping off his brother nearly forty minutes late to school.

He clamps his mouth shut, half in embarrassment and half in resignation as Shoto’s backpack hangs limply from his hand. The students have all surrounded Shoto by now, welcoming him and asking him how he managed to get inside with the storm raging on, and you place your book down before turning towards them

“All right, can you guys fill in Shoto about what’s happened so far in our story while I go talk to our new friend?” you question, and a smile blooms on your face as you watch everyone excitedly nod their heads. Shoto situates himself on the rug with everyone else a moment later, shyly apologizing for his lateness before you stand up from your chair and make your way towards his supposed older brother.

Touya’s grip on the backpack strap tenses as he watches all the children surround Shoto, but that grip loosens the slightest bit once he notices you approaching him

“Hello! I’m Shoto’s teacher, and you must be his older brother. It’s nice to meet you,” you greet politely. Touya’s gaze moves over your face, slow and intense, all before he nods his head in greeting.

“Hey—nice to meet you too. ’m Touya. And, uh, sorry for barging in like that… had no idea the weather was going to be so shitty today.” He murmurs, leaning down just the slightest bit to match your height so he can hear your response better. 

Touya finds himself looking at you closely, watching your movements even closer, because you are the teacher his little brother was always raving about. And it wasn’t just Shoto—his own mother was always singing your praises, constantly talking about how thankful she was that Shoto had gotten such a lovely teacher to introduce him to a regular school environment, and whenever his other siblings picked him up from school? It was the same deal. 

You were someone Shoto looked up to, and Touya would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious to learn why his baby brother adored you so earnestly.

“That’s okay! I’m just happy Shoto was able to make it today. The storm really picked up in the last couple of minutes, huh?” you question, looking over his shoulder to peer out the window. The rain was coming down harder than it had all morning, the occasional rolls of thunder resounding through the sky accompanying it, and Touya hums lowly in response.

“Yeah. Felt like a hurricane on the drive here. 'Course Shoto needed his raincoat, rainboots, and umbrella, too.” He murmurs with a huff, but the way his lip twitches into a slanted smirk at the sound of your laughter gives away his amusement

“Well, you’re welcome to stay inside until the rain lets up a bit! It’ll be dangerous to drive right now, anyway.” You affirm, and Touya blinks in surprise at your offer before cocking his head.

“You really don’t mind? I’m not going to intrude on the little brats’ story-time?” he questions, and you shake your head with a bright smile. All the chairs in the classroom were too small for Touya to sit on, so he heads straight towards the colorful rug all the kids were on instead.

The majority of them sat on the other side of it in a half circle around your chair while Touya lingered near the back. A few curious and giggling heads turned his way, Shoto’s included, but he ignored them all and watched you get situated in your chair at the front instead.

Your smile is like sunshine incarnate, and Touya doesn't think he's ever seen a teacher as smiley and sweet as you were with Shoto and his classmates.

You manage to get the attention of every single kid—Touya somehow included—hooked on you and your storytelling. If he's being honest, Touya doesn't have the slightest clue what's going on in the book you're reading, because he's too busy watching your animated movements and the way you interact with the students instead

Your voice is like honey. Gentle and soothing in its own unique manner, and Touya finds himself genuinely amused at the stupidly endearing gestures you make with your hands while acting out parts of the story. Your students look like they're in a trance, watching you with wide eyes and muffled laughter as you make inflections in your voice to portray the different characters

Touya's legs are stretched out in front of him and crossed leisurely as he watches you, and when a huff of laughter manages to slip past his lips at one of your cheesy imitations, you catch his gaze and send him a smile.

His heart skips a sudden beat right then and there. It's a gentle curve of your lips—soft, secretive, and reserved especially for him—and he finds himself grinning widely despite himself. He stays on that colorful rug in the classroom throughout the entire story, watching you answer the occasional questions from the students and dote on all of them as if they were all important and all special, and they truly were to you.

By the time you finished the book, the storm outside had calmed to a gentle drizzle. Touya's not sure if he's overstayed his welcome, but he sure doesn't plan on leaving until he's given you a proper goodbye. You offer the kids a five-minute break to discuss the book amongst themselves, and he doesn't waste a single second before striding over to you.

"You're a pretty damn good storyteller," Touya comments, and you shake your head with a smile when you see him approach you as you're shelving the book away

"I grew up reading all sorts of stories to my younger cousins. Guess I have a lot of practice from that." You smile bashfully, and he nods his head in response.

"Mm. These kids are lucky to have you as their teacher."

The lilt of his tone was the thing to catch you off guard. It was teasing and low, sending an unmistakable shiver through each and every vertebra in your spine, and you try to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach as Touya leans closer. 

"They're really lucky. I kinda get why Shoto's always talkin' about you know. You're just as charming as he made you out to be."

Touya’s practically high off of the glee that comes with the way you stammer for a response shyly, and the flush in your cheeks has his lips stretching into a toothy grin.

"Has anyone ever told you you're too much of a sweet talker?" you murmur eventually, and he shrugs with a carefree hum

"Only you." 

Touya pulls away a heartbeat later, and you take a sharp intake of breath to steady yourself. He takes a glance at the clock behind you, eyes squinting for a moment before he takes a step back

"You'll let me know if Shoto ever gives you any trouble, right?" he questions, and you can't help but let out a huff of disbelief as you shake your head with a smile. He's heading towards the door now, but he turns around one last time before he exits and meets your eyes

Electric. That's exactly what eye contact with him feels like. Touya only holds your gaze for a few seconds, but his eyes are the kind of blue that remind you of swirling paintbrushes in water—they're the kind of blue you could find yourself drowning in forever—and the sheer intensity of one look from him was an inferno all on its own.

"See ya, Miss Pretty."

He nearly misses the silent hitch in your breath, and Touya revels in the way your eyes widen a fraction before you look away all flustered—he raises his right hand to send you a wave over his shoulder before he closes the classroom door, the gentle clink of the buckles on his boots just barely audible as his steps fade away from the door.

You have to physically press the back of your hand to your mouth after a minute to muffle your squeal because holy shit this man had a way with words and looking at you that made your knees feel useless and weak in holding you upright

There's a small hand that curls into the fabric of your skirt, and you're snapped out of your trance as you peer down.

"Oh—Ochako! Hi! Was there something you needed?" you question quickly, and the little girl tilts her head at you with parted lips

"Miss, why are you blushing?"

You let out a small sound of surprise at her words, quickly scooping her up in your arms and holding her close to your chest

"Nope. Nuh-uh. I was definitely not blushing. Anyway! Tell me about your weekend! Do anything fun?" you ask nervously

"Are you sureeee?" she giggles, kicking her feet excitedly as her fingers dig into the plush of your cardigan, and you pout.

"Yes," you whine, but you hear Himiko's familiar giggle from behind you and peer around at the sound

"Me and Ochako-chan saw. You definitely were blushing!" she accuses, and you let out a grumble as you use your other arm to scoop her up too. Both girls laugh, their attention quickly diverted when you spin them around in circles, and they're dizzy and giggling once you put them down.

Nope, you were definitely not blushing. You tell yourself that repeatedly throughout the day, but even as you lie to yourself, the truth couldn't be any clearer.

Touya Todoroki was hypnotizing in the most wonderfully cruel ways, more attractive than you believed to be humanly possible, and certainly not leaving your mind anytime soon.

DANDELIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; i got the idea to write this series like a month ago but never wrote anything for it until recently since touya's birthday was coming around buttttt now i feel like i'm on a roll :3 i'll try to have a chapter out abt weekly i hope i find the time adkjhsadj & i am working on chapter 2 as i type this hehehe EXPECT THAT TMR

[suksatoru]

DANDELIONS MASTERLIST.

NO QUIRK AU — FIREFIGHTER!TOUYA X TEACHER!READER

When a hectic morning leaves Touya forced to drop off Shoto at school, he runs into his little brother’s pretty kindergarten teacher and learns just why his mother and siblings are always talking about you. Quite suddenly, perhaps even too suddenly, Touya is volunteering to pick up Shoto from school a lot more.

dandelions symbolize hope, transformation, and steadfast love.

𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 ⱺ𐓣𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ωⱺ ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝗋𝖾𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿ⱺυ𝗋 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗑 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗂𝗀ɦ𝗍 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𐓣𝗂𐓣𝖾 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖾𐓣 ❋ 𝖼ɦαρ𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾ᥣ𝖾𝗏𝖾𐓣 ❋

[mackhiato]

|| studying (the subject of) you

¬ frat!sukuna x nerd!reader ¬

description -> there wasn't much you and frat boy!sukuna ryomen had in common...except your mutual disdain for partner projects. (un)luckily for the two of you, fate has a way of bringing together the seemingly incompatible. but as the project continues and studying sessions involve less and less studying, you both discover you're learning more about yourselves than the subject matter at hand...

word count -> 2.2k

cw -> yearning || mutual pining || like, medium burn? || eventual smut || drinking || smoking || cursing || mean sukuna (but only if you squint) || side frat!gojo x nerd!reader || jealousy

part one || part two || part three || tbd...

You held the grading rubric between your fingers as you chewed on your bottom lip. The fate of your semester sat typed across in Georgia font size 11, bolded, as if to taunt you.

Partner project.

And the semester had been going so smoothly, too.

“I already know what you all are thinking, but this will be a good exercise in collaboration, and integrating both partners' ideas into a final project, which, I will remind you, is worth a significant portion of your grade.” Your professor surveyed the room, eyes settling on you with a pointed stare before continuing to roam. 

So you tended to fly solo for most work in the class. It was always easier to do it yourself and pen another’s name on the final piece than actually try and work around another person’s ideas that were, frankly, never very good. Senior year had brought about a level of disengagement only rivaled by watching paint dry, and with a class filled with students who were simply here to fulfill a graduation requirement, the dedication to assignments and due dates were waning by the second. 

Not for you though. Straight A’s were second nature, and your very best was put into every sentence, edit, and submission, regardless of how much or little of your grade it was worth. If parent-teacher conferences existed past primary school, your professors would say you’re a joy to have in class. 

“This will also be a great opportunity for those of us who are…struggling with certain aspects of the class to get some help from students who have a strong grasp of the concepts we’ve learned so far.” Your professor continued on, this time his eyes flitting up to the back rafters of the room, presumably where the target audience for his last message sat themselves. 

Sukuna, seated in the furthest row back, smirked as he leaned over, punching his snoozing classmate's shoulder. “He’s talking about you, dumbass.”

Toji awoke with a gruff and frown, crossing his arms and slouching back down in his chair. “Whatever, like you’re doing any better than me.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, but knew in the back of his mind what Toji said was true. He was failing this class, badly. And with the pledging season ramping up, and practice taking up his weeknights and weekends, he couldn’t afford to flunk and miss graduation because of some stupid distribution requirement that barely counted toward his major. So, if he had to strongarm some weakling into acing this project for the both of them, he’d have no problem doing so. It’s worked for most of his college experience anyway. 

Meanwhile, you let out a small sigh. It was one thing to be able to choose someone semi-competent to work with, but it was another to get saddled with a partner whose load you’d have to shoulder as well. Unfortunately, given the extensive amount of time you’ve spent in office hours, there’s no way your professor would mistake your writing tone for anyone else’s, which meant it would be obvious if you completed the assignment yourself without partner input.

As you were considering the ethics of dumbing down your own writing to make it sound unlike your voice, your thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat and calling out your name. You looked up over the frame of your glasses frames to see a tall, pink haired guy standing over you, a neutral, yet menacing look on his face. 

“I’m Sukuna.”

You gave him a once over. Tattoos crept up his neck, thick bands of ink peeking from underneath his hoodie. With glints of silver in his eyebrows, a bag thrown haphazardly over his shoulder (presumably empty), a devil-may-care attitude enshrouded his frame. Besides passing by in the hallway, you may have seen him three times this whole semester, including this very moment.

You sighed, standing up to introduce yourself. You extended your hand, asking, “So, I’m assuming we’re partners?”

His eyebrow twitched upwards, and his hands remained stagnant, ignoring your outreach. “Would I be talking to you if we weren’t?”

Ouch. Admittedly, maybe it wasn’t the smartest question, but you weren’t expected to be met with such hostility. “Okay then.” You drew back your hand, awkwardly rubbing your palm on your jeans. “Do you want to head to the library? We can talk about how we’re going to divide the work there,” you turned to gather your bag, closing your folders and straightening your supplies. 

“Actually, I was thinking you could handle the project.”

You paused. Glancing over your shoulder, you replied coldly, “Excuse me?”

“Y’know, you seem pretty into this class, and,” he started, gesturing vaguely to your meticulously written notes you hadn’t packed away yet. “l just figured you’d want to get a good grade on it, ‘nd the best way would be if you just…took the lead.”

A beat passed. “You mean, if I did the whole project?”

Sukuna shrugged. “Probably easier on the both of us.”

An indignant laugh fell from your mouth before you could control its slip. Finishing group assignments alone wasn’t completely out of your wheelhouse, but never had someone been so bold as to request you to do it themselves, especially to your face. Normally they’d make a half-assed attempt before you swooped in and edited their portion before submission. But you couldn’t believe he had the nerve to actually ask you to do his work. “Are you serious?” You let out, still leering at him from over your shoulder.

He rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on his bag. “Listen, I’ve got a lot of shit going on with practice and my frat, and I don’t have time to sit and do this. My buddy tells me you’re top of the class anyways, so if you do it for the both of us, you don’t have to worry about me bringing your grade down, or whatever.”

You nodded, “Right.” You zipped your bag shut with a sense of finality. “And you’ll be guaranteed a passing grade.” You leaned up, drawing your books close to your chest.

“Yeah, that too.” He paused, scanning your face for a response. “So, you’re good to do the assignment?” 

You gave him a small smile, not letting it reach your eyes. “No.”

He blinked. Did he mishear you? “No?”

Maybe it was pride. The idea of rejecting this man who probably hadn’t been told “no” day in his life seemed so delicious at that moment. Or maybe it was anger in the fact that he thought so little of you, he figured you’d acquiesce so easily to his request. But perhaps you knew deep down if you tried to finish the assignment by yourself, your professor would notice immediately and fail the both of you anyway. Either or, you reveled in the stunned look across Sukuna’s face, the smile on your face growing a size smaller. 

You shook your head. “Yes, I said no. As in, no, I won’t be completing this project alone. We’re partners, so you’re going to help me.”

And stunned he was. He couldn’t remember the last time this didn’t work for him. He knew the reputation he had on campus - trouble maker, rough around the edges, and accustomed to getting what he wants, regardless of the measures he had to take to get there. Most people wanted something from him, whether it was to be left alone or invited to parties, and he was more than happy to give it to him, as long as he got what he wanted in return. But he could tell from the convicted tone in your voice that nothing he offered was going to sway you to see his side of things. He considered the ethics of taking a strongarm approach to persuade you when you started speaking again.  

“I’ll be in the library on Saturday at 8 in the morning so we can start working. I assume you know where that is?”

His face quickly dropped to a scowl. “I’m not an idiot. I know where the damn library is.”

“Perfect, this is already going better than I anticipated.” You handed him a light blue scrap of paper with a number inked in a swoopy, swirling font. “That’s my number. Text me so I have yours. Don’t be late.” With that, you brushed past him, heading to your next class, leaving Sukuna standing in confusion, a small, muttered, “the fuck?” barely reaching your ears as you exited the classroom.

|||

“Who the fuck is at the library by 8 in the morning? Didn’t even know it was open that early.” Sukuna muttered, his face contorting as he lifted the last bit of weight above his chest, reracking the bar. The metal clattered against itself as he dropped his hands back on his chest, exhausted. “She’s fucking crazy.”

Toji laughed at his misfortune. “She’s bluffing for sure. A girl like that won’t drag her grade down for your sorry ass. Just don’t show up. Trust, she’ll finish the work herself.”

Gojo leaned up from the bench beside Sukuna, breathing heavily from finishing his set.“You’re a real dick, you know that?” He threw his towel at Toji’s face before turning his attention to Sukuna. “God forbid you do one assignment before you graduate. Just one. Honestly, respect to her for making you do some actual work. The only thing I’ve ever seen you put effort into was the gym.”

“Fuck off, man.” Sukuna grumbled. Standing from the bench, he started to gather his items, shoving them into his gym bag. “Just can’t believe I’m gonna spend half this semester working on this stupid fucking project. Dumb as shit.”

“Welcome to college. Please, join the rest of us plebians who actually do our own work.” Satoru snickered, clapping his hands on Sukuna’s back. “You’re the one being stupid. Think of it this way: is she cute?”

Sukuna straightened up, pausing. Were you cute? He didn’t actually pay attention when he was politely suggesting his idea to divvy up the workload, but when he thought about it for a half second, you weren’t bad to look at. With your oversized sweater in a deep red color, and your hair done up in that style he liked, with your big frames accentuating your even bigger round eyes, and lip gloss swiped across your lips, he realized that, yeah, you were pretty cute to look at. 

Really cute, actually. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He answered Gojo, nodding his head to the guy at the front desk of the gym. He pushed open the glass doors, leading to the crisp night air as they began their trek home across campus. 

“Perfect! You have someone cute to look at while you work. It’s all about perspective, man.” Gojo tapped his finger to his chin, pretending to think. “Wait a second. So she’s smart, and a cutie? Sounds exactly like my type. Do you think you can put in a good word for me?”

Sukuna scoffed. “So you can fuck then leave her on read the next day? No way. I need her to actually tolerate me for the rest of the semester.” He ignored Gojo’s feigned look of indignance before he added, “Besides, I doubt she’d be interested in someone like you.”

Before Gojo could get out his outcry of a protest, Toji’s voice suddenly cut through their conversation. “That’s her, right?”

Both their heads swiveled in the direction of where Toji pointed. In the illuminated building across the path, glass paned windows enclosing the space, there you sat, the soft glowing lights of the table lamps casting a shadow over your face as you diligently worked, head down, pen scribbling into a notebook. Despite the girls he presumed to be your friends giggling at something on one of their phones, you were immune to the rest of the world as you mindlessly mouthed the words you were reading, nodding to yourself as you processed the material. Unmistakably, it was you. “Yup.” Sukuna answered.

 The three men stared shamelessly before Toji whispered, “Damn. She is cute.”

“Really cute, actually.” Gojo whispered, his smile stretching across his face. 

Sukuna scowled as he hit the back of their heads. “Stop staring at my partner, dumbass.” The reprimanded men shot their own scowls back, grumbling as they continued to walk back to their house. Sukuna casted on last glance at you in the library, and was momentarily taken aback to see you look up and back at him. He held your gaze for another second before whipping out his phone, shooting a text from the number he saved earlier that day. 

| told you i knew where the library was

Your reply came a few moments later.

| 8 AM. Don’t be late. 

Sukuna scoffed at your ignoring of the joke, but by the time he looked up again, you had already refocused on your work, going so far as to put headphones on, drowning out him and the noise of the surrounding world. 

As Sukuna turned to catch up with Toji and Gojo, he blew out a small breath in disbelief. He was going to have a long semester ahead of him. 

And yet, despite that, he couldn’t keep a small smile from forming on his face.

© 2025 mackhiato. All work belongs to @mackhiato. AI training is NOT authorized. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms.

[alygator77]

love hard

summary. after years of failed dating app matches, you finally hit it off with someone. he’s funny, charming, emotionally available… and apparently?! not who you thought he was... literally — because he used his ex-best friend suguru geto as his profile picture! so now, you’re stranded in a foreign country for the holidays, stuck with the real satoru gojo: a digimon-loving, trivia-winning, six-foot-tall nerd who... sure. may have catfished you. but he also might just win your heart.

tags/warnings. fluffy holiday au. nerdjo. light angst. slow burn. eventual smut. long distance relationship (reader is from cali, satoru is from japan). fake dating. one bed trope (yuuuup). found family feelings w/ the jjk cast. lots of dorky humor. alcohol/weed usage. there’s a bit of suguru x reader (also sukuna hits on you a lot bc he wants to piss gojo off). endgame is satoru x reader w/ a happy ending! soft and silly romcom vibes. 

author note. merry christmas! this fic is loosely based on the movie Love Hard (w/ my own retelling). it'll be 2 parts! i wanted it to be a oneshot and was rly hoping to finish it before christmas but life got in my way so alas. i'll say more towards the bottom but enjoy this first part for now~

Love is… hard. 

Not ‘hard’ like an honest misunderstanding, or a fight you work through with emotional maturity and a seasonally appropriate Hallmark movie kiss. 

No — ‘hard’ like dodging your fifth unsolicited dick pic of the week while Googling ‘how to spot a narcissist,’ because apparently you need a manual now. Like realizing your therapist makes more money off your dating trauma than you ever will. 

Which is funny, considering people pay you to write about it. 

“Do I believe in love? No. But I do believe in ad revenue. And trust me — what you’re writing? Sells. You’ll make it big, darling. I swear.” 

Wise words from your boss, Mei-Mei. And by wise, you mean cold, calculated, and unfortunately? Very on brand. 

You’re a columnist for Swipe Right into Hell, and your beat? Disaster dates. Ghostings. Red flags. You write about it all. One guy asked if he could wear his ex-wife’s wedding ring during sex. Another told you he didn’t believe in astrology or feminism — but he did believe in Bitcoin. 

So, yeah. If love is a battlefield, you’re the war correspondent. Bulletproof. Jaded. Always packing a pen. 

You’d think by now — after all the swipes, the situationships, the nights replaying bad decisions in bathroom mirrors — you’d have cracked the code. Found the formula. Unlocked the algorithm to real connection. 

Mei-Mei certainly thinks you did. 

“Ughhh. You’re a genius! I swear, your last column was chef’s kiss,” she purred to you on Monday, tapping her lacquered nails against a chart of engagement analytics. “Tragically humiliating… in a relatable way, of course!” 

Tragically humiliating?  

Yeah, sure. That’s one way to describe it. Your date dumped you via a Venmo memo when you asked him to split the bill with you. 

(“Lunch was great. You’re not. ✌️”) 

“Uh... thanks. I think?” 

You weren’t entirely sure if that was praise or exploitation — because with Mei-Mei, the line was always blurred. 

“Of course, baby!” she cooed. “Your ratings are exceptionally high. But... let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” And grinning like a cheshire cat, she slid a detailed spreadsheet in front of you encouragingly. 

“We need a story so massive before Christmas. Don’t ask me why, but holiday trauma performs extremely well. I expect your report by early-December. Get back out there, hm?” 

Apparently, love is dead. Because people live for drama. For tragedy. It’s unfortunate, but it gets the clicks. And despite all the ‘new material’ you’re looking for? A part of you still aches — still yearns — for love. 

So, like a well-trained masochist, you swipe. Again. 

| Brett, 27 — Los Angeles, CA |   “Hey, kitten. I’m Sapiosexual. An INTJ. Love your profile. Let’s chat, yeah?” 

Sent a dick pic and texted “U up?” at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday. (You weren’t) 

Swipe. 

| Colin, 32 — Santa Monica, CA |   “Sup. I’m just a nice guy. Totally not like other guys.” 

Sent a three-paragraph spiral about how nice guys finish last due to unrequited love. (With his childhood best friend.) 

Swipe. 

| Naoya, 22 — Orange County, CA |   “What do you do for fun? Because let me set the record straight. I love woman who knows their place. Preferably, three steps behind me. Or in the kitchen.” 

You reported him. Twice. (Just to be sure…) 

Swipe. 

| Greg, 25 — San Francisco, CA |   “Hey. Uh... I’m married btw. But it’s complicated, u know?” 

You almost admire the honesty. (Almost.) 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

Swipe. 

You were about five more red flags away from joining a monastery when suddenly, you got an idea. Perhaps... it’s just California? You’ve been living here your whole damn life. Let’s try escaping the endless sea of self-proclaimed “entrepreneurs” — the gym bros, the surfer stoners. The men who think that being emotionally available is a liability.  

So? You expand your distance radius. 

Like...  

Way out.  

Just to see what would happen. 

| Satoru, 26 — Kyoto, Japan |   “Hey. I’m not here to play games. Unless it’s Mario Kart. But don’t cry, because I’d totally win, sweetheart.” 

It’s a miracle. Because for once, there’s no shirtless mirror selfie. It’s just a guy on a front porch, wearing a hoodie. There’s a coffee cupped in his hands, with long raven hair falling against the violet hue of his eyes.  

He has gauges, a sleepy smile, and oh my god he’s— 

…gorgeous.  

And not the curated, flex-for-attention kind of gorgeous you’ve learned to dodge. No. There’s something… approachable about him. Soft. Stupidly warm. Like if you sat beside him, he wouldn’t talk — he’d listen. 

~  ♡ ︎ You’ve matched with Satoru Gojo!  ♡ ︎  ~  ...typing  Satoru: Did you know that the universe is 13.8 billion years old? There are billions of galaxies. Trillions of stars. And yet… here we are. Matched on a dating app.  Satoru: So… hi! Satoru: Wanna test fate?  You: lol 😂 You: well then... You: that’s one way to say hello!! 😝 Satoru: Yeah... figured I’d lead with existential dread instead of wyd 😉

He was... normal. 

Stupidly normal. Maybe a bit nerdy.  But somehow? It worked. He made you smile. 

...typing  Satoru: Okayokayokay... but REAL question...   Satoru: Do you pour milk before cereal??? 🤨 Or are you a functioning member of society?  You: 😨😨 You: excuse you!!   You: what kind of monster do you think i am??? 😒 Satoru: Phew 😩 Satoru: Just needed to be sure!! People have surprised me before 

And just like that, you were hooked. 

You talked while brushing your teeth. On your lunch break. In bed, half-asleep, phone screen dimmed but still open to his thread. He’s got opinions on everything. 

Anime, horror movies, why candy canes are overrated, the superiority of old-school consoles, and the tragic fall of Yahoo Answers. 

One day he asked: 

...typing  Satoru: Are you more of a salty girl or a sweet girl? 

You paused, halfway through folding laundry, holding one sock while you reach for your phone. 

...typing  You: hmmm..... You: are we talking snacks?? or personality type?  Satoru: 👀 Satoru: Well shit... Satoru: Now I wanna know the answer to both...  You: hehehe 😇 You: what do YOU think i am?  Satoru: Oh, hell no... Satoru: I’m not falling for that Satoru: Bc if I guess wrong, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.  You: pshhh...  You: that response answers for me 😛  You: but hmm... i guess i’m both? You: bc it depends on the day... OR the person.  Satoru: Okay cool Satoru: Soooo... I’m either incredibly lucky, or you’re about to ruin my life in a really interesting way. You: ruin you?? You: never!! You: ...you're one of the few people i actually wanna be sweet to ❤️  Satoru: ❤️  Satoru: Guess it's a good thing that I'm a sweet guy 😉 both snack AND personality wise Satoru: Which brings me back to the important question... Satoru: Snacks Satoru: Salty or sweet. Answer wisely, sweetheart. You: hmm...  Satoru: This data could make or break us 🤨 You: imma salty kinda girl Satoru: ...  You: but i don’t dislike sweet things! 😘 Satoru: Siiiiiigh...  Satoru: Fine. I respect it Satoru: Even though it’s OBJECTIVELY the wrong answer 🙄 guess I’ll just have to be the sweet one in this relationship

Somehow, it never felt forced. You didn’t have to explain your jokes. You didn’t have to shrink yourself or play dumb or brace for silence. He got it. He got you. And he made you laugh — constantly. But more than that… he made you feel safe. 

It was easy to forget you’d never seen him move. Never heard his laugh in real life. 

Until you started calling each other. 

What started as a five-minute “just wanted to hear your voice” spiraled into two hours. Then three. Now it’s just… what you do. The sound of his voice has become background music — familiar and warm, the kind of thing you could fall asleep to. Soft, a little raspy, warm around the edges when he laughs. 

He talks fast when he gets excited — usually about Digimon lore, bad anime dubs, or some absurd theory he read online at 3 a.m. He jumps from tangent to tangent like he’s chasing thoughts through constellations — but somehow, never leaves you behind. 

And when he’s really into something, you can hear it. His voice lifts like gravity can’t hold it. 

“Hmm… if we were two particles traveling at the speed of light,” he murmured, “do you think we’d still find each other in another timeline?” 

“Oh my god…” you smiled against your pillow; voice thick with sleep. “Is this your version of ‘Would you still love me if I was a worm’ Satoru?” 

His laugh was soft and breathy, wrapping around your ribs like ribbon.

“No,” he scoffed, and you could hear the pout in his voice as he shuffled against his own bedsheets. Then, with a huff he drawled. “This is my scientifically superior version of that question.” 

“Mmm… I see,” your hum was sleepy, curling deeper under the blanket. Grinning, your eyes fluttered closed as you murmured. “Yes. I think we would”

A comfortable silence settled, and you could hear the line crackle softly as he exhaled.

“I wish…” he said after a beat, “…we could spend Christmas together. It’s not fair you’re so far away.”

His voice was quiet, like he was afraid to say it too loud. And somehow, it landed harder than any confession. You pressed your ear closer to the phone, like maybe, if you try hard enough, you’ll feel the weight of him on the mattress beside you.

“Yeah…” you whispered. “Me too.”

You’d been talking to Satoru for a month now — and honestly, every other man you come across can’t hold a candle to him. So, when Mei Mei saunters to your desk December 1st, silk blouse pristine and judgment already locked and loaded, you know she’s not going to like what she finds.

“It’s officially December, my dear,” she hums, lowering herself into the chair across from you, tilting her head in that familiar, patronizing way. “So. Where are my lines?”

Your fingers still over the keyboard. Time to come clean.

“I know, I know…” you say, rubbing at your temples before finally looking up. Your heart thumps harder than it should. “And… don’t be mad. But… just hear me out. What if this year… I don’t write about heartbreak?”

It’s like you might as well have told her you quit. The silence is deafening while she blinks at you, deadpan — like you’ve grown a second head.

“Darling,” she says coolly, with a bitter laugh. “Christmas is in three weeks. I don’t need pleasantries — I need pain.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” you push gently, sitting a little straighter in your chair. “Christmas is supposed to feel… good. Warm. Like something you lean into, not brace yourself against.” You gesture vaguely toward the window, the gray sky.

You’ve always been alone for the holidays. No family. No one asking when you’ll be home.

“I mean… people are… tired. Stressed. Lonely. The world already feels cold enough without another reminder that love is awful. Right?”

Mei scoffs, flipping her hair over one shoulder, repulsed by the suggestion. “That mushy shit doesn’t sell…” And her eyes sharpen, flicking back to you. “You sound dangerously sentimental. Very unlike you, darling.”

Your mouth opens. Closes.

Little does she know… this is you. Or at least, the you that’s been kept hidden your entire career — doing something that feels so… empty. You’re tired. Tired of pretending that love is dead. For once, you want to believe in it. Believe that all this with Satoru — the potential for love — could be real.

“…I met someone.”

That gives her pause.

“Oh?”

Her snobbish tone is hard to ignore, but you don’t let it diminish the excitement you feel from the thought of him.

Satoru.

“Yeah… he’s—” you begin with a breathless laugh, tucking your chin into your palm like it might hide your grin. “Ugh. He’s good, Mei. Like… really fucking good. Funny… smart… thoughtful…”

But Mei’s sculpted brow arches as you continue to gush.

“Ohmygod and so handsome too,” you breathe, face lighting up. “Like. It’s unfair how good-looking he is, I swear. Plus, he remembers the little things I say, and he always checks in when I’ve had a rough day. It’s like…” you pause, breath catching as your heart aches with longing.

“It’s like… he sees me, Mei.”

At that, a knowing hum rumbles through your boss.

“I see…” she nods, lips tugging upward. “Well. Can you show me a picture, then?”

“Oh, sure!” you chirp, already digging for your phone in your bag. Your heart flutters at the sight of his photo, and after navigating to his profile, you hand the device over to her.

Her eyes narrow, then flick back to you. “This guy is in Japan…” and you can already hear it, that condescending tone, syrupy sweet. “I wonder… have you seen him yet?”

“W-What?” you blink, crossing your arms, instantly on guard. “Well… no. But it’s a sixteen-hour time difference! It’s hard to line up video calls, but we talk all the time and—”

“Mm.” That’s all she needs. She’s handing the phone back with a noise you’d describe as infuriatingly smug. “No way he’s that perfect,” she says, already rising to her feet. “I bet he’s catfishing you.”

Your heart drops.

God. That’d be just your luck.

“What?! N-No!” you argue, unwilling to entertain the idea. “It’s real, Mei. He’s real.”

“Mmm. So is Santa Claus~”

You scoff, brows furrowing.

“No, seriously. He said he wanted to spend Christmas with me. I was actually thinking of surprising him — flying out and —”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she interrupts, saccharine and sharp. “Flying to Japan? To meet a man you’ve never met?” a loud pompous laugh bursts out of her lips, making your blood boil. “Ahhh… what a story! I expect lines, my dear~”

And as her heels are clicking away, you glare after her, cheeks hot, heart thudding with equal parts embarrassment and fury.

That… bitch.

Fine. You’re going to prove her wrong.

You must.

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Satoru’s address.

You told him you wanted to send a Christmas present. He teased you, of course.

“A present? For little old me?” he drawled. “Awh… what is it? Is it scandalous? Oh!! Is it Digimon related??” You could practically hear the grin in his voice. And sure enough, a minute later, he sent his address with a laughing “Fine. But only if it’s Digimon-related, sweetheart.”

Little does he know…

It’s you you’re sending.

(Though yes, he’s still getting something Digimon-related too. You spent two weeks hand-knitting a Gabumon scarf hat — complete with floppy ears, tiny claws, and a ridiculous little horn. It’s absolutely absurd. You hope he’ll love it.)

Kyoto is blanketed in snow when you land — your breath visible in the air as you drag your suitcase outside the airport, gloved fingers fumbling with your phone. You manage to request a car (thank god for global apps), but the second the driver steps out and starts speaking rapid-fire Japanese, your brain goes static.

“Uh…. sumimasen?”

It’s the only word you know that seems remotely polite. That, and arigatou. Oh, and you know, baka, (thanks to Satoru’s anime rants about how “sub is superior to dub.” He swears by it, so naturally, you’ve started watching anime. In sub. Maybe because it feels like holding onto a piece of him.)

As you enter the car, you press your face to the frosty window and Kyoto whirls past — ancient shrines nestled between sleek buildings, power lines framed by snow-laced branches, vending machines glowing like beacons in the dark. The city is beautiful. Foreign. Dreamlike.

But then, the car pulls up to his house — and suddenly, you’re the one who feels foreign.

Because what the hell.

The place is huge.

It’s walled off with an iron gate, and a winding stone path leading up to a home that looks like a cross between a modern compound and a high-end ryokan. He’d told you his family was well off, but you didn’t realize well off meant a fucking dynasty.

Great. Now you’re standing here with your thrifted suitcase, the handmade gift for him, wrapped in a flimsy bag, wearing your own knitted scarf and a coat you borrowed from your roommate because your own has a busted zipper. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every chipped nail, every dollar you don’t have in your bank account.

God. What are you even doing here? This man seems ever more too good to be true. What if he’s playing you? What if… Mei’s right. Does he even want you? What’ll he do when he sees you? What’ll he say?

Fuck.

You take a deep breath, tugging your scarf a little higher, gripping his present like a lifeline. It’s fine. Whatever. You came all this way. No turning back now, right?

When you ring the doorbell, a faint chime echoes inside the estate. The air bites at your cheeks while voices murmur on the other side. Footsteps near the entrance and then—

Click!

The shoji slides open. You’re grinning nervously — heart hammering in your chest, steadying yourself as a figure comes into sight. A figure whom is—

A woman.

“えっ…誰？何かご用ですか？”

She stands with one hand on the frame, backlit by the warm glow of the house behind her. Dark hair pulled into a lazy bun, a cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling lazily into the night air. She’s tall. Cool. Effortlessly poised in a way you’ve never been. And she looks… young. Maybe your age.

Mei’s laugh is echoing in your goddamn ears.

Double fuck…

Did Satoru lie? Is this his girlfriend? His wife? A casual fling he forgot to mention? God. Is this why he never video chatted you?

It feels like a kick to the chest.

What the hell were you thinking?? Flying across the world for a guy you’ve never met in person?!

 “ちょっと、聞こえてる？”

She’s still looking at you, head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed with vague curiosity — and you realize with a jolt you haven’t said anything. Not a word.

“Oh! I—uh—sumimasen?” you stammer, fumbling with the little Japanese you know. “S-Sorry, I… I don’t speak Japanese,” you laugh, awkward and breathless. “I think I have the wrong house, though. I was looking for someone named Satoru but—” with a glance past her, you try not to look desperate.

God. You’re such an idiot.

“Uhhh… never mind,” and clutching your suitcase, you attempt to retreat. “I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”

Though her hand shoots out, catching your sleeve.

“Oh. Satoru? That idiot?” she says casually, in English this time — voice smooth, tinged with amusement. She flicks ash off the edge of the porch. “Yeah, you’re at the right house. He’s just at the FamilyMart with Yuji right now. Craving strawberry shortcake, apparently.”

As your brain begins to short-circuit, she takes one last drag of her cigarette, then steps aside, gesturing toward the entryway.

“C’mon. You’ll freeze your ass off.”

“Oiii,” Shoko calls. “We have a guest, guys! Say hello to—oh, um… sorry, what’s your name again?”

Before you know it, you’re stepping inside – toeing off your shoes at the entrance. Your feet pad against the tatami as you round the corner, and you’re greeted with a group of three other men sitting casually around a low table, with an abundance of snacks at the center.

Though, despite how laid-back the room appears, with pillows and drinks and half opened bags – there’s an underlying tension so thick, you swear it could cut glass.

They’re all staring at you with stone faces.

One man is blonde, with a chiseled jawline and a stern demeaner. Another has bubblegum-pink hair and tattoos crawling up both arms, and the third is a teenager with messy black hair who looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

Are these Satoru’s… friends? Family? He’s never mentioned them before.

Shoko takes another drag from her cigarette, unfazed. “I’m Shoko, by the way,” she says lazily, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Known Satoru for years. Unfortunately.” She smirks. “This is Kento, Sukuna, and Megumi.”

“H-Hello…” you murmur, gripping the handle of your suitcase as you hold a tight, nervous smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for… dropping in like this. I just flew in from America and… I was hoping that — well, Satoru would be here?”

“Gojo?” Sukuna gruffs, leaning back on one elbow. He plucks a piece of pocky from the snack tray and chews it without breaking eye contact. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be? His secret girlfriend or somethin’?”

The words hits harder than it should.

Girlfriend? Secret?

God, what are you to him?

And now, it dawns on you that they haven’t a clue who you are either. Of course, they don’t. Why would they?

You feel your cheeks heat. “O-oh, no. No, it’s not like that,” you say quickly, waving your hand like it’ll brush the embarrassment away. “I mean… we talk. We’ve been talking. But—”

You trail off and they’re all looking at you with raised brows.

“We don’t have a label or anything. We’re just… friends.”

“Friends?” Sukuna perks up, grin widening. “So lemme get this straight. You flew twelve hours across the globe for that pretentious dick?” He scoffs. “And he hasn’t even put a label on you?”

There’s something dangerously amused in his tone now, and he tosses the half-eaten pocky stick back onto the tray.

“Damn. Lucky bastard.”

You blink, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed or both.

"Don’t you worry sweet thing. You decide to stay and I can show ya how a real man can take care of ya, hm?"

Kento shifts, cutting him a glance. “Sukuna…”

“What?” he says, raising both hands innocently. “This girl is hot as fuck. And I’m just saying — if it were me? I’d at least make sure she knew what she was walking into. Or out of. I'm not like that asshole.”

You blink again.

Is he… hitting on you?

“Great... here we go…” Megumi mutters.

And Kento sighs, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Please ignore him,” he tells you, voice calm but firm. “Everything is a pissing contest with Gojo where he’s concerned.”

“Okay, first of all — fuck you,” Sukuna snaps, sitting up straighter now, suddenly defensive. “It’s not about competition. I’m just not blind. Look at her!”

You blush subtly, and Megumi mutters, barely glancing up.

“Don't take him seriously... trust me. He says that. But every time Gojo brings a fangirl around, he's always trying to take her home like it’s a fucking game.”

...fangirl?

The word slams into your chest like a hammer. Is that what they think you are? You stiffen, heart dropping. Because that proves it. You shouldn’t be here. Of course someone like him would get dozens of women throwing themselves at him.

What made you think you were any different?

You shouldn’t have come.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, grip tightening around the suitcase as you fumble to gather your things. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to barge in. I’ll just—”

And bowing your head, you spin on your heel, until suddenly you collide into someone. But it all happens so quickly; you don’t register who. Because with a gasp, you stumble backwards, entirely focused on how your giftbag slipped from your grip, making Satoru’s scarf fall to the floor.

“W-What… what are you doing here?!”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

'Sorry' must be your go to word tonight. You’re too embarrassed to look up and see more of Satoru’s friends judging you. You’re dropping on your knees, scrambling to gather things with shaking hands mumbling under your breath.

“I’m leaving now… god, I shouldn’t have come. Please don’t tell Satoru I was—"

“WHOA, is that Gabumon?!” a new voice exclaims, bright with curiosity. “Hey Gojo, who’s this?”

At the mention of his name, you freeze.

Your head slowly lifts, eyes tracing up to catch sight of another pink-haired boy, peeking out from behind the man directly in front of you.

But… the man doesn’t look like Satoru. Not the Satoru you’ve come to know.

No. He has snowy-white tousled hair, tucked beneath a beanie, with bright blue eyes, blinking behind thick-rimmed glasses.

Nothing like his profile pictures.

“Satoru?” you breathe.

His mouth parts, speechless while he’s looking at you like you’re a ghost.

“Dude, that’s so cool! Did you make that?” Yuji asks, eyes sparkling. “Gojo she’s a keeper, huh?”

“Mmm… clearly.” Nanami glances over. “Because since when do you let girls know you like Digimon?”

“About damn time,” Shoko snorts, already lighting another cigarette like this is the most amusing thing she’s seen all week.

“And, she flew here for you,” Sukuna laughs from the back, sounding far too smug for someone uninvolved. “Shit, I’ll marry her if you don’t, asshole.”

The voices layer over each other — praise, laughter, awe. But it’s too bright, too loud, and you’re frozen in the middle of it. Feeling completely detached from reality while the blatant truth stands directly in front of you.

He lied.

And the worst part? You believed him. You came all this way. Mei Mei was right.

Love is dead.

“Um, actually. I—I left something outside,” you blurt, shoving the scarf back in the bag and clutching it to your chest, blinking back the tears. “Excuse me a moment.”

And before anyone can stop you, you’re slipping past them — out the door, out of breath — your chest aching with something you can’t yet name. While behind you, footsteps follow as he calls your name.

“Wait—shit. Wait!”

Satoru knows he fucked up. And by the time he barrels out the front door, you’re already halfway down the street, boots crunching through the snow like you’re marching to war.

He feels like a grade A idiot. Because somehow, against all odds, you — this ridiculously perfect girl — came all the way to Japan thinking he was someone worth showing up for.

And now he’s watching you walk away.

“Waitwaitwaitwait…” he groans, jogging after you, breath puffing white in the air. “Slow down and just… can you just—fuck. Just stop for a second?!”

“Stop?!” You whirl around, eyes wet and furious. “Why should I? Who the fuck even are you? What kind of psycho catfishes someone for months and then just lies to their face?!”

He blinks, defensive instinct kicking in before his brain can catch up.

“W‑Well—what kind of psycho flies across the country and shows up on someone’s front lawn?” he fires back, hands flailing. “In Japan, might I add!”

A bitter scoff tears out of you. “You said—and I quote—‘I wish you were here with me for Christmas,’” your arms fold tight across your chest like you’re holding yourself together. “Why the hell would you say that if you didn’t mean it?”

He backpedals immediately. Because fuck — he did mean it. Every late‑night call. Every laugh. Every stupid wish whispered into the dark.

But instead of admitting that, panic takes over.

“L‑Look—that’s just—something people say, okay?” he rambles. “Like… ‘your baby’s so cute,’ or—um— ‘my diet starts tomorrow,’ or—”

He’s waving his hand, scrambling for humor — something to soften it — but the words die on his lips when he sees your face drop. You blink hard, like something inside you just broke. And the sight of it makes his stomach twist into knots.

Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole.

“Shit… okay,” he blurts, voice softer now. “That was... yeah. Um. That was a dick move. I know...”

“Fuck you…” you mutter, turning back around.

“Hold up! Please… just come inside, yeah? We can talk it out. If you'll just let me explain—"

“I don’t want to talk to you. Ever again.”

He can hear the hurt underneath the edge of your voice, and he stands there, watching you trudge through the snow – your figure getting smaller against the snow-washed street. He knows there is no salvaging this. He fucked it up. But still… reality slams into him all at once.

You don’t speak the language.

You don’t know the city.

You don’t have a car.

Fuck. Do you even have anywhere to go?

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck… fuck!” he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to jog back toward the house, bursting through the door.

“Guys, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to no one in particular as he grabs his keys off the counter, hands shaking. “She left something at the airport!”

Then, he’s gone again. Chasing the only girl who ever made him feel seen.

It’s cold. Too cold for someone with no plan and no fucking clue where you’re going. But the cold doesn’t sting as much as your heart does.

You don’t even know how far you’ve walked. Five minutes? Ten? Your fingers are numb, your phone battery is nearly dead, and your boots are soaked through.

By pure luck, you stumbled into some sort of Japanese bar. And the kanji on the glowing sign outside might as well be ancient runes, but the warmth spilling through the door felt like something close to safety. Like maybe if you just stepped inside, you’d stop feeling so fucking alone.

Because hey, at least the sake tastes good.

You have no Wi-Fi, no plan, not a single ounce of pride left. All you have is the stupid hope that maybe if you drown yourself in enough of this bitter rice wine, it’ll burn the ache out of your chest.

The edges of the bar blur slightly. Everything’s warm and loud. Someone’s laughing too hard in the corner. Across the room, beyond the haze, there’s a man with a dark bun and violet eyes, sipping from a bottle with his head tilted back.

Beautiful.

Almost like…

The photos on Satoru’s profile?

Are you delusional? Drunk? No... that is him. Right??

You’re blinking through the blur, trying to make sense of it. But then? The room begins to spin and sure enough, nausea hits.

“Shit—” you whisper, grabbing the edge of the bar.

You’re pushing off your stool, stumbling outside the icy curb, before you double over and hurl into the snowbank.

Great. Fucking perfect. Can this day get any worse?

“Hey—hey! There you are!”

Oh, yeah. It can.

Tires crunch as a car jerks to a stop beside the curb. The door flies open, left swinging in the cold and Satoru rushes out, barely remembering to throw the gear into park before he’s crossing to you, boots skidding slightly on slush.

“Jesus—fuck. Are you okay?” he drops beside you, crouching low. “What the hell happened—”

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, pushing at him weakly while your body sways. He pulls back like you burned him.

“I’m fffine,” you slur, though your stomach still churns and your face is damp with cold sweat. “Gooo away.”

He sighs, exasperated.

“You’re not fine. You’re pale and shaking and—wait. Are you… drunk?” He exhales, brushing his hand through his hair like he’s trying not to lose it. “Come on. Let me take you home.”

“Home?” you laugh, bitter and sharp, scoffing as you shove at him again. “You mean your home?”

“No. I meant… wherever you’re safe. I just—can we not do this right now? Please?”

You snort, head lolling as you stare at the ground. “You’re a liarrrr,” you mutter, voice thick and sloppy. “Jus’ like everyone else.”

The words land heavier than he expects. Wind howls between you, carrying the smell of snow and alcohol and regret. Satoru opens his mouth—closes it. For once, he doesn’t have a smart comeback.

“I’m gonna stay right here,” you announce suddenly, sliding down until your back hits the wall. You cross your arms, chin lifting like it’s some kind of moral victory. “I don’t need you.”

“…in the snow?” he asks flatly.

“Yup,” you nod, blinking too hard. “Maybe I’ll meet someone who doesn’t lie for fun.”

“Jesus, woman—” he drags a hand down his face. “You’re in a foreign country. You don’t speak the language. You’re drunk off your ass. I’m not just gonna abandon you in an alley behind a bar you can’t even read the name of!”

“Pffft... well I liiike this bar,” you say bitterly, voice cracking. “S'greeat. They poured the sake fast. And nobody lied to me.”

Every time you say it, it hurts him even more. Satoru exhales hard, pacing a few steps like if he stops moving, he might actually lose it. But when he turns back, ready with another argument — another plea — he freezes.

Because you’re... crying.

Not quiet tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, shaking sobs that pull from somewhere deep in your chest, shoulders hitching as you scrub at your face with the sleeve of your coat.

“I hate you,” you mutter, voice wrecked.

His chest tightens. He doesn’t know what to do with that. With this.

“I really liked you,” you continue, words tumbling out now, unstoppable. “Like—really liked you. I don’t do this. I don’t fly across the world for people. I don’t—” you hiccup, laughing wetly through the tears. “S'bullshit…” you mutter bitterly.

He blinks, lips pressing in a thin line like he’s unsure what to say. The cold wind blows as you sniffle.

“Plus… you’re hot as fuck. I don’t get it. Like… you didn’t even need to lie…”

You mutter, shifting in the snow. And that one makes him flinch.

“S’stupid… you could’ve jus' been you,” you say, gesturing vaguely at him. “But no. Instead you make up this whole fake version. Lying about everything. Liarrr. And now I can’t trust you. Betcha lied about liking me too, huh? All of it.“

He opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Because that’s the cruel part.

He didn’t lie about everything.

He thinks of the way people’s eyes light up when they recognize his last name. The way conversations shift the second they realize he’s that Gojo. He thinks of years spent being wanted for the wrong reasons — money, status, face value.

And you’re the one person who ever made him feel like it’s okay for liking what he liked. The nerdy, cocky, compulsively sarcastic guy who collects Digimon cards and corrects Wikipedia entries in his spare time.

“Oh yeah… ya know who I saw in there?” you suddenly say, jerking your thumb toward the glowing doorway behind you. “That hot guy from yer pictures.”

Satoru stiffens.

“Uh… Suguru?”

“Oh,” you sniff. “So he’s a real guy?” You laugh again, hollow and dizzy. “Figures. Y’know what? He looks like he wouldn’t lie. Bet he’s honest. Bet he doesn’t make fake profiles and pretend to be someone else.”

You’re too drunk to notice the flinch in his jaw, the way he shifts his weight like the words physically hurt. 

“Maybe I’ll go back in and see if he’ll take me home, huh?”

You try to shove off the wall and nearly trip again, but Satoru steadies you without thinking — hands warm and steady under your arms.

“Look…” he murmurs, voice gentler now. “I know you’re mad. And I deserve it. But I’m worried about you.”

His grip adjusts — one hand rising to gently cradle your elbow, the other slipping around to the small of your back as he lowers his head to meet your bleary, mascara-smudged eyes.

“It’s cold,” he says, voice pitched just above a whisper. “It’s late. You’re probably jet-lagged out of your mind. Just… come back to the house with me, alright? Sleep it off. And if you still hate me in the morning—fine. I’ll even help you hook up with Suguru… if you want.”

Your head jerks back slightly, eyes narrowing. “W-What?” You squint at him, breath curling white between you. “Seriously?”

He shrugs with the ghost of a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, me and him used to be friends. I’m your best bet.”

“That’s insane,” you mutter.

“I’m aware,” he says dryly. Then, more cautiously: “All I’m asking is that you pretend to be my girlfriend. Just until Christmas is over.”

You scoff, half stumbling again as you try to push away from him. “Why the hell would I do that?”

He hesitates. Then breathes out through his nose, gaze flicking away for a second.

“Because… you saw how excited my friends were to meet you. I don’t have a great relationship with my family, okay? Those guys… they’re all I have. I’ve spent holidays alone more years than I haven’t.” His voice cracks a little, just a hair. “I don’t wanna ruin this one… please?”

Something in your expression softens. It hits you all at once, stupid and sharp: how close he is. How blue his eyes are. Maybe it’s the crack in his voice, or the tired honesty in his face, or the fact that for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a liar. He just looks… sad.

“…okay,” you whisper. “Fine. Let’s just… go.”

But when you step forward, you falter slightly, ankle twisting in the snow, and he moves without hesitation — an arm looping under yours, the other bracing your elbow as he helps you upright.

“Shit—okay. Easy, sweetheart. I got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or the heartbreak, or the fact that your guard’s been sanded down to nothing. But for a second? You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.

He guides you carefully toward the car. The passenger door creaks open. He ducks down to guide you in, one hand braced above your head so you don’t hit it on the frame. His other hand lingers at your lower back. You glance up at him in the doorway.

“Do you… really think Suguru would like me?”

There’s a flicker in his expression. Then a tight smile.

“I think… he’d be lucky if he did.”

You frown, unsure how to read that. But you don’t press.

He closes the door behind you, gently. And as he rounds the car to take his seat, you rest your head against the window — watching snow dust the windshield like ash.

It’s going to be a long Christmas.

The drive home was quiet. When Satoru glanced through the rearview mirror, he realized you were out cold before he even hit the second red light. Your head was tilted against the window, lips slightly parted, breathing deep and even.

You looked impossibly beautiful.

By the time he pulled into the driveway, the snow picked up again, soft and powdery in the glow of the porch light. Satoru kills the engine and glances at you one more time.

“Hey… uh. We’re here?”

But you don’t wake. And honestly, he can’t find it in his heart to wake you himself. So instead, he sighs, “C’mon, sleeping beauty…” climbing out and circling the car. “Right… well. Up and at ‘em.”

He lifts you gently, bridal style. And your head lolls against his shoulder, warm breath ghosting across his collar. When he adjusts his grip, you snuggle closer, burrowing into the crook of his neck. And he tries to act like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting.

As he approaches the estate’s entrance, the door slides open before he can knock. Yuji stands there with a bag of chips in one hand and a soda in the other.

“Woah. Dude. She okay?”

“What?! Of course!” Satoru huffs. “She’s fine. Just—tired. Long flight. Jet lag hit her hard, y’know?”

Yuji nods solemnly. “RIP.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Move. Gotta put her to bed.”

Yuji moves. Nobody presses further. Satoru doesn’t stop in the hallway, just takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for his room, nudging the door open with his foot while he eases you inside.

He lowers you onto the bed slowly, like you might break. Your coat bunches beneath you, and he hesitates — then gently shrugs it off your shoulders, exposing some of your bare skin. You murmur something incoherent, head rolling to the side.

“Shhh… time to get some rest, sweetheart…” he breathes. “Lay back for me, yeah?”

As you lay back, he slips your boots off next, one at a time, fingers brushing your ankles. And god, your feet are freezing.

But as he’s reaching for the blanket—

“Mmmph.”

Your hand fumbles blindly and finds his shirt, tugging him down with you. He stumbles forward slightly, one knee landing on the edge of the bed, catching himself on his palms as you tug him down. Your arms wrap loosely around his waist, burying your face into his chest.

“W-Woah—hey,” he breathes, voice cracking a little. “You’re—uh. Kinda clinging there, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just… sigh. Sleepy and content. He’s lies beside you, unsure where to put his hands, heart racing. You’re cold. He can feel the way you press into him, like he’s the warmest thing in the world. Your fingers bunch his shirt. Your nose nuzzles the fabric.

“Mm… s’toru…”

His heart flutters, and he knows you’ll probably hate him again in the morning, but he doesn’t move.

Because he likes the way you cling to him. Because he’s selfish. Because the girl he lied to for weeks is now curled up in his bed, face pressed to his ribs, saying his name like she’s dreamt it a hundred times.

So, he sleeps beside you that night. Pretending, just for now, that none of it was a lie.

‘I keep thinking… if this is what you’re like over the phone, what the hell am I gonna do if I ever see you in person?’

You’re dreaming again.

Of his voice — that voice. Warm and easy. The one that used to call you at midnight, laughing through the line like it was nothing, like you weren’t slowly losing your mind for a stranger you’d never met.

‘Cause… I really love talking to you. Might just get addicted to you, sweetheart.’

You sigh, stirring slightly against the warmth pressed to you. It’s a heavy, encompassing warmth – like you’ve been swaddled in sunlight and something sweet. There’s an arm draped languidly around your waist, and a thumb twitching against your lower back.

Dreaming.

“Mmph…”

Your thighs are warm, tangled, clinging to something… hard. You wiggle your hips as the rhythm of breathing ebbs and flows beneath you. And that movement makes a low, sleepy sound rumble against your chest.

“Fffuck…”

The groan isn’t innocent, and your brow furrows with a whimper as something firm twitches between your legs. Beginning to row. A hand flexes at your back, and you instinctively press your thighs tighter, making him gasp.

“Unngh… b-baby…”

As your eyes flutter open, fluttering against his skin, you’re greeted with the slope of his throat, pale in the gray morning light. And the throbbing heat between your legs makes it undeniable now.

This isn’t a dream. This isn’t your bed. This isn’t your blanket. And your thighs are straddling Satoru’s hips with his morning wood right there and holy shit—

“S-Satoru?!”

You squeak. And his brow twitches, snowy lashes fluttering, lips parting on a sleepy inhale. When his hazy gaze focuses, you’re met with that blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than anything should be this early in the goddamn morning.

But then, awareness sinks in, and he stutters. “H-Huh…?” gaze flicking down to the very compromising position you’re both in.

“Shit!” his voice cracks as you shove at his chest, face molten.

“Oh my god—why the hell are we sleeping together?!” you shriek, and he’s desperately trying to explain. “I—You—” he wheezes as you push his again. “Ow, okay, damn, don’t commit a felony! You literally pulled me into the bed when you were drunk. And then you passed out on top of me! I’m the victim here!”

Your hands are still on his chest, mid-push. But you stop. Breath catching. Eyes locking.

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

You both look down at his dick.

“…so,” he mutters, throat bobbing as his eyes flick back up to your face—very carefully avoiding your chest, failing miserably. “You, uh… gonna move?”

“R-Right!” your cheeks erupt in flames as you scramble off him like he’s on fire, nearly tripping over the bed. “Shit—sorry—I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s uh… fine. Totally fine.” He mumbles with an awkward laugh. “I mean… not that I’m complaining… but damn. If this is how you serve breakfast in America? I might need to move and—”

“Don’t.” You snap, making him freeze. “Don’t say that…”

Your arms are crossed as you stand, pressing your lips together tightly. His expression instantly drops, the humor fading. And god. You want to be mad at him. You should be mad.

But mostly?

Last night comes flashing back – your drunk, pathetic sob story. And really, you just feel… humiliated.

“You don’t get to make jokes right now,” your tone trembles as you try to hold it tight. “Not after last night. Not after I flew across the world for someone who doesn’t exist. For some who—” you trail off, failing to find words that don’t sound even more pathetic. And scoff. “God… I’m such an idiot…”

There’s a long pause. Satoru’s quiet, but then you hear him sigh.

“…you’re not. You’re not an idiot.”

Your eyes flick over as you watch him shift upright, pushing a hand through his messy hair. His expression softens, vibrant eyes dimming with a tenderness. And for once, it doesn’t feel like he’s reaching for some smartass line to soften to blow.

“I told you… I shouldn’t have lied. Okay? I know that…” he scratches the back of his head, knowing there’s no excuse he can give you that’ll make him sound any less pathetic. He exhales, pushing on. “Look… just stay until Christmas. Please? I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you. Even… hook you up with Suguru, like I said.”

He hesitates as he says it. But that’s what you want… right? After all, you expected him. You expected Suguru.

You blink, mouth parting as your conversation at the bar comes crashing back towards your foggy memory. You’d said it to spite him. You were drunk and stupid and humiliated, and you just wanted to wound him.

Because you liked him.

You really, really wanted it to be real.

Your mouth parts. You’re about to answer when your phone buzzes.

Mei: How’s Japan, darling? Is he real? I expect those lines~

You stare at the screen. Something twists in your chest — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. And with a bitter smile, you tuck the phone away.

“Right…” you laugh, rubbing your arm nervously. “Uh… sure. I guess I’ll stay.”

a/n. hello my darlings. merry christmas, i hope you all are enjoying your holiday! i will have pt 2 out before the end of december, lmk if you wanna be tagged. this fic kinda gives me supermodel! gojo vibes? at least with the message it's exploring. hehe. anyways, love you all. thanks for reading 💖

[millionp]

Amidst the Lights.

--------------------------------------------------------------

crownprince!Katsuki Bakugo x princess!reader

Synopsis: A celebration is held for Crown Prince Bakugo’s coming of age. Nobles, as well as princesses from neighboring kingdoms gather to see the prince in all his glory. Fated glances are met across the crowd, through the dance floor, and amidst the lights. This is a story of an untamed Crown Prince meeting his oasis.k

Warnings: None (maybe swearing), just bear with me because this is the first fic I'm publishing! Pure fluff

Word Count: 1772

——————————————————————————

“Katsuki. Please just behave for today. The gala is being hosted in your favor.”

The queen exclaims, hectically directing the maids and butlers around the prince’s room. 

“Too many important nobles are making the journey to your coming of age, it's best you show the better side of our kingdom.”

Bakugo barely listens to his mother as he lays in his bed reading a book. He had been woken at the crack of dawn by the queen in an effort to fit his suit, but ended up ordering an entire new one to be made because he didn't like it.

“I don't understand what the fuss is. It's just my fucking birthday–”

Bakugo throws his book at the wall and leans back into the headboard of the bed.

“I hate these parties. They take time away from sword training. I'd rather sweat my ass off than entertain those nobles.”

 He says as he gets up and stretches. 

Most people mistake Prince Bakugo as someone who's easy to manipulate because of his hot temper, but he's witty and intelligent undercover. His ultimate goal is to be the best king in the history books, and parties aren't his thing.

“The gala is in a few hours. Please be ready by then, Katsuki. And watch your mouth.”

The queen says as she walks out the room with a few maids following behind her.

“Yeah, yeah. Old hag. You over there–”

Points and motions his finger towards himself in a gesture for the maid to come closer.

“Dress me. Make it quick or you'll be dismissed for good.”

“Yes, your highness!”

The maid panics and gathers her colleagues in an effort to dress the prince. The seamstress had whipped up garments that fit his tastes in record time, and the maids swiftly dressed Bakugo. 

As he was getting dressed, his close friend, Eijiro Kirishima, popped through his door. Kirishima is one of the prince’s closest acquaintances, which is what most think, but at best he tolerates him. He is a powerful noble–set to inherit the Kirishima Duchy, one of the most influential houses of Musutafu Kingdom.

“Bakugo!! It's your big day, how you feelin?”

Kirishima says as walks to sit at the nearest couch.

While standing in front of the mirror, the prince scoffs at the presence of Kirishima. The maids wince at his reaction, scared that he may explode in a rage. 

“Fuck off. It's such a nuisance. And I'm the crown prince, Kirishima, address me as such.”

“Okay, okay. My apologies to your highness. Come on!! It's one of those times princesses from other countries gather in one place!! Take advantage of this opportunity.”

“I don't give a shit about that. I just want to get it over with.”

The prince says as he slightly fixes his cape. 

“Why are you even here?”

“Haha… the queen..”

“Yeah, I knew it. For fucksake, I'm the crown prince. I know when to handle certain things appropriately.”

“Well… you did explode at the meeting between houses. My father ranted about the issue, he doesn't trust that you'll be a good king.”

“Well, fuck him. We’ll see if he can speak once I'm king.”

“Dude, that's my dad.”

“Whatever, screw off. I have to finish getting ready.”

“Okay. See you at the gala, your highness!”

Kirishima walks out and closes the door behind him. Bakugo ignores him and watches the maids fix his attire in annoyance. He puts his hand to his face and takes a deep breath.

“Okay… here we fucking go again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The palace is bustling with life under the sunset as nobles from neighboring towns and kingdoms gather. Carriages line up back to back, waiting for their turn to submit their invitation. One carriage, in particular, is feeling a little nervous.

“Y/N, you are now of appropriate age to marry. I would like you to take use of this opportunity and meet people your age–connect, engage, and hone allies.”

The Queen of Alteris explains to her daughter, the princess. 

“Yes, mother. I understand.”

The princess looks out the window on her right side, shifting her thumbs nervously on her lap. The princess of Alteris was known for her unique beauty, and the way she carries herself. She is calm and collected–but firm when needed. She is the ideal lady.

The carriage finally reaches theirs, and they hand their invitation to the butler. The butler examines and admits them to the event, opening the door to their carriage. The King exits first to extend a hand to his wife and daughter, and they all walk the path to the door. 

When they enter the palace, they are greeted by crowds of nobles conversing with each other in groups. There are long tables of food and drink for people to take, and chandeliers hanging from the roof decorated in ribbons. The ballroom is dazzling–shining from the ground up. The windows big enough to get lost in the image of the sky, which was slightly dimming into the darkness of the night. 

“Now, your father and I will go talk to some folk. Have fun, and make connections!”

“Yes mother.”

The king and queen of Alteris prance off arm in arm as they greet their friends with a smile. The princess is left to find her own group of friends hidden amongst the crowd. To her surprise, she was found first by her best friend, Momo Yaoyorozu–the princess of Aichi Kingdom. 

“Y/N! You're here!”

“Momo!! Thank goodness you found me first. I thought I was going to have to awkwardly search for you. Are the others here?”

“Yes! They're right over here. Come!”

Both of the princesses blend into the busyness of the night, slowly warming up to the environment. The main event is yet to appear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the sun finally finishes setting, and all the nobles have finally arrived, the crown prince is standing in front of the doors to the ball room. 

“It's time, son.”

The king says behind him. Bakugo takes a deep breath as he puts his hands on the handles of the door. The king and queen arm in arm, follows the prince as he opens the door to the ballroom.

“The King, Queen, and Crown Prince of Musutafu have arrived!”

The butler yelled out. Everyone’s attention was now on them as they walked down the steps to the crowd. They immediately get crowded by nobles, congratulating the crown prince for his coming of age. The prince tolerates their greetings, clenching his fist as he forces an annoyed smile. 

This goes on for 30 minutes before the prince slips away from the crowd, trying to find a drink, non-alcoholic of course, on one of the long tables at the side of the ballroom. Kirishima spots him, and he runs over to him. He slings his arm onto his shoulder with a huge grin on his face.

“Sooo? How's it going? Seen any princesses that suit your tastes?”

“Fuck off. I don't pay attention to that shit. I'm just waiting for this to be over, I hate letting these nobles think they're above me because I'm forcing a smile. It's bullshit.”

“Okay dude, you have a foul mouth.” 

“Again, it's your highness. We are not that close, dick.”

The prince swipes Kirishima’s arm off him as he goes to grab something to eat. The music in the background changes while he turns to lean on the table–completely cancelling out whatever Kirishima was saying on the side of him.

Then, it happened.

The lights blurred together to light up the corners of the room–the windows making them more beautiful among the darkness of the night. It was as if the night was sparkling. The prince's eyes caught the image of a girl, and he couldn't look away. She was beautiful, as if a painting had come alive. She, coincidentally, caught his eyes as well. The crowd blurred into oblivion and they both gazed into each other's eyes across the room. It was as if time stopped.

“Then, my dad was like–”

Bakugo walks forward through the crowd, as if in a trance.

“Dude??”

The prince maneuvers around people, determined to reach the girl on the other side. She panicked, watching him reach her second by second. Then, he finally reached her. 

“May I have this dance?”

The prince slightly bows his head and reaches his hand out to her. The crowd’s attention is turned to them, as she slowly puts her hand on his.

“It would be my pleasure.”

He leads her to the middle of the floor, and everyone else clears the way for them. As if enchanted, they both took the attention of everyone in the ballroom. Hand in hand, they sway to the music. They were stunning.

“I don't think I've seen you before in this kingdom, what's your name?”

“Y/N, princess of Alteris.”

“You look stunning tonight, princess.”

“Oh.. thank you. May I be frank?”

“Go ahead.”

He gently spins her and then firmly places her back into his hands.

“I've heard a lot of rumors about you. You're seemingly a hot head. But I feel that's not the case?”

He laughs.

“To bastards that deserve it–which is inevitably everyone I meet.” 

The princess slightly chuckles, and he's focused on her smile. 

“I sure hope that doesn't apply to me, your highness.”

“Hmm..”

He hums.

“Maybe, maybe not. What do you think?”

He smiles at her.

“I'd say no! You seem gentle.”

“You're the most brave person I've come across–most fear me.”

“I see nothing to fear.”

“You may if you get to know me.”

The prince frowns. The princess chuckles. 

“I don't think so.”

The prince is taken aback at the sight of her laughter–her shining like an angel fallen from heaven. 

The crowd watches in awe as the hot headed and rowdy prince gently smiles with the girl in his hands. It's as if time slows down for them–as if they're in their own world. But to their dismay, time doesn't slow down and the music does end.

“Well, princess–”

The prince bows and kisses her hand.

“I hope we can dance like this again?”

She gently smiles down at him, her nerves dissipated after their time together.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

She pulls away, grabs the ends of her gown, and bows. She shoots a genuine smile at him, as she turns to exit the center of the dance floor. He stands up straight and watches her walk away.

The crown prince is at a standstill, admiring her amidst the dazzling shine of the lights. 

Kirishima runs up to him.

“Dude. What just happened??”

“Shut the fuck up.”

to be continued...? (If this does well)

[darkmoonchild]

Telomeres || Two

And we go beyond the farthest reaches

Where the light bends and wraps beneath us

And I know as you collapse into me

This is the start of something

Pairings: widowed single dad! Toji x divorced! Reader (F)

Summary: His wife died a year ago and Toji Fushiguro has felt like his life has been on autopilot since then. Every day is just the same continuous loop.

Your marriage ended five months ago, four years down the drain. And now you find yourself living with your sister and brother-in-law, trying to pick up the pieces of your crumbling life back up.

A chance meeting brings these two broken souls together.

Trigger Warnings for Chapter: there really aren't many triggers for this chapter. The only triggers for this chapter is brief mentions of controlling behavior from abusive ex-husband and suggestive content (because of Sukuna and Tamsy).

WC: 6176

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Another thing about your ex-husband that you ignored–unfortunately, and willingly–was how controlling he was.

During the four years of your marriage, he refused to let you work. He claimed it would look embarrassing if his wife had a job while he earned “a decent enough income.” And you–quiet stupidly–went along with it.

Part of you had convinced yourself he was simply old-fashioned—believing in the traditional ideas and values that the man should provide and the woman take care of the home. Much like how you believed his father had done, mainly since he had mentioned it to you a time or two before. But that wasn’t the case.

Your husband was the apple and your then father-in-law was the whole damn tree. And you know what they say: the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And no truer words had ever been spoken.

Much like how his father treated his mother, your husband didn’t forbid you from working because he wanted to provide and care for you—no. He refused to let you work because he wanted to know where you were at all times. He knew that taking away your ability to afford anything meant he had control over everything. You never even got to own your own car, and your driver’s license expired while you were married to him. He had always claimed the two of you would go to the DMV when he had a day off, and yet he never took you.

And like everything else, you ignored it–wanting to believe love would conquer all. You were seriously a dumb bitch while you were married to that man.

Your husband didn’t stop at just being in control over your financial situation.

What few friends you had before your marriage dropped away quickly. But that was fine, you had told yourself once. You had your husband. Why would you need anyone else? He made sure you believed that.

He even convinced you that you shouldn’t talk to or visit your family, because what wife would feel comfortable being around people who didn’t “respect” her husband? So you rarely saw your mother and father. Barely even got to speak to them. And what always hurt the most was how little you got to talk to Tamsy.

Tamsy wasn’t just your big sister–she was your best friend. And by then, she and Sukuna were practically the only friends you had left besides Utahime and Kento. Not that your husband didn’t try to push them out of your life too. He had claimed on multiple occasions that Utahime was “too uppity” for his liking, and he definitely didn’t like the idea of his wife having a male friend in Kento.

He isolated you from everyone except him. Making it to where you could only depend on him. And in doing so he controlled where you went, what you did, and who you saw. If he didn’t like anything you were doing, wanting to do, or where you wanted to go, or wanted to see–you stayed home. Doing and seeing nothing. He controlled everything. Just like how his father had done to his mother.

And again, at the time, you thought nothing of it. You believed it was best to keep him happy–believing it would bring the two of you closer, make you fall back in love, return to what you thought you once were as childhood sweethearts. That your life together could somehow be magical. Hell, maybe if you kept doing what he wanted, maybe one day he would have calmed down about Tamsy and Sukuna. Maybe he’d let you be around them again. Aimee was two when you got married, and you loved that sweet girl more than anything.

But that never happened.

And after four years of taking advantage of you–and after that night five months ago when he took away your sweet baby–he still believed he owned you when the divorce papers came. He refused to sign his part. Said you were nothing and nobody without him, always had been, mentioned how you needed to “get your head out of your ass” and come back home like a good little wife. You didn’t. And your defiance only made him worse.

He destroyed almost everything you owned–your books, your makeup, your clothes, photos of your whole family, and your favorite ones of you and Tamsy growing up. And to hurt you in the cruelest way, to make you suffer for not coming back like he had demanded of you, he destroyed everything that was connected to Caspian. He destroyed what was your son’s nursery, all the little books and knicknacks you had gotten him, his clothes, every sonogram image, and worst of all–the little wolf plush that held his heartbeat.

You remembered that day so clearly. You had a doctor’s appointment to learn what your baby’s gender was going to be. After the ultrasound revealed your baby was a little boy, Sukuna had slipped out of the room after you all heard the heartbeat after the gender reveal. Your whole family–your parents, Tamsy, Aimee, even your husband, and Utahime–had been excited. You’d been irritated with Sukuna for leaving the room so abruptly instead of sharing the moment with everyone else.

You had just texted Kento–who had been stuck in a meeting and couldn’t be there–to tell him he was going to be “Uncle Ken” to a baby boy next March, when you saw Sukuna near the front door of the doctor’s office, speaking quietly with your father, his hands behind his back. You remember preparing to scold him for disappearing, but then he looked at you with the softest expression you had ever seen on your brother-in-law’s tattooed face.

“Congrats, Pip,” he had said, his gruff voice gentled, a small smile tugging at his lips. Pip–short for Pipsqueak–was his nickname for you. Sukuna had been calling you that since you’ve known him, seeing as you were always so much shorter than him, and you were five years younger. You had always tagged along with him and Tamsy while they were dating back then.

Sukuna had then pulled out the wolf plush from behind his back. His tattooed hands dwarfed the little thing. It was soft, a reddish-tan color. He placed it in your hands, and you smiled instantly–your pregnancy hormones almost making you ugly cry right then and there. But you held strong. But that was until he had told you to press one of the plush’s paws and you heard your son’s heartbeat. That was what made the dam finally break, and you ugly cried.

While you ugly cried, you nearly managed to tackle the six-foot-seven frame giant to the ground. You had leaped into his arms and clung to him like a koala, sobbing and snotting all over his leather jacket. You were pretty sure you had called him the best and sweetest brother-in-law a girl could have ever asked for. It had taken both your father and Tamsy to peel you off of him.

Sukuna had acted annoyed by your antics, but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes as he ruffled your hair and grumbled that you owed him dry cleaning for the snot stains.

It was all gone now.

Another thing about your ex-husband–aside from how much of a controlling, abusive piece of shit he was–was that he was a huge coward. And both Sukuna and Kento were large, intimidating men in their own right. Thanks to them–for reasons you never wanted to know the details of–they got your ex to sign the papers. And since he had destroyed everything of value you might’ve claimed, and because no one had sympathy for an abuser, the court swiftly finalized your divorce.

The house had originally been his, so he kept it, and you were left with nothing. Your parents lived too far away to rely on, and you didn’t want to intrude on them anyway. They deserved to enjoy their retirement without added stress–and because they’d already raised you once. You were determined to find somewhere else to go.

With what money? With what mode of transportation? You had no answers. But you refused to be a burden to anyone.

And that was how you ended up moving into your sister and brother-in-law’s home. Tamsy refused to let her baby sister go without knowing where her next meal or bed would be. You tried arguing that you weren’t her problem, that you didn’t want to inconvenience her or Sukuna. You were told to shut up–repeatedly–by both of them. And you were told to shut up even more when they started helping you replace the clothes and all your other necessities your ex-husband destroyed.

Sukuna even took you to renew your driver’s license–since it had been over four years since your original expired, you had to retake everything. Although, the women at the DMV seemed very sympathetic to your situation–which you hated–so they only made you redo the vision and written portions. Given your age, they bypassed the driving test entirely.

You promised Sukuna you would pay him back, since he had funded the whole thing. And paid a good amount for your retest too. And as always, you were told to shut up–this time with the added bonus of a forehead flick from your brother-in-law. You had a red mark for two hours because of it. You pouted, of course.

“We’re doing this because we love you, Pip,” Sukuna told you once you pulled back into the driveway of his and Tamsy’s home. You immediately tried to get out of the car, embarrassed at needing help, but he was quicker and locked the doors before you could. He was going to make you listen.

“You just had your whole world fall down around you,” he said. “Let me and Tams help get you back on your feet again, Y/N. So no more talking about paying us back, yeah? We aren’t doing all this for you to make it an IOU thing.”

He hugged you after that–not a full embrace, but it was more of his typical one arm squeeze around your shoulders. He did press a kiss to the top of your head, and it calmed you down a little bit. Just a little.

You made a promise to yourself that day: you would rebuild your life. You would find a job, start saving money, and one day repay your sister and brother-in-law back for everything they had done and continued to do for you. And four months later… you were still searching.

Somewhere would hire you eventually… right?

You had hoped so. Because as determined as you were to rebuild your life and repay Tamsy and Sukuna, you were equally determined to stop hearing Sukuna fucking your sister into their mattress.

There was only so much whimpering, degrading words, skin-smacking, and your sister moaning “fuck, Ryo” or “yes, baby, fuck!” that you could take. Any more of that assault on your ears and you were going to take a couple of Aimee’s colored pencils and shove them straight into them. Sharpened.

Did you tell Tamsy and Sukuna this? Absolutely not. They did their–apparently vigorous–coupling under the assumption that both you and Aimee were dead asleep. It wasn’t their fault you’d become a light sleeper during the four years you were married. You used to sleep like the dead; a whole tornado could’ve ripped the roof off your old house and you wouldn’t have stirred. But now, the slightest creak in the foundation or groan of a floorboard jolts you awake.

Which meant you had the unfortunate privilege of hearing what sounded like Sukuna either trying to put a whole baby inside Tamsy… or trying to break her in half. One of the two. Though judging by the sounds your sister made, he was probably aiming to accomplish both.

And that led you to the events of today.

After yet another “we appreciate your interest” type interview–one that ended with you being passed over for a candidate who had “more aligned credentials”–you walked through the front door with a slumped shoulders and defeated spirit. This was the fifth job interview this week that had ended the exact same way.

You toed off your shoes, hung your bag by the door, and dropped Tamsy’s car keys in the little bowl on the hallway table before stepping into the living room. Your sister was off today and busy in the kitchen making dinner. Aimee sat contently at the kotatsu, a coloring book open in front of her while some cartoon played in the background.

Since it was still summer, the kotatsu looked like a normal low table. The heated blanket wasn’t attached–waiting for the cooler months to return.

You pressed a soft kiss to the top of Aimee’s head before face-plating onto the couch, your groan of irritation and exhaustion muffled by the cushions. One arm and one leg made it onto the couch with you; the other two dangled pathetically off the side.

Aimee must have turned around to look at you, because the next words out of her mouth were shouted toward the kitchen:

“Mama!” she called out. You could practically see her little eyebrows furrowed together in concern. “Obasan is being weird!”

“That’s nothing new to me, baby,” you heard your sister say, amusement coloring her voice.

If Aimee hadn’t been sitting right there, you knew damn well you would’ve lifted the hand dangling off the couch and flipped her off. Your middle finger itched for it. But you refrained. For now.

“I’m guessing the interview didn’t go well?” Tamsy’s voice came clearer now as she walked into the living room. She stood behind the couch, bending at the waist and leaning on her folded arms against the back of it.

You turned your head just enough to glare at her through your lashes. “What do you think?” you asked flatly, your voice heavy with the same irritation and exhaustion your body felt.

Tamsy only shrugged, unbothered by your mood–as always. “Someone will give you a chance soon,” she said brightly. She tilted her head, resting her chin in her palm. “Just give it some time.”

You groaned and buried your face back into the cushion. “That’s all I’ve been doing–giving shit time.”

Your voice was muffled, but she heard you anyway. She reached down and patted your back.

“Give yourself some grace, sis,” she said gently. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

You groaned once again before pushing yourself upright, shoulders still slumped. “Too bad we’re not in Rome,” you muttered.

“We learned about Rome in school last week, Obasan!” Aimee chimed in, cheerful as ever. She loved learning new things. “Something about a dressing guy.”

It took your brain longer than it should have to process that she meant Julius Caesar–the dressing guy.

You hummed in amusement, glancing at your niece. “Well, that’s awesome, my love,” you said. “But remember, he isn’t some “dressing guy,” okay? Julius Caesar was an emperor. Just hold on to that just in case he ever comes back up again.”

“Okay, Obasan!”

With that, she turned back to her coloring. Conversation momentarily forgotten.

“Come help me with dinner?” Tamsy offered. You looked over at her, seeing the expectant tilt of her head, and silently nodded before getting up to follow her into the kitchen.

The two of you worked side by side in a comfortable quiet. You rinsed and chopped the vegetables while Tamsy focused on the chicken and fish she was preparing for dinner.

“You know Sukuna and I aren’t trying to make you feel like you need to find a job, right?” she said after a moment.

You paused mid-chop and looked up at her. “I know,” you said honestly. You returned your attention to the cucumber beneath your knife. “I just want to rebuild my life and give you guys your house back.”

“You aren’t invading our house the way you think you are.” Tamsy had started arranging the chicken and fish before seasoning them. She looked over at you, her expression soft, her mouth pulled into a worried frown. “We love having you here.”

You sighed. “I know you do, Tams,” you murmured, “but it doesn’t make me feel any less like an inconvenience. You’ve already done so much and spent so much on me.”

“Because we–”

“–love me, I know.” You met her gaze with a matching frown. “I know you two love me. But it’s not fair that you had to change everything because of my fuck-ups.”

Tamsy hated when you blamed yourself for the last four years with your ex-husband. She especially couldn’t stand how you blamed yourself for what happened to Caspian at the hands of his father. But why wouldn’t you blame yourself? You had chance after chance to leave. You never did.

So everything that was happening to you now…was your fault. At least, that’s what you believed.

“Y/N…” Tamsy began, but you returning your focus to the cucumber stopped her. Maybe it was the silent, pleading look in your eyes. Maybe it was the way your shoulders tensed. You didn’t know. But she sighed and went back to prepping the chicken and fish.

Dinner was nearly finished when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She jutted her hip out towards you, silently asking you to grab it since her hands were still coated in batter from frying the fish.

You finished the phone out of her front pocket and saw Sukuna’s name flash across the screen. His contact in her phone was “Ryo”––a shortened version of his first name Ryomen–with a heart emoji and a wedding ring beside it. The photo was one you’d seen before: Sukuna shirtless and asleep in the recliner of your sister’s hospital room, newborn Aimee cradled safely in his massive arms, both of them fast asleep.

You slid your thumb across the screen to accept the call and held the device between your sister’s ear and shoulder. Tamsy tilted her head, trapping the phone there as she started washing her hands.

“Hi, baby,” she greeted him warmly. You could only hear Sukuna’s muffled rumble through the speaker, unable to make out any actual words. “Pip and I are just finishing up dinner. It should be done by the time you get home.”

She hummed at whatever he said next, then giggled softly, rolling her eyes. “Of course he did. That’s Satoru for you.”

Satoru Gojo, as you had learned, was one of Sukuna’s coworkers–and his reluctant friend–at the shop. You’d met him twice since moving in. You had to admit he was handsome and genuinely kind… but far too much to take in large doses. The man had enough energy to power a small city, which usually led to Suguru Geto–another coworker-slash-reluctant friend of Sukuna’s–stepping in to wrangle him.

Satoru and Suguru had known each other since childhood. And Suguru was very much the calm to Satoru’s chaos.

“Yeah, she went to her interview today,” Tamsy said as she turned off the water. She shook the droplets from her hands into the sink before grabbing a paper towel to dry them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out you were the topic now. “No,” she added with a small shake of her head–as if Sukuna could see her through the phone. “She didn’t get it.”

You planted your hands on your hips, shooting your sister a less-than-amused look. It was kind of rude to talk about someone who was standing right next to you. She lifted a finger in your direction–a silent hold on–as she listened to whatever Sukuna said next. Her brows furrowed slightly in response.

“Really?” Tamsy asked, glancing at you with her finger still raised. Your less-than-amused expression didn’t budge. “He’s the one who asked about her? Well, that’s new for Shiu.”

Shiu Kong–the owner of the mechanic shop Sukuna worked at, and apparently one of your brother-in-law’s oldest friends.

“So, Satoru did that with Ai?” Tamsy asked, her tone shifting with understanding. She nodded to herself and leaned back against the counter, one hand holding the phone, the other settling on her hip.

What did Satoru do? Did you even want to know? Probably not. But you couldn’t help but be a little bit intrigued.

Tamsy huffed. “Now I get why she quit.”

“Ai quit?” you repeated, raising a brow. Tamsy lifted the finger again. You narrowed your eyes. “Stop with the finger.”

She gave you an exasperated look. “I’m on the phone.”

“Oh yeah? I hadn’t noticed, Tamako.”

Tamsy ignored the jab and returned to the call. You rolled your eyes.

“Just Pip being Pip,” she said, answering something Sukuna must’ve asked. “You want to talk to her?”

You immediately shook your head, mouthing no thank you–but the look she gave you, the perfect replica of your mother’s raised brow and firm mouth, made you freeze. Defeated, you took the phone and sighed before putting it to your ear.

“What, Ryomen?”

“Have I ever told you how lovely it is to talk to you?” Sukuna’s lazy, unimpressed tone crackled through the speaker. You could practically see his crimson eyes rolling. “Real charmer, Pipsqueak. Makes you want to carry on a conversation with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ryomen.”

“Alright, alright.” You heard shuffling, muffled voices, the squeak of a door opening and closing–he was probably moving from one part of the shop to another. “You worked a front-facing job before, yeah?”

You raised a brow at that and glanced toward your sister. Tamsy already knew what he was asking–her expression said just answer him as she turned back to finishing dinner.

“Pip,” Sukuna prodded.

“Huh?” You blinked, snapping back. “Oh yeah, I have. After high school–I worked part-time at one of the hotels in town over the summer. It was to earn a little bit of extra cash before uni started. I was the receptionist.”

“I thought so,” Sukuna said. Before you could even ask why that mattered, he continued, “come Monday, I got a job for you.”

Your eyes widened. “Wha–what the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Meaning you got a job waiting for you,” he repeated. His tone was slow, like he had one eyebrow raised, wondering which part you weren’t understanding–as if it were the most self-explanatory thing in the world.

“Yeah, I got that part, asshole,” you said, “what I mean is how do I have a job waiting for me?”

“I vouched for you. That’s how you got one waiting.”

“Ryomen…”

“Look, Ai quit right on the spot,” Sukuna said. In the background you heard someone groan, “oh, come on!” Sukuna snapped immediately, “if you could keep your dick in your pants we wouldn’t be having this issue, Snowflake!”

Must have been Satoru. It was quiet for a beat of time before your brother-in-law returned back to your conversation, almost like nothing happened at all.

“And Shiu remembered I mentioned you’ve been trying to find a job,” he continued, “so he said if you agree to it, you’ll start Monday morning.”

“I don’t know about this…” you sighed. You brought your thumb to your mouth, nibbling at the side of it–a nervous habit you’d picked up over the past few months. “It doesn’t seem fair to someone else.”

“Other people aren’t my concern. You are.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off. “Don’t.” His tone was firm. “I’ll let Shiu know you’ll be here.”

“Ryomen, wait–” click. “Ryomen? Okay, no.” You redialed back immediately.

“Yes?” he answered on the first ring, voice dripping with amusement. You knew there was a smirk stretching across his stupid face. Your eyes narrowed.

“I know like hell you didn’t hang up on me, Ryomen Itadori.”

Sukuna hummed thoughtfully. “Did I hang up on you, Pip? Did it sound like this?”

Click.

He hung up. Again.

You scoffed and whipped around to your sister. “He hung up on me!” you exclaimed.

“I gathered that,” Tamsy said with a laugh. She glanced at you, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “I told you–just give it some time and you'll find a job.”

You narrowed your eyes and your sister, and because Aimee wasn’t in here with the two of you, you raised both your hands and flipped your sister off.

******

When Monday morning rolled around, you were nervous. Rightfully, so.

You rode with Sukuna to Kong Auto Repair that morning. He was apparently feeling generous enough to leave the house early so the two of you could stop at the Seven-Eleven—letting you grab one of those Monster energy drinks you loved so much and one of the strawberry sandos you adored. Or, as Sukuna always called them, “sugar overload.”

When he grabbed himself a coffee and a dorayaki, you made sure to point out that his little pancakes with red bean paste were almost as “sugary” as your sando was. The back and forth that sparked from that comment? Outstanding.

Because in all the years you’d known Sukuna–and all the ridiculous things you two had playfully bickered over–arguing at eight in the morning about which sweet treat was worse for your health was an entirely new level of chaos for the both of you.

And truthfully, the argument continued all the way until the two of you reached the shop.

“All I’m saying is your sando is nothing but sweet cream and strawberries,” Sukuna remarked as he held the door open for you. You stepped inside the shop, and when Sukuna stepped in a second later, he let the door shut behind him. “Cream is already just plain sugar, then you throw a fruit that’s already sweet in the damn thing.”

“While that may be true,” you continued, folding your arms as you looked up at him, “strawberries are basically water, hardly that much sugar in them. But your dorayaki is literally two pancakes–which are basically just cakes–with anko between them. Sweet paste. Red bean paste, to be exact. And you ate yours with coffee, Ryomen.”

“I drink my coffee black, and you know that,” he shot back, “you had a whole energy drink with your sweet ass sandwich, kid. Sugar with a side of sugary caffeine.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Semantics.”

“Not semantics. Just facts.”

“No–”

“So this is the sister-in-law Sukuna told us all about, huh?”

Both you and Sukuna turned to see Shiu walking toward the front from the back of the shop.

Shiu was tall–nowhere near Sukuna’s height–but still a solid six-foot-something–with an average build. His black hair was short on the sides with a longer top. His eyebrows were dark and thin, and he had the faint shadow of a mustache. He wore faded blue jeans, a gray t-shirt, and black shoes. A cigarette was tucked behind one ear. He approached with a relaxed smile, hands resting on his hips.

“Sukuna’s told us a lot about you,” Shiu continued.

You felt your cheeks heat at that. You shot your brother-in-law a pointed look over your shoulder. Sukuna only shrugged–his version of saying “sue me.”

If you could get away with strangling him… you would in a heartbeat right now.

“All good things, I hope,” you murmured, having a hard time meeting Shiu’s eyes. “Because if any of it sounds remotely bad or embarrassing–they never happened, and Ryomen made all of it up.”

Shiu let out a small laugh. “Nah, nothing like that,” he assured you. He crossed his arms over his chest. “The big guy is actually pretty fond of you, sweetheart.”

As if on cue, Sukuna cleared his throat and muttered something about needing to clock in, leaving you and Shiu standing together as he headed toward the garage. From the back, you heard Satoru greeting him–loudly, of course–and asking something about you. Sukuna’s gruff reply sounded threatening–which didn’t surprise you–which caused the white-haired man to immediately quiet down, though you couldn’t make out the exact words being said.

“Don’t be so nervous,” Shiu said after a moment. You looked up at him through your lashes. When had you turned your attention to your feet? His smile was easy, still very relaxed. “The job isn’t bad–it’s pretty simple. And don’t be nervous about us assholes, okay? We’re harmless. For the most part anyways.”

It was the “most part” that worried you. Maybe you should question him about that? Honestly, you probably should. Then again…you’ll just save that for another day. Shiu really did seem like a decent guy. And as it stood, Suguru and Satoru were the only other people you knew in the shop at all–and they were harmless.

Well… harmless enough. Even if Satoru was the embodiment of chaos in human form.

“Come on…” Shiu trailed off, prompting you to supply your name. You looked at him, and he cleared his throat, chuckling nervously as he rubbed under his chin. “I’m gonna be honest–none of us know your actual name. Sukuna only ever refers to you as either “my sister-in-law” or he goes with Pip or Pipsqueak. Got all of us knowing you by those three names.”

Of course Sukuna had everyone calling you Pipsqueak. Why wouldn’t he?

You sighed and thought, “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What is your actual name?” Shiu asked after catching the way you rolled your eyes at that revelation. “I’m not trying to be creepy about it, I promise. I just need it for when I put the order in for your work shirt. That way I get the right name.”

“It’s Y/N,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “But you can put Pip on the shirt–seeing as how that’s apparently what I’m known by here.”

“Do you want that on your shirt, Y/N?” You tilted your head at him. He tilted his back, mirroring you. “Don’t feel like you have to have your nickname instead of your actual name. If you don’t actually want to use Pip, I won’t use it. I use anything you don’t want.”

You took a moment to think about it, weighing whether you preferred your ridiculous nickname or do you want to use your actual name. Honestly… Pip sounded better. And it was mostly because no one hardly used your real name anymore. Sukuna said the nickname so often that even Utahime and Kento started using it. Your parents didn’t–they had their own nicknames for both you and Tamsy. And of course, Aimee only ever called you Obasan.

You looked back at Shiu and smiled softly. You nodded. “Yeah,” you said, “I’d like for you to use Pip for my work shirts, please.”

Shiu studied you for a moment, as if making sure you truly meant it. His dark eyes scanned your expression, and once he decided you were genuine, he returned your smile. “Then Pip it is,” he said. He gestured for you to follow him behind the front desk. “Alright, Pipsqueak, lemme show you what you’ll be doing.”

You nodded once again and followed him.

What transpired over the next two–possibly three–hours was Shiu showing you the ropes of your new job. He had you watch as he took a few calls, handled walk-in customers, and navigated the computer system–how to order parts, how to schedule appointments, make customer accounts, and even how to update current customer accounts if they needed editing. He showed you how payments worked for cash, debit, and credit. He even gave you the numbers for the tech support line he used whenever the system decided to act up, and the contact information for the parts delivery services.

Shiu explained everything thoroughly. He even shadowed you as you helped a few customers:

.One with an appointment for an oil change and tire rotation,

.One scheduling a transmission inspection,

.And one ordering a new part and pre-paying for the upcoming repair.

The last customer was irritated about the price, and thankfully Shiu stepped in before they got truly unpleasant. They still grumbled, but they paid. You just knew they were going to be a delight to deal with in two weeks when the part came in.

It was nearing lunchtime when Sukuna came in from the back. He was wiping his hands on a rag, oil and grease staining his skin and clothing. A very normal look for your brother-in-law. He usually came home looking just as grimy.

“Ah… here we have the wild Sukuna in his natural habitat,” you mused while looking at him. Sukuna shot you an unamused look. You continued on in your poor French accented nature documentary-style voice. “He bathes in oil and grease to mask his natural musk from predators and prey. Trying to blend in to his surroundings, though others believe he is just naturally smelly.”

“You know, I was going to ask if you wanted to go to that noodle shop you and Aimee like for lunch,” Sukuna said, voice deadpan, “but keep being an ass and I’ll go alone. You can fucking starve, brat.”

“Has anyone ever told you how horrible you are at taking a joke?” you shot back at him.

Sukuna snorted. “Oh? Like how has anyone ever told you how pleasant you are to talk on the phone with?”

“That’s only because you like being a total asshole over the phone, Ryomen.”

“On the contrary, Pip, I think I’m an asshole in person, too. Not just over the phone.”

“Yeah? Maybe you should change that.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the front desk. Shiu stood beside you, hands tucked in his jeans pockets, clearly entertained by the banter between you and Sukuna. “You might actually be able to make more friends than you do now if you were nicer.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Don’t need any more friends,” he muttered, “half the damn time I don’t want the ones I have now.”

“Hey now,” Shiu chimed in, stepping out from behind the desk. He clapped Sukuna on the shoulder once he stood beside him. A shit-eating smile on his face. “Your ass would be lost without me and the guys.”

Sukuna grunted. “Pretty sure my ass would be just fine without you dumbasses.”

Shiu let out a laugh. “I highly doubt that, Ryo. Remember now, you and Toji owe me a lot. I’m the one who managed to introduce the both of you to your lady loves.”

You raised an eyebrow. Toji? You weren’t sure if you’d ever heard Sukuna mention him before.

You knew Satoru and Suguru, of course. You’d met Ino today–pleasant, funny, cute even, though definitely a bit too young for you. Not that you were looking anyways. Mahito was… interesting, to say the least. Not unpleasant to look at–the scars on his face kind of heightened his looks–and not unpleasant to talk to, but there were definitely a few screws loose in that head of his. You were thoroughly convinced of it. And of course, there was Shiu, after spending half of the day with him teaching you your new job.

But this Toji guy? You hadn’t seen him, and his name had never come up until now. Weird.

“Yeah, yeah, keep thinking that,” Sukuna said to Shiu with another eye roll. He continued wiping his hands, clearly knowing he’d need to wash up before the two of you left for lunch. After a beat, he looked at Shiu again, brow raised, and like something just now crossed his mind. “Where is that asshole anyways? Not coming in today?”

Shiu shook his head. “Nah. Megs got sick over the weekend and didn’t go to school today. The babysitter had a family emergency, so ‘ji called out to stay with him and take him to the doctor.”

“Heard anything back since then?”

“Not yet,” Shiu sighed. “I was gonna call during lunch, check in and see how he and the kid are doing. Toji said depending on how Megumi feels by the end of today or by tomorrow morning, he’ll be in like usual. But he said if the kid is still feeling bad, he might be out again.”

“Hm. Lemme know what he says,” Sukuna told him. Then he turned to you. “Gonna wash up a little and then we’ll go get food. Okay?”

You nodded, smiling. “Okay.”

Sukuna and Shiu walked off together, still talking as they disappeared through the door leading to the garage. Their voices muffled behind it.

You sat at the desk, looking over what was now your workstation. You began mentally organizing it–thinking about sticky notes, some good pens, and maybe organizing the desk into a better layout for you than the chaotic mess Ai left it in. And then your mind drifted back to that Toji guy.

You don’t know why he was a subject of interest for you. You didn’t even know him. Hadn’t even met him. You pretty much chalked it up to that. Just being curious about someone unknown to you.

Although, you did hope his little boy started to feel better soon.

So, I kind of decided I’m going to do some chapters in a dual perspective like I did the first part, and then others I’m going to let it be in the perspective of the reader (like this one was) and Toji (like how I’m going to make the next chapter). I think that might be a good way to go about this.

I really wanted to focus just a little bit more of the reader’s time with their ex-husband and how the divorce went about. I’ll go over the reader’s friendship with Utahime and Kento in later chapters, but for now just know they’re the reader's best friends.

I will be honest, I kept having horrible brain farts while writing this chapter–so much stuff got rewritten, deleted, rewritten again, deleted again, until I got this. And I’m pretty sure I still don’t like it. But this is what I’m working with. And I hope you guys like it—just a little bit.

Also, I do like how I shaped the reader’s and Sukuna’s relationship, and how they act with each other–mainly because I shaped it, and used inspiration from, how me and my own brother-in-law acts towards one another.

And to finish this out, speaking of Sukuna, I kind of like the idea of him and Jin being brothers. So, that's why his last name is Itadori.

[veilofsixeyes]

(五条悟 ) —BRUISED KNUCKLES AND POINTE SHOES: chapter 01

PAIRINGS: boxer gojo x ballet dancer reader

PRECIS: a career-ending ankle injury leaves you shattered. boxing rehab with gojo satoru—brutal, arrogant, your only option—forces you past every fear. he throws away your brace, calls you broken, and pushes relentlessly.

but his lingering touches and sharp grins make your pulse race. by the end, you've walked without limping and feel alive for the first time in months. you hate him. but maybe he's exactly what you need.

・✶ ｡ﾟ CW: violence, injuries, angst (mostly fluff), you two dont like each other, gojo is a flirty asshole ofc, sexual harrassment (not by gojo) eventual romance, not slowburn but not fast if u get what i mean, boxing matches, ballet rehearsals, insults, gojo is older than reader (not by a lot), you're lowk broke, stress, creepy ballet mentors, mental breakdowns, and more as i go on WC: 7k

the physical therapy office smelled like antiseptic and broken dreams.

you sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the pamphlet dr. martinez had just handed you. "boxing for rehabilitation" was printed across the top in aggressively cheerful font, accompanied by a stock photo of someone who'd clearly never experienced a career-ending injury smiling while wearing boxing gloves.

"you're joking," you said flatly, though your stomach had already dropped. you knew that tone in her voice—the one that meant she'd made up her mind and no amount of arguing would change it.

dr. martinez, who'd been your physical therapist for the past four months, gave you that patient look she'd perfected—the one that said she'd heard every argument before and wasn't impressed. "I'm not joking. your ankle has healed physically, but you're still favoring it. you don't trust it. boxing will help rebuild your confidence and your strength."

"I dance. I don't need to punch things." the words came out sharper than you intended, but panic was rising in your chest. boxing. the idea was absurd. you were a ballet dancer—grace, precision, control. not violence. not... whatever this was.

"you danced," she corrected gently, and the past tense hit like a slap.

the correction landed like a physical blow. past tense. you danced. not you dance. the difference between those two words was everything—your entire identity, your life's work, your reason for existing. your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to swallow past the lump forming there. you would not cry. not here. not again.

"and if you want to dance again, you need to do this," dr. martinez continued, her voice softening slightly. "the company won't take you back until I clear you, and I won't clear you until you stop moving like you're afraid of your own body."

she was right. you knew she was right, which somehow made it worse. you'd watched yourself in the mirror during yesterday's practice—saw the hesitation, the way you pulled back at the last second, the fear that had become as much a part of you as the scar tissue around your ankle. you looked like a shadow of yourself. half-formed. broken.

six months ago, you'd been a soloist on the verge of being promoted to principal dancer. the artistic director had pulled you aside after rehearsal, told you that you were being considered, that your performance in giselle had been "transcendent." you'd floated home that day, called your parents, celebrated with friends. finally, after years of sacrifice and endless work, everything was coming together.

then came the landing you'd done a thousand times before, except that time something went wrong.

you still had nightmares about it. the sensation of flying, the split-second of knowing something was wrong, the impact, and then the snap. that sound—God, that sound. your ankle breaking had been audible from the back row. three people in the audience had gasped. your partner's face had gone pale. and you'd looked down to see your foot at an angle that feet should never be.

three surgeries, four months of physical therapy, and countless nights wondering if you'd ever dance again. wondering if you'd ever be whole again.

the company had been supportive. publicly. they'd sent flowers after each surgery, posted well-wishes on social media, assured you that your spot would be waiting. but you'd heard the whispers—dancers talked, and sound carried in studio hallways. whispers that you were damaged goods, that they were already looking at replacements, that maybe it was a sign you weren't meant for this level after all. that maybe you'd always been slightly too fragile, too breakable, not quite strong enough for the demands of principal work.

you needed dr. martinez to clear you. you needed to prove everyone wrong. you needed to prove to yourself that you weren't finished at twenty-four.

"fine," you said through gritted teeth, your fingers twisting together in your lap so tightly your knuckles went white. "how long?"

"minimum eight weeks. three sessions per week." she pulled out another paper, and your stomach sank further. eight weeks. three sessions. that was... God, that was a lot of time away from the studio. a lot of time for other dancers to take your roles, your spots, your future. "I've already arranged everything. you'll be training with gojo satoru at limitless boxing gym. he's one of the best—"

"wait." you held up a hand, recognition cutting through your spiral of anxiety. "gojo satoru? the undefeated guy who's on every sports channel acting like he's God's gift to boxing?"

you'd seen him, impossible not to. he was everywhere lately—sports channels, magazine covers, even a billboard downtown for some sports drink. always with that arrogant smirk, always looking like he'd never experienced a single moment of self-doubt in his entire life.

"that's the one." dr. martinez's expression gave nothing away. "he has experience working with rehabilitation cases. he's professional, skilled, and available."

what she didn't say: he was probably the only boxer willing to waste time on a broken ballet dancer. you'd already been turned down by three other trainers. too high-risk, they'd said. too much of a liability. too much chance you'd break again and they'd be responsible.

too broken to bother with.

"when do I start?"

"tomorrow. six am."

"six—" you cut yourself off, biting back the complaint. complaining about early mornings when your entire career hung in the balance seemed petty, childish. you were used to early mornings anyway. this was just... different. terrifying. "fine. six am."

"good." dr. martinez stood, signaling the end of the appointment. "I know this isn't what you wanted. but sometimes the path back to what we love looks different than we expected."

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. the pamphlet crinkled in your hand as your grip tightened.

that night, you barely slept. every time you closed your eyes, you saw your ankle at that wrong angle. heard that snap. felt the pain that had been so intense you'd blacked out. and then you'd wake up, heart racing, and have to remind yourself that you were healed. physically healed.

even if you didn't feel like it.

limitless boxing gym was not what you expected.

you'd imagined something gritty, underground, maybe a little dangerous—dark corners and the smell of blood, boxers with scarred knuckles and dead eyes. Instead, it was clean, well-lit, and filled with expensive equipment. the floors were polished, the equipment gleaming. floor-to-ceiling windows let in the early morning light. this wasn't some underground fight club. this was where champions trained.

which somehow made you feel even more out of place.

the front desk was staffed by a friendly woman named sarah who'd greeted you with entirely too much enthusiasm for 5:55 am, her smile bright enough to hurt.

"you must be the dancer! satoru's expecting you. he's in the main ring." she pointed toward the back, then leaned in conspiratorially. "fair warning, though—he's in a mood today. lost a sparring match yesterday for the first time in months, and he's being a complete brat about it."

"great," you muttered, adjusting the grip on your bag. your ankle brace felt too tight suddenly, restrictive. you'd worn it every day for four months, but today it felt like a shackle. like evidence of your failure. "that's exactly what I need."

you followed her directions toward the back, your footsteps too quiet on the polished floor. you could hear the sounds of training—the rhythmic thud of fists hitting bags, the skip of jump ropes, the sharp exhales of people pushing their limits. everyone here looked like they belonged. like they were strong, capable, unbroken.

the main ring was impossible to miss. and so was he.

gojo satoru was tall—taller than you'd expected from seeing him on tv, at least six-three—with distinctive white hair that swept back from his face in a way that probably required no effort at all. he was shirtless, which seemed unnecessary and somehow almost offensive, wearing only black athletic pants and hand wraps as he destroyed a heavy bag with combinations that were almost hypnotic to watch.

each punch landed with devastating precision, his body moving with a grace that reminded you uncomfortably of dance. the power behind each hit was obvious—the bag swung violently with each impact, the chains holding it creaking with strain. but it was the control that caught your attention. the way he moved between strikes, the perfect balance. he moved like you used to move. confident. fearless. certain of his body's ability to do exactly what he asked of it.

you stopped at the edge of the ring, waiting for him to notice you. hoping he wouldn't. hoping he would.

he didn't.

after a full minute of being ignored, heat creeping up your neck from a mixture of irritation and embarrassment, you cleared your throat. "excuse me."

he landed one final combination on the bag—a brutal series of hits that made the bag practically fold in half—then turned to look at you with the kind of casual arrogance that made your jaw clench.

his eyes were startlingly blue, almost unnatural, like someone had photoshopped them in post-production. they swept over you with undisguised assessment—taking in your careful posture, the brace you still wore on your ankle, the dance bag slung over your shoulder with your studio's logo visible. taking inventory of every weak point, every vulnerability.

you felt suddenly, painfully exposed.

"you're the broken ballerina." not a question. a statement. his voice was deeper than you'd expected, with an edge of casual boredom that made something hot and angry flare in your chest.

the words hit like a punch to the solar plexus. broken. that's what he led with. not your name, not even a greeting. just... broken.

you correct him by introducing yourself, your voice coming out colder than you'd intended. fefensive. "and I'm recovering, not broken."

"semantics." he grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from his face and neck without breaking eye contact. the movement was casual, dismissive. like you weren't worth even the small effort of looking away. "martinez sent me your medical files. trimalleolar fracture, three surgeries, four months of PT. severe displacement, complete instability, had to rebuild the joint with plates and screws." he rattled off your medical history like he was reading a grocery list, each word a small knife finding its mark. "you're terrified of your own ankle and moving like a kid trying not to fall on ice. moving like you've already given up."

each word landed like a physical blow. your hands clenched around your bag strap so tightly your fingers went numb. he'd been watching you? for how long? since you walked in? and he'd seen all of that—the fear, the hesitation, the way you didn't trust your own body anymore.

God, you wanted to leave. wanted to turn around and walk out and tell dr. martinez to find you someone, anyone else. someone who didn't look at you like you were already defeated.

but pride locked your knees, kept your feet planted. you hadn't come this far to run at the first sign of scrutiny. even if that difficulty came in the form of a six-foot-three asshole with photoshopped eyes and an ego the size of the building.

"excuse me?" your voice was sharp, brittle. "you don't know anything about me."

"I know enough." he tossed the towel aside carelessly, letting it land wherever it fell. "I watched the video of your injury. bad landing, worse recovery. you're babying it, which means you don't trust it, which means you'll never dance the way you used to." he crossed his arms, and you tried very hard not to notice how the movement emphasized his build—all lean muscle and coiled strength. "martinez thinks I can fix that. personally, I think you're wasting my time. you've already decided you can't do it."

the heat in your chest was spreading now, flooding through your whole body. how dare he. how dare he watch the worst moment of your life and then throw it in your face like it was evidence of some personal failing.

"I didn't ask to be here," you bit out, taking a step forward before you could stop yourself. "If you don't want to train me, I'll find someone else. I'm sure your busy schedule of flexing and being generally insufferable won't miss me."

"good luck with that." his smile was sharp, mean, designed to hurt. "every other trainer in the city turned you down. I checked. too high-risk, too much liability. one wrong move and you're injured again, suing them, destroying their reputation, costing them their business. you're not worth the risk to them."

the words hit exactly where he meant them to. you'd known, of course—had gotten the polite rejections, the carefully worded emails about "insurance concerns" and "scheduling conflicts." but hearing it said so bluntly, so casually, made it real in a way it hadn't been before.

you weren't worth the risk. you were damaged goods. broken.

"and you're different?" you hated how your voice wavered slightly, hated that he'd gotten to you.

"I don't care about liability. or your feelings." he said it matter-of-factly, like he was commenting on the weather. "you're here for eight weeks. either you do exactly what I say and maybe—maybe—you walk out of here ready to dance again, or you waste both our time and prove everyone right about you being finished." he tilted his head, studying you with those unsettling eyes. "so which is it, sweetheart? you here to work, or you here to collect participation trophy and go cry in the bathroom?"

sweetheart. he'd said it like an insult. like a challenge.

every instinct screamed at you to leave. to tell him exactly where he could shove his attitude and his training and his brutally honest assessment of your failures up his ass. you'd dealt with harsh teachers before—ballet was full of them—but this was different. this felt personal. cruel, even.

but he was also right about one thing: everyone else had turned you down. this arrogant asshole was your only option. your only chance.

and you hadn't survived three surgeries and four months of grueling physical therapy to give up now because someone hurt your feelings.

"fine," you said, lifting your chin and meeting his eyes directly. refusing to look away first. "what do we start with?"

his grin widened, sharp and satisfied, like he'd won something. "there's that spine. was starting to think martinez sent me a quitter." he moved to the edge of the ring, looking down at you from his elevated position. "take off the brace."

your hand instinctively went to your ankle, protective. "what? no. dr. martinez said—"

"I know what martinez said. I also know you don't need it anymore. physical therapy cleared you two weeks ago for full weight-bearing without support." his eyes were sharp, missing nothing. "you're using it as a security blanket. a crutch. literally." he held out his hand expectantly. "you want to dance again? first lesson: stop protecting yourself from things that can't hurt you anymore."

"you don't know—" your voice came out too high, too defensive. you could feel panic rising in your chest, sharp and suffocating. the brace provides stability. It reminds me to be careful. It—"

"It's a psychological prison." he cut you off without mercy. "your ankle is healed. the x-rays prove it. the ct scans prove it. the only thing that's still broken is your confidence." his hand remained outstretched, steady and demanding. "brace. now. unless you're too scared."

there it was again. that challenge. that implication that you were weak, afraid, already defeated. the panic in your chest transformed into something else. something hotter, sharper.

"I'm not scared," you said, even though you absolutely were.

"prove it." his smile was almost lazy now, like he had all the time in the world. like he knew exactly what buttons to push. "come on, sweetheart. show me you're not the lost cause everyone thinks you are."

your hands shook as you reached for the velcro straps. the sound of them ripping apart seemed too loud in the sudden quiet. the brace had become so familiar—you put it on every morning, took it off every night, adjusted it throughout the day. It had been constant, reliable, safe.

removing it felt like removing armor before battle.

you held it out to him, and he took it—then immediately threw it across the gym in a perfect arc. It hit the far wall with a satisfying thunk and clattered to the floor.

"hey!" you lurched forward instinctively, stopping yourself at the last second. "that's expensive!"

"you're not getting it back." he vaulted out of the ring with effortless grace, landing directly in front of you with barely a sound. up close, he was even taller, and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. he smelled like clean sweat and something else—mint and something sharp, cedar maybe. "not today, not tomorrow, not for the next eight weeks. you're done hiding."

"I wasn't hiding—"

"you were absolutely hiding." he stepped closer, and you held your ground even though everything in you wanted to step back. "walking around with a safety blanket, acting like your ankle might shatter any second. that's not recovery. that's surrender." his voice dropped lower, almost intimate despite the harsh words. "and you don't strike me as someone who surrenders easy. even if you're currently doing a great impression of it."

standing this close without the brace felt terrifying. vulnerable. your ankle felt naked, exposed, too fragile to hold your weight even though you knew—logically, rationally—that it was healed.

"what if I fall?" the words came out smaller than you intended.

"then you fall." he shrugged, careless. "you'll get back up. that's the whole point." he gestured toward the other side of the gym, a distance that suddenly seemed vast. "walk to the wall and back. let's see how broken you really are."

"that's it?" you hated the relief in your voice.

"that's it." he leaned against the ring post, crossing his arms and settling in to watch. "unless you're scared of walking now too. should I get you a walker? maybe some training wheels?"

"you're an asshole."

"I've been called worse by better people." his grin was sharp. "stop stalling and walk, twinkletoes."

the nickname landed with all the condescension he'd intended. twinkletoes. dismissive. mocking. reducing everything you were—everything you'd worked for—into a cute little joke.

you wanted to punch him.

Instead, you turned and started walking. Immediately, you could feel the difference—without the brace, every step sent feedback you weren't used to processing. your ankle moved through its full range of motion, flex and extend, no rigid support to rely on. It felt wrong. dangerous. like you were one wrong step away from that snap happening again.

"you're limping," he called out, his voice carrying easily across the gym.

"I'm not—" you stopped, realizing he was right. you were absolutely limping, favoring your right side so obviously it was probably visible from space.

"yes, you are. you're landing soft on your left, compensating with your right, throwing off your whole alignment. stop thinking and just walk." he said it like it was simple. like you could just decide not to be afraid and make it so.

easy for him to say. he wasn't the one who'd heard their own bone snap. hadn't spent three surgeries wondering if they'd ever walk normally again, let alone dance. hadn't spent the last six months watching their entire life crumble while everyone assured them it would be fine, even though their eyes said otherwise.

you reached the wall, touched it like it was a finish line, and turned around. the walk back was worse—now you were walking toward him, toward those sharp eyes that saw everything, catalogued every weakness, every failure. the limp was more pronounced, your anxiety building with each step.

when you reached him, his frown was deep, disappointed. "that was pitiful."

the word hit like a slap. pitiful. you'd been called many things in your career—too slow, too stiff, not expressive enough—but never pitiful.

"thank you so much for your encouraging words," you said, voice dripping with sarcasm to hide the hurt. "really feeling the positive training environment here."

"I'm not here to encourage you. I'm here to fix you." he pushed off the ring post, moving into your space without warning. you held your ground, refusing to back down. "encouragement is what got you here—everyone telling you to take it easy, be careful, don't push too hard. look where that got you. still moving like you're broken six months after healing."

"maybe because I am broken," you shot back before you could stop yourself. the words hung in the air between you, too honest, too raw.

something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or recognition. but it was gone before you could identify it.

"no," he said firmly. "your ankle's not broken. your head is." he tapped your forehead with one finger, the touch brief but deliberate. "all that fear, all that doubt—that's what's keeping you from dancing. not the injury."

his finger against your forehead had been warm. you could still feel the ghost of contact, burning like a brand.

"easy to say when you've never been injured," you muttered.

his laugh was ear-piercing, humorless. "you think I've never been hurt?" he held up his right hand, and you could see the crooked line of his pinky finger, the way it sat slightly wrong. "broke this in three places two years ago. doctors said I might never fight again with full strength. said I'd always have weakness, reduced grip, instability." he flexed his hand, the movement perfectly controlled. "I'm still undefeated. know why?"

"because you're arrogant enough to ignore medical advice?"

"because I refused to let an injury define me." his eyes locked with yours, intense and challenging. "I did the work. trusted the process. stopped being afraid of my own body." he stepped closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. "that's what you're going to do. starting now."

the intensity of his gaze was almost overwhelming. you wanted to look away, but that felt like losing.

"again," he said quietly, still holding eye contact. "walk to the wall and back. this time, stop thinking about your ankle. think about something else."

"like what?" your voice came out breathier than you intended.

his smile turned wicked, knowing. "think about how much you hate me. seems like that's taking up plenty of space in your head already." he reached out and tapped your temple this time, the touch lingering just a second too long. "use it. get pissed off or whatever. walk like you're coming over here to tell me exactly where I can shove my training plan."

"I might actually do that."

"even better. anger's useful. It's honest. better than fear anyway." he stepped back, giving you space. "show me that fire, sweetheart. walk like you mean it."

the way he said sweetheart this time was different. less mocking, more... something else. something that made your skin feel too warm.

you walked again. and again. and again. each time, he called out corrections that cut right to the bone. "still limping." "stop babying it—you're insulting all the surgeons who put you back together." "walk like you actually want to get better." "Is this really the best you've got, or are you just going through the motions?"

some of his comments were harsh. some were almost playful. you couldn't figure out which was worse.

by the tenth crossing, frustration had transformed into genuine anger. you were furious—at him for being so callous, at your ankle for betraying you, at yourself for being weak enough to need this. uou stormed back across the gym, not thinking about your gait or your landing or anything except getting to him so you could tell him exactly what you thought of his training methods.

"there." he looked genuinely satisfied, nodding approval. "that was better. much better."

you stopped short, thrown off balance by the compliment. "what?"

"you didn't limp. you were too busy being angry to think about it." he grabbed a water bottle from the nearby bench and tossed it to you in a perfect arc. you caught it reflexively, muscle memory from years of partner work overriding conscious thought. "see? your reflexes are fine too. body's working exactly like it should."

you looked down at your ankle, then back at him. you'd walked normally. without thinking about it, without the fear, you'd just... walked.

"that was your plan?" you were still angry, but now it was mixed with something else. reluctant respect, maybe. "to make me so angry I forget to be afraid?"

"worked, didn't it?" he was already moving toward the ring, expecting you to follow. "told you—the injury's not your problem. your head is." he climbed through the ropes with fluid ease. "come on. we're not done."

"what else could you possibly—"

"everything else." he turned to face you, leaning casually against the ropes. "you need to rebuild strength, balance, explosive power, coordination. and more importantly, you need to remember what it feels like to move without fear." he held the ropes open in invitation, and there was something almost challenging about the gesture. "boxing isn't gentle. It's not careful. It's going to force you to trust your body again whether you like it or not. question is—you brave enough to try?"

you stared at the ring, at him, at this whole impossible situation. every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to leave. this was too much, too fast, too harsh. you weren't ready for this kind of intensity.

but when had playing it safe ever gotten you anywhere?

"If I get hurt because of your training—" you started.

"you won't." the certainty in his voice was absolute. "but if it makes you feel better, martinez approved every single exercise we're doing. I might be an asshole, but I'm not stupid." his grin turned sharp again. ". .usually."

"that's not reassuring."

"It's not meant to be." he shook the ropes slightly, impatient. "you coming up or not? I don't have all day to wait for you to grow a spine."

the challenge in his voice ignited something competitive in your chest. you approached the ring and gripped the ropes.

"need help?" His tone was innocent, but his eyes were dancing with amusement.

"no." you tried to pull yourself up and immediately struggled. ballet had given you strength, but apparently not the right kind for this specific movement.

"sure about that, twinkletoes?" he was definitely laughing at you now. "pride's great and all, but you're going to tire yourself out before we even start."

"I said I don't need—" you tried again, got halfway, and felt your arms starting to shake.

"yeeaah, this is painful to watch." suddenly his hands were on your waist, lifting you easily over the ropes like you weighed nothing. he set you down in the ring, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back. "there. helped. try not to let it damage that pride too much."

your waist still felt warm where his hands had been. you tried very hard not to think about that. "I had it under control," you said, knowing it was a lie.

"sure you did, sweetheart." he moved to the center of the ring, and you couldn't help but notice how he commanded the space. like the ring was his territory and you were just visiting. "first thing: balance. you're a dancer, so you should be decent at this. But I bet you're not, because you don't trust your ankle. prove me wrong."

"how?" you inquired, your weigh shifting onto your only working leg.

"stand on one foot. left foot. the injured one." he said it casually, like he wasn't asking you to do the thing that terrified you most.

your heart rate spiked immediately, anxiety flooding through you. "for how long?"

"until you fall or until I say stop." his expression was challenging, almost taunting. "unless you can't. which would be disappointing, honestly. I expected at least a little fight from you."

"I can do it." you weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

"then stop talking and do it." he crossed his arms, settling in to watch. "I'm waiting."

you lifted your right foot, balancing on your left. Immediately, your ankle wobbled, the muscles compensating, uncertain. you could feel it starting to give, the familiar panic rising in your throat—

"don't lock up." his voice cut through the panic, sharp and commanding. "breathe. soft knees. you've done relevés a thousand times—this is the exact same thing."

he was right. you had done this a thousand times. ten thousand times. this was muscle memory, instinct, something your body knew how to do.

you forced yourself to breathe, to soften your knees, to find your center the way you had a million times before.

the wobbling steadied. not perfect, but stable.

"good," he said, and you felt a flutter of pride at the approval in his voice. "now close your eyes."

"what? no—"

"close your eyes. balance isn't just visual. feel it. trust your body to know where you are in space."

this was insane. but you'd come this far.

you closed your eyes. the wobbling returned immediately, your body panicking without visual reference. everything felt wrong—you were going to fall, you were going to hurt yourself, you couldn't do this—

"breathe," he said, his voice closer now. he must have moved nearer. "you're not going to fall. and if you do, I'll catch you. promise."

the word promise shouldn't have been reassuring coming from him. but somehow it was.

slowly, carefully, you found the balance again. found your center. trusted your ankle to hold you, your body to know what to do.

the wobbling smoothed out. your ankle held firm.

"thirty seconds," he said quietly, and there was something almost soft in his voice. "that's longer than most people make it their first try. longer than I expected, honestly."

you opened your eyes and found him standing much closer than before, maybe two feet away, watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

"you can put your foot down now," he said, and was that... was he actually impressed?

you lowered your foot carefully. your ankle ached, but in a good way—the ache of muscles working, strengthening, doing what they were meant to do. not the sharp pain of injury, but the satisfying burn of effort.

"not bad, twinkletoes." he was still watching you intently, those blue eyes cataloguing something. "we might actually make progress. If you stop fighting me every step of the way."

"stop calling me that," you said, but there was less heat in it than before.

"make me." his grin was back, but different now. more focused. "you want to learn how to punch me? that's lesson two."

despite everything—the fear, the anger, the humiliation of needing help—you felt something spark in your chest. something that might have been excitement.

"when's lesson two?"

"right now." he raised his hands, palms out. "basic jab. left hand shoots straight out, fast and hard. you're not trying to push—you're trying to snap. like cracking a whip." he demonstrated, the movement clean and devastating. "your whole body's involved—legs, core, shoulder rotation. just like dance, everything comes from your center."

you stared at his raised palms, at the casual way he held them up. like getting hit was nothing. like violence was just another form of movement.

"you want me to hit you.."

"I want you to try." his smile turned wicked, teasing. "fair warning—I'm very fast. you probably won't land anything solid. but watching you try should be entertaining."

the challenge in his voice ignited something competitive in your chest—something fierce and sharp that you hadn't felt since before the injury. something that felt almost like your old self.

"show me how," you demanded.

he demonstrated again, and you couldn't help but admire the technique. the economy of motion, the perfect control, the way his whole body worked as one unit.

"your turn," he said, raising his palms again.

you threw a punch. It was weak, awkward, nothing like his demonstration.

"pathetic." the word was delivered without mercy. "are you trying to hit me or pet me? again."

you punched again, harder this time.

"still pathetic. you're all arm, no body. again."

"stop insulting me and give me actual instruction!" the words burst out before you could stop them.

his grin widened. "there she is. about time." he shifted his stance slightly. "rotate your shoulder. don't just extend your arm—you're not reaching for something, you're striking. put your body behind it. pivot your foot, rotate your hip, let the power transfer up through your core and into your fist. again."

you tried to incorporate his feedback. the punch felt slightly better.

"better. again. ten more, and actually try this time."

by the fifth punch, your shoulder was burning. by the tenth, your knuckles were red and your breath was coming hard. but there was something undeniably satisfying about the contact. about the concrete feedback of flesh meeting flesh, about moving with power instead of grace, about doing something aggressive and direct and unafraid.

"not bad," he said, lowering his hands. there was something assessing in his expression, like he was recalculating his earlier judgment. "your form's sloppy, but you've got natural rotation from dance training. the body mechanics are there—you just need to learn how to use them differently." he tilted his head, studying you. "you're stronger than you look. stronger than you think you are."

coming from him, after everything he'd said earlier, it felt like actual praise. your chest warmed despite yourself.

"so?" he moved closer, into your space again, and you caught that scent again—mint and cedar and clean sweat. "still think this is a waste of time?"

you were sweating, breathing hard, your ankle aching and your shoulder burning. you'd been insulted more in the past hour than in your entire dance career. he'd called you broken, pathetic, scared. he'd thrown away your brace, pushed you past every comfort zone, refused to let you hide behind fear or excuses.

and you felt more alive than you had in six months.

"ask me again in eight weeks," you said, meeting his eyes directly.

his grin was smug and satisfied, like you'd passed some test you hadn't known you were taking. "that's the right answer." he reached out and—before you could process what was happening—tucked a strand of hair that had fallen loose from your bun behind your ear. the touch was quick, casual, but it sent electricity down your spine. "you did good today, twinkletoes. better than I expected. much better."

you stood frozen, hyperaware of how close he was standing. how his chest was still rising and falling from his earlier workout. how those blue eyes were focused entirely on you with an intensity that made your mouth go dry.

"I—" your voice came out rougher than intended. you cleared your throat. "you're still an asshole."

"never said I wasn't." his hand dropped, but he didn't step back. "but I'm an asshole who's going to get you dancing again. whether you like me or not." his smile turned teasing. "though you're going to like me eventually. they all do."

"your confidence is truly astounding."

"It's not confidence. It's pattern recognition." he finally stepped back, giving you space to breathe. "tomorrow, same time. and twinkletoes?" he caught your wrist as you moved toward the ropes, his grip firm but careful, his thumb resting against your pulse point. could he feel how fast your heart was racing? "don't put the brace back on. you don't need it anymore."

"dr. martinez said—"

"I'll deal with martinez. trust me." his thumb brushed once across your wrist before he released you. "you did good today. really good. your ankle held up perfectly—see? nothing to be afraid of."

the praise shouldn't have affected you. he'd spent the entire session being cruel, blunt, unnecessarily harsh. but somehow those few words of approval hit different. made something warm bloom in your chest.

"tomorrow," you said, not quite agreeing but not arguing either.

"tomorrow," he confirmed. he helped you through the ropes this time without asking, his hands on your waist again, and you told yourself the flutter in your stomach was just residual adrenaline from the workout. nothing to do with the way his hands seemed to fit perfectly against your sides, or how easily he lifted you, or how his face was very close to yours for just a moment as he guided you down.

your feet hit the floor and you immediately put distance between you, grabbing your bag from where you'd left it by the entrance.

"hey."

you turned back reluctantly.

he was still standing by the ring, hands tucked into his pockets, and for just a moment he looked less like an arrogant fighter and more like... something else. something almost uncertain.

"for what it's worth," he said, his voice lacking its usual sharp edge, "I know I'm hard on you. harder than I probably need to be." he shrugged, the movement casual but his eyes serious. "but I've seen too many people baby their injuries, let fear win, give up on themselves. you've got something—that fire, that stubbornness. I'm not going to let you waste it by being too scared to try."

you didn't know what to say to that. the honesty was unexpected, disarming.

"plus," his grin returned, sharp and teasing, "you're fun to mess with. the way your face gets all scrunched up when you're angry? adorable."

"I'm not adorable. and my face doesn't scrunch."

"It absolutely does. you look like an angry kitten." he was clearly enjoying this. "all hissy and offended but harmless, you could never hurt me.”

"I could punch you now, you know. you just taught me how."

"you could try." the challenge was back in his voice, playful and infuriating. "but we both know how that would go. you'd probably hurt yourself more than me."

"you're impossible."

"so I've been told." he leaned against the ring post, utterly relaxed. "see you tomorrow, twinkletoes. try to get some sleep. tomorrow we're going to push harder."

"I can't wait," you said dryly, turning toward the exit.

"oh, and sweetheart?" his voice stopped you at the door. "leave the brace at home. I'm serious. you show up with it tomorrow, I'm throwing it in the trash this time. not just across the room."

you didn't dignify that with a response, just pushed through the door into the cool morning air.

sarah was waiting at the front desk, her expression far too knowing. "so? how was it?"

"he's exactly as insufferable as advertised."

"but did it help?" she leaned forward, genuinely curious.

you looked down at your ankle, bare and vulnerable without the brace. you'd walked normally—multiple times. you'd balanced on it. you'd put weight on it without thinking, without fear, without that constant voice in your head screaming that you were about to break again.

"yeah," you admitted quietly. "It helped."

sarah's smile was warm. "satoru's like that. complete ass, but he gets results. he pushed me to come back after my knee surgery last year. wouldn't let me quit even when I wanted to." she glanced back toward the gym. "he acts like he doesn't care, but he does. more than he wants to admit."

you filed that information away, not sure what to do with it.

outside, the morning air was sharp and clear, washing away the smell of the gym. the sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. you pulled out your phone and texted dr. martinez: "first session done. gojo's an asshole."

her response came immediately: "but did it work?"

you looked down at your ankle again. you'd left the brace somewhere in the gym—forgotten about it completely once gojo had thrown it. your ankle was holding your weight without complaint. no sharp pain, no instability. just the normal ache of muscles that had been worked.

"yeah," you typed back. "It worked."

you added: "he told me not to wear the brace anymore."

three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. finally: "good. I was going to tell you the same thing. you don't need it. you haven't needed it for weeks. time to trust yourself."

trust yourself.

that felt impossible. but then again, an hour ago, walking without the brace had felt impossible too.

as you headed home, you realized your ankle didn't hurt. not really. It ached, sure—but it was a good ache. a working ache. the kind of ache you used to feel after a long rehearsal, when your body was tired but satisfied.

you caught your reflection in a store window and stopped. you looked... different. flushed from exertion, hair messy from training, still slightly sweaty. but there was something else too—something in your expression, in the way you held yourself.

you looked alive. alert. present in your body in a way you hadn't been since the injury.

you looked like someone who'd just survived their first session with gojo satoru.

that night, you expected to dream about the injury again. the snap, the pain, the fear. but instead, you dreamed about blue eyes and sharp grins and a voice saying "you did good."

taglist: @postresfresitas @eclipse-xo @kidultdays @rainlina @hayakawassluvr @1ovesiick @kerneeel @luckigirl444 @b9nii @thatlocalgrandma @xsuckuna @heartsforsae @sirencholia @yuhig-blog @cqmdens @ritsatoru @ssetsuka @eremika104 @dakotali @sonotpattismith @pink127 @ilianasa @eolivy @fushiguroooozzz

[pudimsuki]

The outline of our hearts | Alpha! Bakugou x Omega! Reader Ch. 6

New chapter, babes. Fresh from the oven ❤︎

Summary: Your life as an omega wasn’t easy, especially while working at a big fashion company. Things didn’t look like they were going to change anytime soon, but the arrival of a new boss certainly promised to get your feet off the ground.

AU: Omegaverse / ABO / Alpha Bakugou x Omega Reader

TW: 18+ (nthg explicit in this chapter); alpha and omega dynamics; fem reader; just Bakugou cursing (and being a handful 😂).

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

The faint sound of a pen scratching paper reached your ears as you circled the date on your desk calendar. Counting the days in your head, you made a mental note to buy more suppressants, blaming the latest weeks for your lack of attention.

Two/three weeks max, you thought.

Yep, your heat was coming sooner than you remembered.

It was certainly a tornado for your poor omega to deal with. Starting with the arrival of the infamous Katsuki Bakugou, then your ex flooding you with unanswered messages, and now the fact that you were directly involved in a new collection of your company.

You, yourself, helping the stylists and coordinating a new clothing exhibition.

Smiling to yourself, you raised your arms in the air, stretching them above your head till you feel the push in your muscles.

It must be a dream.

Things were better with Bakugou. He really made a name for himself in only a short time. Everyone could see, as clear as day, the improvements in everyone's spirit. He was demanding, strict even, but he valued everyone's work. He even went so far as changing some alphas and omegas' positions, which left everyone shocked, to say the least.

Oh, and speaking of your dear boss, there was that other thing.

You gulped, biting your lower lip while looking at the calendar again. You were reaching the infamous day, and still haven’t given him a proper answer. He was running out of patience, you knew. But what was he expecting, anyway?

Two days have passed since he made you that stupid, utterly inappropriate, out-of-nowhere proposal.

…

“So… Let me see if I understand. You want me to go with you to attend a family dinner? Your family dinner? Me?”

“Looks like you got just the right idea, yes.”

“You’re joking.”

Bakugou just raised a blonde eyebrow at you.

“Explain me again why exactly you wanna take me, your employee, to a family dinner?”

“I already told you,” he sighed, leaning forward and resting his arms on his thighs. “If I don’t attend to that dinner, my dear mother will raise hell on earth, and she’s driving me fucking nuts about bringing someone to that stupid night. In short, I need an omega. You’re an omega.” He pointed at you as if it were obvious.

“So you want me to, what, pretend I’m your date to your whole family?”

“Precisely.”

You laughed like he was losing his mind.

“Ok. And what makes you think that I’m gonna say yes?”

“I thought you wanted to thank me for my kindness, didn’t you?” He snickered. “ And besides, my parents are really famous stylists, won’t you like to meet them, now that you have your own collection to coordinate? I won’t have to meet any random omega, and you will have the opportunity of your life. It’s a win-win. Of course you can say no, but, y’know… You kinda owe me for not firing you.”

“Excuse me, is that a blackmail?” You said, mortified.

“I prefer calling it a friendly persuasion.”

His eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint.

“Look, I—”

“Think about it. The dinner is on Saturday. You have 3 days to give me an answer.”

…

Well, now you have 1 day left.

You shouldn’t say yes. There were a million reasons not to.

First, he was your freaking boss! Second, that was absolutely inappropriate. Third, anyone could find out. Fourth…

You’re gonna meet one of the most respected stylists of your country.

No. Definitely not.

You bit your lip again, surprised it hadn’t already formed a bruise.

He was so, so stupid, unbearable, vulgar, horrible, and good Lord, you shouldn’t accept it.

There was only a problem… You were already considering it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The office door opened with a loud thud.

“If I accept, you will never, absolutely never mention the offenses from the first day again.”

Bakugou lifted his head from the papers on his desk, surprised by the woman who had come storming into his office.

Bringing that freaking good scent again.

“My secretary let you come in like that?” He asked, unfazed, crossing his fingers in front of him.

Oh, he was a fucking good actor. He thought, shutting his inner alpha down who begged him to go to you.

You pointed a finger at his chest.

“Promise, never again.”

Such a voracious little thing.

“Is that a yes?” Since you didn't answer, he just shrugged. “Okay, consider it done.”

“No one can know about this.”

“Why, omega? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me or something?”

“Don't even think about it. You’re my boss. I’m your employee. I’m not gonna lose this job.”

He almost dared to point out that he was the one who could fire you and how ridiculous that was, but common sense kept him quiet.

“And... I want a raise.”

There was silence for two seconds. It felt like years. Your face heated up, but you didn't back down.

Bakugou threw his head back and laughed so boyishly that you almost forgot the reason you were there.

You swallowed, your courage slowly fading.

"Very well." He tried to compose himself, running a hand through his unruly hair in a way that revealed his forehead. "Give me your cell phone. I'll put my number on it."

“Do you accept my terms?”

“The cellphone, omega.” He raised an eyebrow, hand stretched, that stern commanding voice again.

Your omega purred.

Oh. Fuck it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Of all the bad decisions you had ever made, that was definitely the worst.

You spun around in front of the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, admiring your figure. You felt pretty in your midi dress, but was it good enough? I mean, the Bakugou’s were R.I.C.H. and classy, and oh boy, you were starting to get nervous again.

Ok, breathe.

Your makeup was done, your hair was styled, your nails painted. Everything was going to be just fine.

Your phone buzzed on the bed, drawing your attention to it.

Mina: Hey, wanna hang out tomorrow? There’s a new café in town close to my house.

You typed a quick response, feeling extra guilty for not telling her about the arrangement with your boss. Keeping secrets was a no-go for your friendship, and she would surely help you keep your head in place. But then again, she would also misunderstand this as some kind of book love trope, and that was the last thing you needed. You knew that the moment you saw each other, though, your tongue would run more than it should, but for now, a short answer was the best you could do.

A quick glance at the clock let you know that it was almost time for Bakugou to come get you. You scoffed, remembering your earlier messages:

Bakugou: Send me your apartment location. I’ll pick you up. You: Sure. [address attached] Bakugou: I’ll be there at seven. You: Okay.

A few hours later…

You: I don’t think this is gonna work. Bakugou: What now, dumbass? You: First, you rude. Second, we should cancel this. I’m not a good liar, they'll find out. Bakugou: They will not find out. Stop freaking out. You: We don’t even know each other, it’s not gonna work! Bakugou: Too late. Seven o’clock. Don’t keep me waiting.

Arrogant prick.

As if you were summoning him, a beep on your phone sounded with a new notification.

Bakugou: I’m here. Bakugou typing …. Bakugou: Taking the elevator.

The elevator… THE ELEVATOR?

You almost choked. He was supposed to wait for you in the car, not at your door. And wait a damn second, how the hell did the front desk let him up without calling you first? You rushed to put on your high heels with one hand while shoving the rejected clothes into your wardrobe. Not that he would enter your room anyway, what in the world were you thinking?

[doorbell ring]

“Shit,” you murmured when you accidentally kicked your other shoe away, scrambling to get it.

[doorbell ring]

[doorbell ring]

“Going!”

A final glance in the mirror and that was it. Ready or not, there was an impatient blonde alpha at your door.

Bakugou was about to ring that damn bell again when the door was pulled open. And holy shit. He wasn’t fucking prepared.

He couldn’t help but stare at your figure, head to toe. Slowly.

You gulped visibly. He accompanied the movement like a predator.

“You’re here,” you said dumbly.

“I said I would be here at seven.”

“Oh.”

You sounded dumbfounded. Well, you were dumbfounded. Bakugou Katsuki was standing at your door, handsome as sin, smelling so masculine and utterly him that your omega nearly got down on her knees and wagged her tail.

“How did you even get past the front desk?”

“You call that a front desk?” Bakugou snorted, shrugging with that usual smirk. “I’m a convincing person.”

“Course you are.”

He ignored your sarcastic tone, eyes scanning the way your dress hugged your figure. “Looking good, omega.”

“Is it good enough for your parents?” You smoothed it, uncertain.

“It’s good enough for me.”

Your eyes met his for a second, and it looked like he was burning you inside. “Thank you, alpha.” The words came out of your mouth before you could think straight, and then your hand flew to cover your mouth. “I mean, Mr. Bakugou.”

“Nah, I'm your alpha tonight.” He smirked, delighting himself in your embarrassment. “Also, call me Katsuki. You're supposed to be my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, right.” You cleared your throat, dismissing his first statement as a joke. “Ok. I can do that. Katsuki.”

The syllables were foreign in your mouth, almost sinful. His predator eyes were back, and all it took was you saying his name.

Let us make her scream it now. His alpha added.

“Are we gonna stand here the whole night?” He asked instead, shoving his inner desires down, and simply walked passed you, inviting himself in.

Your home smelled like you, as he expected, and he honestly had no fucking idea of how he was managing to keep his composure. It was like his alpha was drowning in a pool of you, you, and you, and he wanted more. His eyes wander over your small apartment. Everything was spotless, you knew that — you prided yourself on being an organized person, but still his scrutinizing gaze made you feel on edge.

“I'm gonna get my purse.” You mumbled. “Give me a sec.”

He didn't stop you when you left the living room, still looking at your tidy little apartment, all sweet and omegalike. Cute. Just like its owner. His eyes made a stop at your desk, where a bunch of papers could be seen.

“There, I’m read—  what are you doing?”

Bakugou looked at you, holding some drawings in his hands. Not any drawings, your drawings. Different models and techniques you were experimenting earlier and left lying around the table to look into tomorrow.

“Are those for the new collection?”

You rushed to get the papers from his hands, but he averted his body easily, surprised by your reaction.

“No, this is…” You fumbled, “personal, it’s personal.”

He was silent for a second, eyes darting back to the smooth lines and curves. “You draw it all?”

“I— yes, you weren’t… supposed to see that.”

“Hm…”

You didn’t say anything, waiting for his further reaction, but he merely put them down again after a moment, dismissing it. Part of you felt slightly disappointed.

“C’mon, we can’t get late.”

You blinked. “What, wait, aren’t we supposed to set up our stories?”

“We met at work, you fell for me, and I took pity on you.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

Bakugou snorted a laugh. “Stop worrying, dumbass. It’s not a job interview. Just sit there and be pretty, I can take care of everything.”

You wanted to argue, but he was already heading to the front door.

“Wait, wait!”

“What now?” He turned around to face you, mouth twisted in impatience.

“If I’m supposed to be your girlfriend...” You stopped mid-sentence, a heat warming your face. “If your family thinks we’re partners, then shouldn’t we…”

“Spit it out already, woman.”

“Ok, fine. How are they supposed to believe we’re together if we don’t have each other’s scent?”

Bakugou’s eyebrows almost disappeared in his hairline. Of all things, he was not expecting that. Well played, omega. Soon enough, though, a mischievous smile was quick to replace his surprise.

“You want me to scent you?”

“No!” Your eyes bulged. “I mean, not like— That’s not what I meant. I was thinking more of an object or something? I can wear your blazer for some minutes, perhaps?”

Fuck no.

“We don’t have time for it to last in you, guess we’re gonna have to do it the old fashion way.”

His inner beast was fuming in anticipation, that was opportunity knocking at his door and he would be damned if he missed it. Call him a sick freak if you want, but his alpha has wanted to bury his head in your neck since day one.

“Ok, so, maybe you could, uh, rub your pulse against my scent glands or—”

Bakugou cut you off with a scoff. “If we’re gonna do this shit, we’re gonna do it right.”

With slow steps, he approached you, eyes gleaming red. Your deepest instincts clashed between the urge to flee for your life and the pull to submit.

“Mr. Bakugou, I don’t think we should—”

“I told you already. It’s Katsuki tonight. I don’t like repeating myself, omega.”

You found yourself trapped between the solid strength of your boss’s arms and the edge of the living room desk. His vermillion eyes bore holes into yours, burning straight through you. You caught the faint flick of his tongue brushing his lower lip, almost unconsciously.

Submit.

With a sudden urge and a shamefully involuntary purr, you exposed your neck to him, feeling his pheromones hitting your very being. You didn’t remember the last time you were so easily affected like that. Without second thought, Bakugou sank his nose into your scent gland, breathing in.

The growl he emitted was utterly and unmistakably primal. You felt his hands grab your waist like a magnet, fingers digging in a vice grip through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Katsuki.” You chanted, whole body trembling with the foreign feeling. Was it a try to stop him or to encourage him? Neither of you could tell that.

“Fucking right.” Was his only answer, stubble tickling your skin.

Your hands clutched his biceps in an automatic motion, relishing in the hard muscle under your digits. His, on the other side, roamed your body up and down, sending shivers through your spine while he inhaled your intoxicating scent. It was like getting drunk on you, he’d never felt that way before.

In a heartbeat, he has you over the table, positioning himself between your legs and stepping back to take a look at you.

The vision before him was sinful. His little employee with half lidded eyes, her dress skirt slightly raised to accommodate him better, lips lightly parted decorated with a pretty lipstick, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Fuck, he didn’t even touch you yet. He could feel his alpha fighting for control, canines getting bigger with need, pupils dilating.

You snarled, impatient, pulling him closer by the sleeve, instincts already blurring your mind.

“Steady, omega.” Bakugou used his left hand to reach for your neck, thumb caressing your throat in a languid rhythm, he was enjoying this more than he should. “If you want me to scent you, all you need to do is ask nicely.”

You pull him again, but he merely pressed his fingers more firmly, not moving an inch. In a futile attempt, you exposed your neck further, invitingly.

“Use your words.”

The frustrated whine you let out might have been amusing if he weren’t already so drawn to you.

“Just do it already.” You mumbled and was met with a raised eyebrow. “Please.”

“Not very convincing.”

The closeness was making you go insane, and you showed him your fangs. He couldn’t help but chuckle, resuming his touch on your throat. Up and down.

“This is getting you nowhere.”

You grabbed his pulse, where one of his scent glands was, earning a groan from him.

“Scent me.” You said. It wasn’t an ask.

Bakugou didn’t have to be told twice. It wasn’t the plea he expected, but he was already repressing himself enough. With quick precision, his face was pressed against your scent gland, rubbing his cheek, jaw, and own neck in yours. You interlaced your fingers in his blonde locks, eyes closed, his scent invading your nostrils.

Time almost came to a stop when you felt his canines graze over your mating spot, breath getting caught in your throat. It only lasted a moment before he moved over, but was enough for your omega to make you give out the shameful of moans. His hands slide down on your back, grabbing ahold of your ass he brought you to him, pressing you firmly against his body, hot breath on your neck. Next thing you knew, you were wrapping your legs around his waist, being met with the hard feeling of his bulge against your core.

“Alpha…” You breathed.

His right hand squeezed your ass in a possessive manner, grinding you to him while he continued his meticulous scenting. You rubbed your own face on his hair and he groaned, feeling you so openly accept him. His tongue came out languidly as he licked a path up your throat, warm and wet.

“Fucking delicious.”

“Kats—”

[cellphone ring]

You almost fell off the table, your eyes opening at once. You heard Bakugou cursing.

It was like a cold shower being thrown over your body. In a moment, you were pressed against each other, detached from the whole world. In the other, the buzzing sound of a cellphone made you jump out of your skin, and from each other.

Bakugou growled, his alpha angry by the interruption, pulling his phone out from his pocket.

Your breath came in rags. Oh my God. Oh my God. With eyes like saucers, your mind seemed to process what had just happened. After a few beats, it looked like he had the same conclusion.

Bakugou. Your boss. Your legs around him. The bulge in his pants. The smell of your own arousal. Oh dear God.

The cellphone rang again, and this time he answered, never breaking eye contact.

“What?… Yeah, yeah… Give me a fucking break, old hag, I'm coming.”

He sounded unfazed, voice slightly hoarse, if so, but the way his red iris bore into yours and his left hand clutched the wooden desk gave him away. He was as much affected as you.

“Yeah, yeah, right, bye.”

He turned off the phone without a glance, still staring at you. None of you said anything for what looked like years, and honestly, you wouldn’t be the first. Slowly, you slid your legs from his torso, almost praying that he didn’t notice. He gripped the wood harder.

“I’ll be at the car.”

With a hand pressed on your chest, you felt like you finally could breathe again while watching his back leave the entrance door, body still frozen in place.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Bakugou’s car smelled like him. A lot. And oh dear, you were sure now that you also smelled like him. The ride was silent except for the soft noise of the engine and for your fingers fidgeting over your lap, none of you daring to say anything after the little “slip” from earlier. You couldn’t even start to express how inappropriate that was, having needed a good few minutes in the bathroom to recover beforehand. If he took care of the not-so-little problem between his legs, too? You couldn’t tell, and refused to even think about it, much less check to be sure.

You glanced at him sideways. He was looking ahead, one arm on the wheel and the other resting on the window, appearing unbothered. Even the way he drove was attractive.

Stop. You thought, averting your look. That was not helping at all.

You watched through the window as the scenery shifted—the cozy, unassuming neighborhood fading into wide, manicured streets lined with towering, elegant homes. Everything looked pristine, polished, and unmistakably wealthy.

The closer you get, the more restless you become.

“Stop acting like a spooked animal, for God’s sake.”

You send him a glare. “I can’t help it, I’m nervous.”

Bakugou sighed, pulled over near a big modern house, and turned to face you. You looked back at him, thinking he would lash out at you, but instead, he spoke with a surprisingly calm you didn’t know he was capable of.

“There's no reason to be nervous. I got everything under control. Let me handle this.”

You blinked, surprised. There was no doubt in his words.

“Also, don't let my family scare you out, my mom can be overwhelming sometimes. I'll be there the whole time.”

“Oh...ok.” You mumbled, feeling the wave of assuring pheromones he was emitting to calm you down. It was definitely working, your omega like pudding in his hands, limbs relaxing, heart slowing. Soon, the cold in the pit of your stomach also disappeared.

He felt the change in your demeanor, too, and hummed, satisfied, eyeing you carefully before moving to guide his car to the big house's garage gates, intending to put it inside.

“Didn't know you could do this.” You confess, still too lost in the blissful aura to care about the fact that you were most certainly entering your “fake in-laws” house.

“Do what?”

“Calm someone down.”

He rolled his eyes, moving forward with the car when the automatic gates opened. “Don't usually do that shit. You seemed like you needed.”

“It helped,” you said, more to yourself.

“Course it did.” He scoffed, maneuvering the car. “I'm no shitty alpha.”

Your answer didn’t have time to see the light before you were both interrupted by a happy distant voice.

“Look, Kacchan is here!”

Bakugou physically sulked by your side. From your line of sight, you saw a green-haired man wave from the front door.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed under his breath, gripping the wheel even after you parked. “Shitty Deku.”

“Kacchan?” Your voice sounded in his ears. He could feel the smile on your face, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t say a fucking word about it.”

“No, no, wait. Is that how your family calls you? Oh my God, that’s so cut—”

“Not. a. fucking. word.”

Your chest moved in silent laughter when he shooted you fireballs from his vermillion eyes.

“Aw, sorry. Kacchan, the big scary alpha.”

He growled, ears almost as red as his eyes. “Don’t fucking push it, omega.”

You resisted the urge to tease him further, zipping your mouth with your fingers, trying really hard not to smile.

“Great. Let’s end this shit show already.”

[…]

The house was everything you expected — and more. Grand, elegant, and impeccably decorated, it exuded wealth and sophistication. The Bakugous clearly had a keen eye for design; their taste in furniture and color coordination was nothing short of impeccable, a testament to their skill as stylists. The exterior was just as impressive, with a sprawling yard that could easily accommodate more than three cars, framed by neatly trimmed hedges and a pristine stone pathway leading to the grand entrance.

His family, well, they were… a lot. To your surprise, the first introductions weren’t filled with judgmental stares towards you, but with comical shock when Bakugou blatantly told them you were his girlfriend.

Masaru was lovely, being an omega and everything. He invited you in with a warm smile and a gentle hand on your shoulder when he felt your nervousness.

Mitsuki was… basically Katsuki with a skirt. An absolute hurricane. You almost jumped when she hit Bakugou’s head and yelled at him about “being a damn brat”, but then she turned to you with the most soothing smile and said “Glad to meet you, sweetheart. Katsuki didn’t tell us he was capable of catching such a pretty girl”. Much to Bakugou’s dismay, you adored her immediately.

You also met Izuku, or “Deku”, who you soon learned was the only one who called Bakugou “Kacchan”, having been childhood friends, and his mated pair, Ochaco, a happy rosy-cheeked omega who smiled widely at you.

You also noticed Mitsuki smelling the air slightly when you approached, and couldn’t contain your embarrassment when you caught her looking at Bakugou with a raised eyebrow, confirming your thoughts that yes, you did smell like him, and she absolutely knew that you were freshly scented. You averted your eyes when you saw Bakugou answering her with a more smug expression, shit-eating grin ever present.

You needed to remind yourself once again that this was your boss, cause your omega sure was forgetting.

The dinner was surprisingly normal. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you had expected, but it certainly wasn’t an informal meal in the yard, gathered around a massive wooden table. You had imagined staff serving some kind of fancy dish prepared by a professional chef, yet you were pleasantly surprised to see everyone — including your boss — helping set the table. Masaru appeared with a large silver platter, a wide smile on his face as he chatted enthusiastically about how he was sure he had cooked the meat perfectly this time. It was good. Normal, even.

Mitsuki and Masaru made you fill up your plate with everything that was in front of you, which you politely accepted, giving them a small smile. Everyone seemed happy, really.

On the other hand, the much-present scowl on Bakugou’s face was priceless.

“Fix your face, brat. You look like a gremlin.”

He growled in annoyance. “Funny, they all say I look just like you.”

“What was that?!”

You choked a laugh, noticing that the others were doing just the same. Masaru smiled fondly at his wife as if accustomed to all of that. Bakugou shoved a large piece of meat into his lips, chewing angrily. From your point of view, he chose, wisely, not to answer.

Slicing a piece of the roasted meat yourself, you took the fork to your mouth. Instantly, you felt the warm juices and spices invading your taste buds. It was one of the best meats you have ever had the pleasure to taste. You closed your eyes briefly, enjoying the feeling.

“Did you like it, dear?”

You opened your eyes bashfully, seeing the elder male smiling at your reaction.

“Very much, Mr. Bakugou, thank you.”

“Please, only Masaru is fine. It’s not every day that our explosive son brings a sweet girl like you home.”

“Was busy enough with my career, old man. Don’t push it.”

“I know, son. We’re very proud of you.”

Bakugou only huffed, resuming his chewing, but nodded in recognition. You could see he had a soft spot for his dad in the way he looked, tho he didn’t express it with words. That was a new one.

Mitsuki, on the other hand, wasn’t very phased. “It was about damn time, brat. I’m getting old waiting for you to stop your messing around and find a good mate.”

“Shut up, old hag. It’s not of your damn business.”

“It is when you don’t give me any grandchildren.”

You choked on your drink, getting flustered at the mere thought of.. Oh God.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re...”

“Darling, you’re scaring the poor girl.” Masaru intervened, softly. She sighed.

“Sorry, sweetheart. But I am getting old, tho I don’t show it.”

“Expect a mirror on your next birthday.”

“LOOK HERE YOU LITTLE—”

“Is it always like that?” You mumbled, dumbfounded, while watching your freaking boss, for God's sake, almost wrestling with his mother like some angry pup.

Masaru chuckled, patting your hand. “You get used to it. Believe me, they love each other.”

“So…” Midoriya started, trying to light up the mood when the bickering finally stopped. “How’d you two meet?”

You immediately gave Bakugou a glare that very much said “I WARNED YOU”, but he merely shrugged.

“Work.”

Izuku deflated visibly. “Always the talker, Kaachan.”

“C’mon, give us the details.” Ochaco snickered at you, earning a nasty glare from Bakugou. “Since when are you together?”

“Uhh… It’s, uh, recent.”

Bakugou shot you a look that clearly said, “How the hell are you this bad at lying?”.

You gave him one right back, just as sharp — because he knew damn well you'd warned him about your lack of lying skills.

“Recent? How recent?” Mitsuki asked, curious.

“Uh, we met when Mr. B- Katsuki! When Katsuki entered the company I work on.”

“Oh wow, that recent! So it was love at first sight?” Ochaco smiled widely.

Bakugou huffed a laugh. “Guess you can say that, round cheeks.”

Oh, that wouldn’t slide.

“Well, actually, I think he couldn’t take me out of his head since the day we met. He practically begged for my attention.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes at you, and you smiled, all innocence.

“My son begging? That’s news for me.” Mitsuki laughed, delighted. “I liked you already, (Y/n).”

“Oh, believe me, he was like a lovesick puppy.”

The table burst into laughter. Well, in exception of one particular angry alpha, to whom you risked a glance.

Oh boy, he was mad.

You bit your lip, knowing you were walking on thin ice here.

“Isn’t that right, alpha?”

You were ready for his explosion at any minute now, but very much to your surprise, his usual scowl turned the opposite way. With casual ease, his face relaxed, ruby eyes a burning gaze and a wicked grin on his lips. He leaned back in his chair, one finger tapping at the table. One, two, three times. “I don’t know, omega. You tell me. How exactly was I begging then?”

You swallowed, unprepared, smile faltering. His response sent a chill up your spine, and a completely different feeling down there. You crossed your legs involuntarily.

Mitsuki snickered into her wine glass before taking a sip.

“Chill, Kaachan. Don’t wanna scare her off.” Izuku laughed happily. You saw Ochaco giving you a wink from the other side of the table.

Great, (Y/n). You thought, embarrassed, looking anywhere but at Bakugou.

“So, how’s the new company, son?”

He shrugged, giving a half-hearted answer. You occupied yourself by eating another bite of your meat while Izuku and Masaru talked to your “boss-fake-boyfriend” about him buying the company rights. Thinking about it, it was laughable, really, and a huge surprise that the half-ass part you two were playing was working. Never in a million years would you guess that you would find yourself in a situation like that.

“Wait, (Y/n),” you blinked, hearing your name being called in the conversation, “so you work with fashion too?”

Your heart settled as the conversation shifted to a much comfortable territory.

“Hm,” you nodded at Ochaco, smiling. “I’ve been with the company for some years now.”

“Oh, so you’re a designer too?” Mitsuki intervened.

You smiled tightly, prepared for the question. “Not really, I just do it for myself. I help with improvements on the work of the creators. One day, perhaps.”

“Well, that’s a very important part of the collections too.” Mitsuki said with honesty.

“I know, thank you.” You kept your smile. It wasn’t fake, you appreciate your position, really, but a dream is a dream. “Your pieces are amazing, by the way, I hope someday I can do something as beautiful as that too.”

Mitsuki waved a hand at you. “I’m sure you’re a very talented one, your dress speaks for itself.”

You were taken aback. “My dress?”

“It’s handmade, isn’t it?” She raised her lips in a smile, like sharing a secret. “I can recognize an original piece from miles. You made it yourself?”

You could be a goldfish with the way your lips parted. “I— Uh, yes, yes it is.” You admitted, suddenly shy. Who could blame you, honestly? Mitsuki Bakugou, the famous designer, was complimenting your own creation. “I like sewing my own clothes.”

“Wow, really?” Ochaco cut in. “You telling me you made this beautiful dress?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you smoothed down the fabric of said dress.

“It’s no big deal, actually. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. My grandma used to sew with me.”

The conversation between the three of you flowed more comfortably than you’d expected, laughter and comments passing with surprising ease. Still, you couldn’t ignore the presence lingering in your peripheral vision. Every now and then, you caught Bakugou watching you from the corner of his eye. Even while talking to his father and Izuku, it felt like part of his attention never truly left you. Your eyes crossed more often than you should care to admit.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, and for a moment, you almost forgot that you were both pretending. Cinderella sends her regards. You discovered that Midoriya — though he insisted you call him Deku — worked in the police, stating that what he loved the most was saving lives. Later on, you found yourself far too amused when Masaru suggested pulling out baby pictures of your boss, which he, unfortunately, shut down with a loud “fucking no” to everyone’s face. A waste, indeed.

“All right, everyone,” Masaru began, rising with a champagne glass in hand. “I want to raise a toast to our Katsuki. First, because he just bought a freaking company — and that’s not something you do every day, right?”

The group burst into quiet laughter, even as Bakugou rolled his eyes and let out a huff.

“And also,” Mitsuki added, placing a hand over her husband’s on her shoulder, “we know you hate this lovey-dovey stuff, but we’re really proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, knock it off,” he muttered, though his gruff tone didn’t fully hide the softening in his expression.

You couldn’t resist the smile tugging at your lips as everyone raised their glasses. There was a warmth to this night that caught you off guard, and maybe — just maybe — a little guilt too. You hadn’t expected to like your boss’s family this much.

“Oh, and also for bringing such a lovely girl tonight,” Masaru added with a wink, prompting a round of chuckles and teasing from the others. “Cheers!”

You raised your own glass, catching a glimpse of Bakugou’s eyes on you — steady, unreadable. That flicker of something unfamiliar stirred inside your chest. A warmth that felt a little too real for your own good. That was sure a night you would remember for a long time in the safety of your nest.

Your thoughts were cut short by the sudden buzzing of your phone. You glanced at the screen absentmindedly — and your stomach dropped.

Ryotaro.

His name flashed insistently across the display.

No. Not again. Reality washed over you as images of him soaked your mind, it was like being hit by a truck.

“(Y/n)? Everything okay?”

Too late, you noticed the shift around the table. All eyes were on you, and your scent — sour, anxious — betrayed you. The three alphas present stilled, reacting instinctively to the Omega distress you didn’t even know you were emitting. You quickly ended the call.

“Sorry. Just some telemarketing crap,” you dismissed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Y’know, very annoying.”

“Right,” Deku chuckled lightly, but none of them seemed very convinced. They didn’t believe you — not really — and the conversation picked up again more out of courtesy than comfort.

You silenced your phone and tried to keep up with the others, but your eyes kept drifting to the screen as message after message piled in. Missed calls. More texts.

The minutes were passing, but Ryotaro wasn’t letting up.

“What’s going on?” Bakugou’s voice was low, close to your ear, quiet enough that only you could hear it. He’d leaned in, head turned toward you with concern darkening his features. “Don’t fucking tell me it’s telemarketing.”

“It’s nothi—”

The screen lit up again. A message, bold and intrusive, appeared before you could swipe it away.

“Answer me, (Y/n), I’m not in the mood for your games.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed the second he caught the words. His jaw clenched. The scent of your nervousness only intensified, and his body, on instinct, leaned closer, protective.

“The fuck is that?” he growled, barely holding back the urge to snatch the phone from your hand.

“Katsuki?” It was Mitsuki this time, eyeing you both with new concern.

You jumped in quickly, before he could say anything. “I need to use the bathroom. Ochaco, could you show me the w—”

“I’ll take you.” Bakugou stood immediately, a firm hand closing around your elbow before anyone could argue. His tone left no room for protest.

He guided you across the yard and into the house, silent, purposeful. For a moment, you really thought he would take you to the bathroom — until he turned sharply into a hallway and stopped, placing himself directly in front of you.

His arms crossed, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read every unspoken thought.

“Mind to explain now?”

You bit your lip. “Not really, no.”

His upper lip curled a little.

“Omega.” A warning.

Your inner omega almost submitted to that single word. Almost.

An exasperated sigh left your lips. You honestly didn’t need that.

“With all due respect, I know I still work for you, but that’s not exactly your business, you know? Last time I checked, we’re still pretending here. You don’t have to worry about that.” You knew that wasn’t the proper thing to say to your boss, of all people, but since you were both playing happy couple in front of his family, you figured you had some rights now.

“It is my business when you’re standing in front of my family, my scent all over you, and you suddenly get all weird over a message from another guy. No omega, it’s damn well my business.”

You swallowed visibly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“It’s not like you’re my alpha, okay?”

He squinted at you, not very happy with that answer.

“Sure I’m not. ‘Cause if I were, you wouldn’t be hiding things from me unless you wanted to be put over my knee.”

You almost choked.

“Excuse me?” At this point, there wasn’t even a proper retort for that, and you could punch yourself for the way your inner omega whined at the commanding tone. Bakugou, of course, remained unfazed.

“I told you earlier, I am your alpha for the night, and I’m gonna act like it. And believe me, I do not appreciate secrets from my partners. Fakish or not.”

Outraged, you nearly snorted at the audacity, but one look at him told you he wasn’t going to let it go. The promise of being thrown over his knee lingered in his ruby eyes, making you avert your own.

“Just tell me already. Who the hell is this guy, and why are you so distressed?”

You sighed once more, closing your eyes and accepting defeat. “All right, so, this is Ryotaro. He’s… my ex-boyfriend.”

As you pronounce the last words, his face twisted with something you couldn’t quite name. Alpha pheromones thickened in the air like a sudden storm.

“Ex-boyfriend, you said?” The words came tight, as if he was fighting a growl.

What was that? It sure wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.

“I broke up with him months ago because he—” You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to share that humiliating part of your life.

“Because what?” He demanded through clenched teeth. His alpha instinct had already filled in the blanks — someone had hurt you, and all he could think about was how to make the bastard bleed.

“It’s no big deal, actually. He made it clear I wasn’t the best option for mating when I caught him cheating on me.” You laughed dryly, trying to sound indifferent.

That caught Bakugou off guard because, one, what a dick. Two, what kind of idiot would cheat on you when even he could barely control himself around your sweet omega scent and demeanor? And God knows he wasn’t interested in a mate since, well, forever.

“I know. Pathetic, right? And with a friend of mine, if you care to know.” You rambled, mistaking his silence for pity and trying to brush it off with fake humor. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not really interested, but it wasn’t very nice of him to do it in my old apartment, of all places. Can you believe that? Didn’t even bother to hide it…”

He kept silent until you stopped the nonsense, realizing you were speaking too much. You cleared your throat.

“Sorry, it doesn’t matter.”

“He hurt you, didn’t he?”

You faced him once more, lost in the way his ruby eyes could go from domineering to soft, a feat you would never say he could accomplish. You nodded slowly before you could stop yourself.

He said nothing, jaw tight, the muscle ticking in his cheek. You wondered if he was trying to hold back a growl. Or a curse. Or both.

“Idiot,” he muttered at last. You weren’t sure if he meant Ryotaro or you.

But then, after a beat, he added, “You should’ve told me.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was… something else. Something you couldn’t name. Warm. Protective.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Almost two weeks now.”

“Did you block him?”

You confirmed with your head. “Yeah, but he changed numbers. And I don’t wanna change mine because of him.”

Bakugou nodded. You didn’t want to give him any more power over you. Fair enough.

“Has he tried to see you in person?”

“No.”

“Do you think he will?”

“I mean… maybe? He’s being insistent.”

“Are you scared of him?”

“I-” You frowned, thinking of it for the first time. “He's never been violent with me, so… no, I guess? I’m just nervous, that’s all. I don’t wanna see him or talk to him, and he’s being kind of a creep.”

As you murmured the last part, your phone lit up — another call from Ryotaro.

“All right. Give me the phone.”

“Uh?” You blinked dumbly.

“The phone. Give it to me.”

“What? No!”

The call kept ringing, cellphone tight in your grip as you watch Bakugou’s outstretched hand. Waiting for you to obey his command like giving orders was his second nature. Well, you guessed it was, actually.

“What for?” You asked, carefully.

Bakugou didn't falter, raising a single eyebrow, lips in a thin line. He wasn't going to take it from you. He wanted you to give it to him, willingly.

“You really don’t have to worry about this…”

He kept in silent, as if telling you “I’m not gonna say it again”.

You looked at your phone. His hand. The phone again. Then back to his eyes.

Oh boy.

You felt smaller under his gaze, all the traces of an alpha in his posture. Not afraid, and not in a bad way. Just… compliant. Yielding like it was instinct. Without thinking, you slowly placed the device in his palm.

“Good girl.”

Your omega practically preened at the praise, purring before you could stop it. If he took notice of it and of your heated face, he didn’t comment, sparing you the embarrassment.

The call had ended, but he was already dialing back.

“Wait, don't!”

Too late. Ryotaro answered in two seconds.

“(Y/n)? Final—”

“Listen closely, you piece of shit.”

Silence. You held your breath.

“Call my omega again, and we’re gonna have a little conversation about it.”

Your mouth dropped open, disbelief washing your features. Bakugou didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His vermillion gaze told you plainly: Yes. I fucking said that.

Your stomach twisted. Heat pooled low in your belly. You squeezed your thighs together. When did this hallway get so narrow? Has Bakugou always been this close? Right hand holding the phone to his ear, left arm on the wall, mere centimeters above your head. Would he feel the shudder in your breath?

“Uh? Who the hell are you? Where’s (Y/n)?”

“I’m gonna say this once, so you better listen. You’re not gonna talk to her. You’re not gonna look for her. And you’re sure as hell not gonna see her again. She wants nothing to do with you. And if I so much as hear a whisper about you coming near her…” A pause. “It won’t end well for you.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Try and find out.”

Click.

You had no words when he offered you the phone again, taking it in slow motion, your eyes never leaving his face. Awestruck.

“Done, omega.”

“I— what? I can’t believe you did that.”

“He’s not gonna bother you again.”

“How you so sure?”

Bakugou shrugged. “If he somehow grows some balls and decides to do it, I’ll keep my promise and deal with him.”

“But you’re my boss, not my boyfriend.” You murmur, still very conscious of how close you were. He hadn’t moved an inch.

His arm slid lower on the wall, body leaning to face your height. Your heart faltered, chest rising.

“Do I have to repeat myself? What did I say I was today?”

His eyes dropped to your throat as you swallowed hard. Then back to your lips.

“My alpha.” You whispered.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a mischievous grin. “Good girl.”

“You can’t do that.”

“What, omega?”

You gestured between you, your finger nearly brushing his chest. “You can’t say things like that when…”

“When?”

“When I’ll be working for you like any other day on Monday morning. This is— it’s not appropriate, we shouldn’t—”

Your words died in a gasp when Bakugou’s fingers reached out for your face, tracing your lips with a warm digit and parting them slightly. Your face flushed hot.

“Don’t tell me you’re not feeling this shit, omega,” he said, voice low and rough. “Because I’ve been feeling it since the first day we met. You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“Feeling… what?”

He chuckled darkly, leaning in. “That’s how you wanna play it?”

He was mere centimeters from your face now, hot breath mixing with yours. His caramel scent in your nostrils making your mind go fuzzy. You were sure your heartbeat had stopped once you felt his lips graze yours. “'Cause I can play, omega.”

“Please, stop.” You said, a hand on his chest. Emotion cracked in your voice.

He froze.

“It may mean nothing to you… but I don’t think I can handle being treated like a game again.”

Bakugou pulled back, eyes darkening into something unreadable.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Just because you’re my boss doesn’t mean you can use me like a pastime.”

Now that offended him.

“Is that what you think this is?” He pointed between you, upper lip raised. You flinched. “Like hell I’d scent a ‘pastime’ like I did earlier. Like I’d risk everything I built for one. Like I’d bring a ‘pastime’ to meet my fucking family. Guess you’re too smart for me, huh.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“That’s not fair.” You finally whispered.

“No shit, omega.”

“Katsuki—”

“The bathroom’s on the left.”

With that said, he turned his back and disappeared down the hallway.

I loved writing this chapter. Hope you guys enjoy too. Please, tell me what you're thinking in the comments <3

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[sapph22]

The Other Woman

Synopsis : Gojo calls Y/N “too sensitive” after lending his hoodie to her old bully, until screenshots leak of him cheating with the same girl, proving she was never overreacting.

Pairing : Gojo satoru x reader

A/n : Angst, smau, Satoru Gojo is a dick.

Part 1

[mononijikayu]

the studio felt cozy, all soft blues and greys, though the giant “limitless: with gojo satoru” neon sign behind the mic stand gave it a playful edge. gojo satoru himself sprawled in his chair, sunglasses perched lazily atop his head though they weren’t needed.

“ladies and gentlemen, volleyball fans, star-gazers, and gossip enthusiasts. today is a big day.” satoru’s voice carried easily, rich with showmanship. he spread his arms wide like he was welcoming royalty. “not only do i have olympic gold medalist ryomen sukuna in the house…”

sukuna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, arms crossed over his chest. “you say that like i don’t hear it every time you text me.”

satoru ignored him with practiced flair. “but i also have the award-winning world famous astrophysicist who managed to do the impossible, train said olympian to be crazy about her and of course, end up having him marry her.”

"please have a round of applause for the intelligent, brilliant, amazing, dazzling enthusiastic, genuine—"

"you're making this longer than necessary, sato-kun!" you laughed.

he grins. "well its what my bestie deserves!"

"oh dont let suguru hear you say that man."

"that's a problem for future me." he waves sukuna's words off and continues. "besides, he'll agree with me."

"anyway! please welcome to our studio for the first time ever, our former volleyball team manager and the most well renowned, sought after astrophyscist at this point in our lifetime, doctor [last name] [name]!"

claps could be heard in the studio, from all the other staff there. but the loudest came from ryomen sukuna who was beaming at his beautiful and radiant wife, being shy at all the praise beside him.

"thats my wife, guys. shes everything and more. six-eyes is not lying."

"he's just such a guy, isn't he?" gojo satoru says as he points to his friend. "this is the same guy who screamed at us all the way through like a megaphone to do marathons around the college campus for strength training. but sooooo soooo different with you, [name]-chan."

you laughed, resting a hand over your six-month bump. “i keep coming around places with him at times and people tell me that i must’ve discovered a parallel universe where he’s tolerable.”

sukuna gave you a playful sideways look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. you can tell he liked that comment coming from you. it was playful as ever before.

“careful, baby. don’t forget who’s carrying you to the car after this.”

satoru clapped his hands. “see, this is why i love when you come in for episodes or just mention each other. its gold every time.”

"also good for you, cause you get to see a long lasting relationship as your future format." sukuna says playfully.

"okay captain, low blow." satoru whines just as mockingly.

"hey, i told you we'd hook you up with a good partner, sato-kun!" you tell him with a giggle. "we'll talk about it later."

"let's talk about it later, alright. i trust you. i know you'll put my best interests at heart. maybe more than captain here."

"okay that's pretty fair." sukuna nodded at that, as though it was the truth of the universe.

satoey laughed before he leaned forward, grin mischievous. “so, doctor [last name]. you are now six months pregnant, still chasing galaxies instead of naps. what’s keeping you going?”

you shifted the headphones slightly, smiling into the mic. “curiosity, mostly. we’re having a very exciting time in the lab too. we’re mapping out exoplanet atmospheres right now, through telescopes. we're looking for chemical traces that could point to life. the kind of data you can’t just put down and ignore. it feels like being on the verge of discovery every day. and i just absolutely adore that so much. it keeps everything exciting every single time."

sukuna was looking at you, proud. “that’s my wife, i just wanna brag once again. she's just so cool every time when i see her work on this stuff. it just blows me away."

satoru whistled low. “life on other planets. and here i thought sukuna was already the most alien thing i knew.”

the olympian scowled. “say that again and i’ll put you through your own studio table.”

you squeezed sukuna’s hand beneath the desk before he could follow through. “you see what i live with? he spikes volleyballs at two hundred kilometers an hour, but he’s sulking because you compared him to an extraterrestrial.”

satoru cackled. “okay, okay, moving on before i get murdered. let’s talk baby.” he sat up straighter, voice shifting just enough to sound earnest. “how are you both feeling?”

for a moment sukuna didn’t speak. he rubbed his thumb absently over your hand, gaze flicking to the curve of your stomach before he answered. “It’s very interesting…..all of it just feels so new. i’ve trained for gold medals, tournaments, the olympics. but this?” his voice dropped, softer, stripped of his usual steel. “this is bigger. makes volleyball feel small.”

the room quieted, just a beat. you smiled at him, warmth in your chest. “we joke that they’ll have his jump and my brain. but honestly, we’ll be happy if they just sleep through the night.”

satoru leaned back, grinning again, tension diffused. “nah, they’re destined for greatness. you don’t get two legends for parents and come out average. i’m calling it now, though. future nobel prize winner with a wicked serve.”

you laughed, clapping a hand over your mouth, and even sukuna let out a rare, low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. “well, wouldn’t that be an interesting mix.”

“can you imagine?” you went on, still smiling. “publishing groundbreaking astrophysics papers by day, spiking balls into oblivion by night. insane mix of the century, to be sure.”

the blue eyed man gasped dramatically, sitting forward. “oh my god. the ultimate crossover. they’d be unstoppable.”

sukuna’s laughter faded, and after a beat, his voice came quieter, steadier. “though, i don’t wanna put pressure on our kid just yet.” 

he adjusted the mic slightly, glancing at you, then at the curve of your stomach. “our kid doesn’t need to be some prodigy. doesn’t need to win medals or prizes. our kid can just be…precious to us. just our beloved child. that’s more important.”

the room stilled for a moment, the crew quiet behind the cameras, obviously so happy about the fact that sukuna was being adorable like this.. even gojo satoru didn’t crack a joke right away, his grin softening as he leaned his chin on one hand.

you felt your throat tighten at his lovingly gentle thoughts. the weight of his words pressing somewhere warm and tender. you reached under the table, threading your fingers through his, and gave his hand a small squeeze. 

“exactly. they don’t need to be anything but themselves. that’ll be more than enough for us.”

sukuna’s eyes met your own orbs, and though he didn’t say it, the small upward pull of his pretty mouth said everything and anything when it comes to his joy about it. satoru finally exhaled, breaking the hush with a little smile. 

“wow. that was…actually kind of beautiful. who knew captain ryomen sukuna here had the soul of a poet hiding under all the hard exterior and the tattoos?”

“shut it, six eyes, that was not for you.” sukuna muttered, though there was no bite in it this time.

you laughed again, wiping at the corners of your eyes. “don’t let him fool you. he’s always been like this. just doesn’t show it to the world.”

“yeah, well, its just for you, baby.” sukuna grunted, rubbing his thumb absently over your knuckles, “the world doesn’t need it. you do. and the kid will too.”

satoru made a dramatic sniffling sound into his mic. “i think i’m crying, guys. i think i just witnessed the grinch’s heart grow three sizes.”

sukuna growled low, but his hand stayed clasped tight with yours, his face betraying the faintest hint of pride. “oh shut up.”

“though sato-kun, you’re definitely babysitting for us.” you teased. “you and guru-kun!”

“deal, [name]-chan.” satoru said instantly. “but only if i can teach them trick plays before they can walk.”

sukuna groaned. “over my dead body.”

the banter rolled on for a while. satoru poking fun at sukuna’s inevitable dad life, sukuna swearing under his breath, and you, caught somewhere between laughter and soft disbelief that this was your life now. a life filled with galaxies, gold medals, and the promise of someone new to share it all with.

satoru leaned closer to the mics, his grin all teeth. “okay, okay. i see some good, real question in the chat. have you two thought about what you think the baby’s gonna be? boy or girl? or do you want to be surprised?”

you laughed softly, glancing at sukuna before answering. “we’re letting it be a surprise, but we’ve made guesses.”

“oh do spill the info.” satoru perked up, dramatic as ever. “give us the tea.”

sukuna didn’t hesitate. he leaned toward his mic, voice deep, certain. “it’s a girl. definitely a girl. i’m solid on that.”

satoru blinked, then broke into laughter. “wait, wait. you sound like you already know. what’s that, fatherly intuition?”

“call it whatever you want, i don’t really know myself either.” sukuna said, shrugging like it was actually carved into stone. “i just know. she’s gonna be a girl. stubborn. strong. she’ll run this house before she can walk.”

you squeezed his hand, amused. “funny, because i’ve been thinking boy, my love. and the instincts tell me that. maternal instinct is never wrong, no?”

“nah, babe, listen.” sukuna said firmly, shaking his head. “its gonna be a girl. i can feel it in my bones. she’ll have your brains, your sharp tongue, and unfortunately…” he smirked, glancing at you, “my temper.”

satoru nearly choked on his water. “oh my god. imagine a mini-you two running around the world. apocalypse speedrun.”

you covered your face with your hand, laughing. “hes always like that. he’s already planning her personality like it’s non-negotiable. well, if our baby is a girl.... ”

“because it isn’t gonna be a boy, babe.” sukuna said, so confidently that even satoru raised his brows. "definitely a girl. nothing else."

“oh, you’re that confident?”

“mark my words.” he added, leaning back like a king making a decree. “it’s a girl.”

satoru pointed between the two of you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “alright, let’s make this interesting. if it’s a girl, i get to say ‘i told you so’ to you—” he jabbed a finger at you—“and if it’s a boy, i get to watch sukuna admit he’s wrong on air. deal?”

sukuna growled low, but you laughed and nodded. “deal.”

the grin satoru wore could’ve lit the whole studio. and that didn’t make sukuna happy, which is why he started ragebaiting satoru, which led to satoru being ragebaited and actually going on a tangent about the debate on whether tiramisu is better than creme brulee. which made you laugh for a long time, you nearly pissed yourself. sukuna had a pleased look on his face for hours on end after that.

things slowed down for a little bit. but of course, the chat kept lighting up on satoru’s tablet, little hearts and questions and jokes scrolling so fast the moderators could barely keep up. he was half-skimming when he suddenly perked up, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“ah, here’s one question for you again.” gojo said, voice dripping with mischief as he read the commentor's question. “hello, im a big fan of you guys!!! i have a question, though. doctor [your last name], are you planning to retire from your work after the baby’s born? you know, step back from the science world, take it easy?”

before you could even lean in, sukuna shifted forward, the mic catching the rumble of his voice. “huh? what makes you think a baby’s gonna make my wife give up what she loves? someone ban that commenter right now.”

you dissolved instantly, laughter bubbling out of you so fast you had to hold your stomach. “oh my god, my love—” you wheezed, nearly falling against his shoulder.

satoru’s laugh turned into a full cackle. “you can’t just threaten the viewers, man! that’s not how podcasts work!”

“don’t care.” sukuna muttered, scowling behind camera at the staff as though the camera had personally offended him. “ban them. seriously.”

you were still shaking with laughter once again, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. but beneath the humor was that steady warmth. you knew he meant every word. that’s just how he has always been, even when you first met. 

he had gotten both screaming matches and physical beatings about it with everyone and anyone. he never let anyone question your work, never let anyone assume you’d have to sacrifice when he knew exactly how much you loved it.

sukuna’s hand slid over yours, thumb brushing your knuckles as he added, softer but firm, “we talked about this even back when we first started dating. volleyball won’t last forever, i’ve always known that. i’ve had injuries before, and it was bad too. i knew this day would come. i’ll be the one retiring from playing when the time comes, you know?”

“no plan on teaching?” satoru asked him, looking at him. “i mean you have a sports science degree, you can help teach teams about the technicalities and science of the sport. you can also coach volleyball teams.”

“i mean, i’d welcome working online, like giving advice to sports teams and fitness and all that stuff, but i just don’t really have a big dream about life or anything else because i already got my dream." he points to you. "and its being with her and having a life with her."

"in short?" satoru leads him on.

"in short, im very satisfied being at home and being a husband and a dad, soon to be, at least.” sukuna says honestly. “like, i’ve achieved all that i need to these many years, no? its good to be satisfied. and i already am. my life with her completes me.”

you didn’t look surprised at that, not one bit. even when everyone else around you, even gojo satoru, were. but it did make you feel so warm inside. to always be affirmed and told that you are so loved, so important to your husband makes you feel so genuinely happy. beyond even what words could express. even beyond what any action can give.

you wanted to say something about it, to tell him you loved him and are thankful for him but you also didn't wanna take away from your husband's moment. so instead, you take his hand and squeeze it and looked at him with a smile.

then you found yourself looking back at satoru and then nodded at him as though to confirm yojr husband's words, with your tender lips following as it ended up curving with quiet agreement with it.

“it’s true. he’s always said that. it’s not something he just decided today.” your voice gentled as you glanced at him, showing all the love you have for him, still wishing to always be expressed.

“my love here is actually really good at housework. people don’t believe me, but he is. he’s an only child, always alone. he learned how to cook, clean, do laundry. everything, since his parents are doctors abroad, he’s had to take care of himself for as long as i’ve known him.”

sukuna’s ears tinged red, but he didn’t interrupt you. he too did not want to take away from your moment, so he continues to hold your hand tight, his thumb brushing against the well toned wonder of your soft fingers.

“like my husband took care of me for years and years with such great attention and gentleness, before we were married and even now. he’s more of a househusband than anything else. he was more mother hen than my mom.”

gojo satoru, of course, pounced on it. “hold up, househusband sukuna? you mean to tell me the guy who spiked a ball so hard it dislocated a dude’s shoulder can also fold fitted sheets?”

you nodded solemnly. “perfectly. each and every time. he has not failed once to do anything that makes our lives hard. he always makes it easy. always makes it a home. me and our dog marin are legitimately princesses at home.”

satoru jaw dropped theatrically. “what? no. i don’t believe it. i demand video evidence. an olympic champion with a spray bottle and dish soap. this i need to see.”

“you’ll see it when hell freezes over, six eyes.” sukuna growled.

but you only smiled, leaning into the mic. “no, he’s really good to me. he always will be. i know that. he cooks better than me half the time. i can’t count how many nights in college he’d show up with containers of food because he knew i’d forget to eat while working on my papers. even when he was tired, he took the time."

satoru gasped dramatically, smacking the desk. “you mean…you’ve been a domestic king this whole time and hiding it from the public?”

sukuna grunted. “it’s not hiding. ive been so open and upfront about it. i just....i just dont post about it all the time. i like to keep most of it to myself. it’s private. my wife knows. my marin knows. our precious baby will know soon enough. and that’s enough.”

you nudged him with your knee under the table, still laughing. “he’s shy and humble about it, but trust me. hes so good at being the strength of our home. home would not exist without him. so he's serious about the househusband thing."

satoru leaned back in his chair, grinning like a devil. “so you’re telling me, every olympic medals, trophies, accolades, all that is out the window. ryomen sukuna, future househusband. apron, baby carrier, grocery lists. the full package.”

“exactly, you got it.” sukuna said flatly, arms crossed again. “i’ll be happiest there, serving the people i love.”

satoru nearly fell out of his chair laughing. “i can’t—oh my god, the internet’s gonna eat this alive. wait till they make fanart of you pushing a stroller. or maybe you in a kiss the chef apron while making bento. especially that one!"

sukuna’s glare cut to the camera, sharp enough to kill. “if anyone draws that, i’ll—”

you tugged on his arm gently, giggling. “don’t threaten the fan artists, my love.”

“—i’ll frame it, to be sure, babe.” sukuna muttered under his breath, making you laugh even harder.

“oh, you’re so down bad.” satoru laughed, leaning back in his chair, hands thrown up like he’d just uncovered the scandal of the century.

“damn straight i am.” sukuna didn’t even flinch, his voice firm, his hand sliding easily into yours. he lifted your knuckles to his lips but didn’t kiss, just rested them there for a beat. “i’m lovesick.”

you laughed out loud, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. your fingers curled around his, squeezing back. “yeah, i guess you are. i am too.”

“hm, that’s right.” sukuna hummed, that low rumble of his chest catching on the mic. “nearly thirteen years and counting.”

you smiled widely at that. "its for forever, to be sure."

"forever and ever, babe." he agrees, smiling back.

satoru blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “thirteen?!” he practically yelped, like he hadn’t expected that number. "i didn't think it was that long."

"i mean, it is quite a long time, i agree on that." you nodded at him. "but then again, you met us in college."

"i just thought you guys dated in high school."

"no, it was longer, six-eyes." sukuna spoke into the mic. "you rarely see this type of long lasting childhood sweethearts these days."

“you’ve been together since….what, puberty?”

“last year of middle school.” you corrected gently, though your smile was fond. “it feels like forever ago.”

satoru slapped his palm against the table, grinning wide. “if you two ever break up, love isn’t real.”

sukuna scoffed so hard the mic nearly caught static. “that will never happen.”

“well, i mean, there could have been.” you teased, tilting your head at him, “it nearly happened one time—”

satoru immediately sat forward, eyes glinting like a predator catching scent of blood. “ohhh, do tell.”

your husband groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “don’t start.”

“no, no, wait—” satoru cut in, his grin feral. “you can’t just drop a bomb like that and then shut up. spill. what happened? was it juicy? was there drama? did someone storm out into the rain?!”

you laughed, covering your face with your free hand, shaking your head. “you’re impossible, sato-kun.”

sukuna leaned closer to his mic, voice sharp, final. “okay, enough. that’s not podcast material.”

satoru pouted, slumping back in his chair with exaggerated disappointment. “you’re no fun. i could’ve gotten so many clicks with that story.”

“you’ll live, six eyes.” sukuna muttered, though the way he squeezed your hand under the table was soft, grounding, like the memory wasn’t one he cared to revisit but one you both had survived together.

satoru leaned forward again, refusing to let it go. “come on, just a hint. what happened? was it a fight? another guy? did sukuna forget your birthday?”

you laughed so hard you nearly snorted. “no, not another guy. are you kidding me? i don’t think anyone would’ve survived trying to flirt with me back then.”

“damn right.” sukuna muttered. “she was the same too.”

you nodded. “damn straight.”

“but i’m so curious, though.” satoru whined, dramatically clutching his chest. “thirteen years, near breakup, and i don’t get a morsel of gossip? the people deserve to know!”

sukuna tilted his head, eyes narrowing at him like he was lining up for a kill. “the people don’t deserve anything.”

“hey—” satoru pointed at him, grinning wide. “you’re really no fun. what’s the point of a podcast if you’re not gonna traumatize yourself for content?”

you rolled your eyes but were still laughing. “he’s not wrong. you’d go viral instantly, my love.”

sukuna turned to you, incredulous. “you’re not helping.”

you squeezed his hand again, softening the moment. “it’s not really a funny story anyway. it was just…life. we were kids. we didn’t know what we wanted yet. and we fought.”

satoru perked up instantly. “ah, so it was juicy!”

“i mean, sure. i guess. but it was more idiotic than anything else.” you said firmly, laughing. “we were kids, who were just stupid. and in the end we figured it out. that’s what matters.”

sukuna leaned back, exhaling through his nose, but his arm pressed against yours under the table like he couldn’t stand to put space between you, even here. “and it won’t ever happen again.”

the way he said it was simple, but the conviction in his tone left no room for doubt. you agreed, smiling. “yeah, never again.”

satoru, of course, ruined it by fanning himself dramatically. “ugh, god. you’re so disgustingly in love. i’m gonna need bleach for my ears.”

you and sukuna both chuckled, trading a glance that said you didn’t mind one bit. satoru fanned himself one more time for dramatic effect, then leaned forward with his elbows on the table, grinning like a cat who’d cornered two mice. 

“okay, real question, though. how the hell did you two last thirteen years? i can barely keep a plant alive that long.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “honestly? i think it’s because we grew up together. we were kids when we started dating, and we had to learn everything the hard way. you know, mistakes, fighting, making up, figuring out what we wanted out of life. but somehow, every time, we kept choosing each other.”

sukuna hummed, tilting his head like he agreed but had his own take. “and we’re stubborn. neither of us ever wanted to give up. even when it was hard, we’d rather fight it out than walk away. we’d rather choose each other.”

satoru raised his brows. “wow. that’s actually…kinda sweet. stubborn love.”

“sweet, sure.” you teased. “though at the time it felt more like we were ready to strangle each other half the time.”

“sometimes, that’s still the case.” sukuna muttered, though the slight tug of his mouth betrayed him. “loving someone is not easy, guys. it’s not for the faint hearted.”

satoru cackled. “god, that explains everything. no wonder it works. you’re both equally insane.”

you laughed, brushing your thumb over sukuna’s knuckles. “there’s also trust. a lot of it. i mean, we had to learn to let each other grow, even in different directions. i had my career, he had volleyball. sometimes we barely saw each other. but we never stopped believing we’d come back to the same place.”

“that’s why even when we have busy schedules, we try to see each other every two weeks.” sukuna’s hand tightened on yours, his voice dropping. “you make it work. that’s the truth of it. no matter what else was going on…she was always my home.”

satoru groaned loudly, tossing his head back. “oh my god. stop. you’re killing me. people are gonna think this is a romance advice podcast.”

you snorted, leaning into the mic. “maybe it should be.”

sukuna smirked, low and smug. “wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

satoru pointed at him immediately. “nope. never. i’m not hosting you two again if you’re gonna flirt in front of me. i’m too single for this. i’ll combust.”

“hey, we told you we'll set you up. do you wanna talk about it now?"

"okay, okay, who are you thinking about?"

"i’ll introduce you to one of my colleagues.” you grinned across the table, voice playful. “there’s this new girl—”

before you could finish, sukuna cut in, deadpan. “no, he might find keiji hotter.”

you laughed, nodding immediately. “i mean, true.”

satoru gasped, throwing his arms up. “don’t arrange my dates like i’m not here!”

“you need someone to arrange them, though, bachelor.” sukuna shot back, rolling his eyes. “left on your own, you’d probably take your date to a convenience store for cup noodles.”

“hey!” satoru said, feigning offense. “cup noodles are a classic. you don’t mess with tradition.”

“you’re hopeless, aren’t you?” you teased, shaking your head.

satoru leaned across the table, jabbing a finger toward you. “no, you don’t get to call me hopeless when you’ve been together with mr. grumpy househusband here for thirteen years. thirteen!”

“exactly, though.” you said sweetly. “because unlike you, i can commit.”

the crew behind the cameras burst out laughing, and even sukuna cracked a sharp grin, satisfied at the blow landed on his friend. satoru slumped back, clutching his chest like he’d been stabbed. 

“low blow. on my own show, [name]-chan.”

“you set yourself up.” sukuna muttered.

“yeah, you walked right into that one.” you added, still smiling.

satoru groaned loudly, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away. “i hate both of you. so much.”

sukuna snickered. "what a liar."

"hey! im not—"

"we love you too, sato-kun!"

"[name]-chan, stop, i need to be a bit mad!"

sukuna laughed. "good luck with that."

[mononijikayu]

the studio felt cozy, all soft blues and greys, though the giant “limitless: with gojo satoru” neon sign behind the mic stand gave it a playful edge. gojo satoru himself sprawled in his chair, sunglasses perched lazily atop his head though they weren’t needed.

“ladies and gentlemen, volleyball fans, star-gazers, and gossip enthusiasts. today is a big day.” satoru’s voice carried easily, rich with showmanship. he spread his arms wide like he was welcoming royalty. “not only do i have olympic gold medalist ryomen sukuna in the house…”

sukuna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, arms crossed over his chest. “you say that like i don’t hear it every time you text me.”

satoru ignored him with practiced flair. “but i also have the award-winning world famous astrophysicist who managed to do the impossible, train said olympian to be crazy about her and of course, end up having him marry her.”

"please have a round of applause for the intelligent, brilliant, amazing, dazzling enthusiastic, genuine—"

"you're making this longer than necessary, sato-kun!" you laughed.

he grins. "well its what my bestie deserves!"

"oh dont let suguru hear you say that man."

"that's a problem for future me." he waves sukuna's words off and continues. "besides, he'll agree with me."

"anyway! please welcome to our studio for the first time ever, our former volleyball team manager and the most well renowned, sought after astrophyscist at this point in our lifetime, doctor [last name] [name]!"

claps could be heard in the studio, from all the other staff there. but the loudest came from ryomen sukuna who was beaming at his beautiful and radiant wife, being shy at all the praise beside him.

"thats my wife, guys. shes everything and more. six-eyes is not lying."

"he's just such a guy, isn't he?" gojo satoru says as he points to his friend. "this is the same guy who screamed at us all the way through like a megaphone to do marathons around the college campus for strength training. but sooooo soooo different with you, [name]-chan."

you laughed, resting a hand over your six-month bump. “i keep coming around places with him at times and people tell me that i must’ve discovered a parallel universe where he’s tolerable.”

sukuna gave you a playful sideways look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. you can tell he liked that comment coming from you. it was playful as ever before.

“careful, baby. don’t forget who’s carrying you to the car after this.”

satoru clapped his hands. “see, this is why i love when you come in for episodes or just mention each other. its gold every time.”

"also good for you, cause you get to see a long lasting relationship as your future format." sukuna says playfully.

"okay captain, low blow." satoru whines just as mockingly.

"hey, i told you we'd hook you up with a good partner, sato-kun!" you tell him with a giggle. "we'll talk about it later."

"let's talk about it later, alright. i trust you. i know you'll put my best interests at heart. maybe more than captain here."

"okay that's pretty fair." sukuna nodded at that, as though it was the truth of the universe.

satoey laughed before he leaned forward, grin mischievous. “so, doctor [last name]. you are now six months pregnant, still chasing galaxies instead of naps. what’s keeping you going?”

you shifted the headphones slightly, smiling into the mic. “curiosity, mostly. we’re having a very exciting time in the lab too. we’re mapping out exoplanet atmospheres right now, through telescopes. we're looking for chemical traces that could point to life. the kind of data you can’t just put down and ignore. it feels like being on the verge of discovery every day. and i just absolutely adore that so much. it keeps everything exciting every single time."

sukuna was looking at you, proud. “that’s my wife, i just wanna brag once again. she's just so cool every time when i see her work on this stuff. it just blows me away."

satoru whistled low. “life on other planets. and here i thought sukuna was already the most alien thing i knew.”

the olympian scowled. “say that again and i’ll put you through your own studio table.”

you squeezed sukuna’s hand beneath the desk before he could follow through. “you see what i live with? he spikes volleyballs at two hundred kilometers an hour, but he’s sulking because you compared him to an extraterrestrial.”

satoru cackled. “okay, okay, moving on before i get murdered. let’s talk baby.” he sat up straighter, voice shifting just enough to sound earnest. “how are you both feeling?”

for a moment sukuna didn’t speak. he rubbed his thumb absently over your hand, gaze flicking to the curve of your stomach before he answered. “It’s very interesting…..all of it just feels so new. i’ve trained for gold medals, tournaments, the olympics. but this?” his voice dropped, softer, stripped of his usual steel. “this is bigger. makes volleyball feel small.”

the room quieted, just a beat. you smiled at him, warmth in your chest. “we joke that they’ll have his jump and my brain. but honestly, we’ll be happy if they just sleep through the night.”

satoru leaned back, grinning again, tension diffused. “nah, they’re destined for greatness. you don’t get two legends for parents and come out average. i’m calling it now, though. future nobel prize winner with a wicked serve.”

you laughed, clapping a hand over your mouth, and even sukuna let out a rare, low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. “well, wouldn’t that be an interesting mix.”

“can you imagine?” you went on, still smiling. “publishing groundbreaking astrophysics papers by day, spiking balls into oblivion by night. insane mix of the century, to be sure.”

the blue eyed man gasped dramatically, sitting forward. “oh my god. the ultimate crossover. they’d be unstoppable.”

sukuna’s laughter faded, and after a beat, his voice came quieter, steadier. “though, i don’t wanna put pressure on our kid just yet.” 

he adjusted the mic slightly, glancing at you, then at the curve of your stomach. “our kid doesn’t need to be some prodigy. doesn’t need to win medals or prizes. our kid can just be…precious to us. just our beloved child. that’s more important.”

the room stilled for a moment, the crew quiet behind the cameras, obviously so happy about the fact that sukuna was being adorable like this.. even gojo satoru didn’t crack a joke right away, his grin softening as he leaned his chin on one hand.

you felt your throat tighten at his lovingly gentle thoughts. the weight of his words pressing somewhere warm and tender. you reached under the table, threading your fingers through his, and gave his hand a small squeeze. 

“exactly. they don’t need to be anything but themselves. that’ll be more than enough for us.”

sukuna’s eyes met your own orbs, and though he didn’t say it, the small upward pull of his pretty mouth said everything and anything when it comes to his joy about it. satoru finally exhaled, breaking the hush with a little smile. 

“wow. that was…actually kind of beautiful. who knew captain ryomen sukuna here had the soul of a poet hiding under all the hard exterior and the tattoos?”

“shut it, six eyes, that was not for you.” sukuna muttered, though there was no bite in it this time.

you laughed again, wiping at the corners of your eyes. “don’t let him fool you. he’s always been like this. just doesn’t show it to the world.”

“yeah, well, its just for you, baby.” sukuna grunted, rubbing his thumb absently over your knuckles, “the world doesn’t need it. you do. and the kid will too.”

satoru made a dramatic sniffling sound into his mic. “i think i’m crying, guys. i think i just witnessed the grinch’s heart grow three sizes.”

sukuna growled low, but his hand stayed clasped tight with yours, his face betraying the faintest hint of pride. “oh shut up.”

“though sato-kun, you’re definitely babysitting for us.” you teased. “you and guru-kun!”

“deal, [name]-chan.” satoru said instantly. “but only if i can teach them trick plays before they can walk.”

sukuna groaned. “over my dead body.”

the banter rolled on for a while. satoru poking fun at sukuna’s inevitable dad life, sukuna swearing under his breath, and you, caught somewhere between laughter and soft disbelief that this was your life now. a life filled with galaxies, gold medals, and the promise of someone new to share it all with.

satoru leaned closer to the mics, his grin all teeth. “okay, okay. i see some good, real question in the chat. have you two thought about what you think the baby’s gonna be? boy or girl? or do you want to be surprised?”

you laughed softly, glancing at sukuna before answering. “we’re letting it be a surprise, but we’ve made guesses.”

“oh do spill the info.” satoru perked up, dramatic as ever. “give us the tea.”

sukuna didn’t hesitate. he leaned toward his mic, voice deep, certain. “it’s a girl. definitely a girl. i’m solid on that.”

satoru blinked, then broke into laughter. “wait, wait. you sound like you already know. what’s that, fatherly intuition?”

“call it whatever you want, i don’t really know myself either.” sukuna said, shrugging like it was actually carved into stone. “i just know. she’s gonna be a girl. stubborn. strong. she’ll run this house before she can walk.”

you squeezed his hand, amused. “funny, because i’ve been thinking boy, my love. and the instincts tell me that. maternal instinct is never wrong, no?”

“nah, babe, listen.” sukuna said firmly, shaking his head. “its gonna be a girl. i can feel it in my bones. she’ll have your brains, your sharp tongue, and unfortunately…” he smirked, glancing at you, “my temper.”

satoru nearly choked on his water. “oh my god. imagine a mini-you two running around the world. apocalypse speedrun.”

you covered your face with your hand, laughing. “hes always like that. he’s already planning her personality like it’s non-negotiable. well, if our baby is a girl.... ”

“because it isn’t gonna be a boy, babe.” sukuna said, so confidently that even satoru raised his brows. "definitely a girl. nothing else."

“oh, you’re that confident?”

“mark my words.” he added, leaning back like a king making a decree. “it’s a girl.”

satoru pointed between the two of you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “alright, let’s make this interesting. if it’s a girl, i get to say ‘i told you so’ to you—” he jabbed a finger at you—“and if it’s a boy, i get to watch sukuna admit he’s wrong on air. deal?”

sukuna growled low, but you laughed and nodded. “deal.”

the grin satoru wore could’ve lit the whole studio. and that didn’t make sukuna happy, which is why he started ragebaiting satoru, which led to satoru being ragebaited and actually going on a tangent about the debate on whether tiramisu is better than creme brulee. which made you laugh for a long time, you nearly pissed yourself. sukuna had a pleased look on his face for hours on end after that.

things slowed down for a little bit. but of course, the chat kept lighting up on satoru’s tablet, little hearts and questions and jokes scrolling so fast the moderators could barely keep up. he was half-skimming when he suddenly perked up, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“ah, here’s one question for you again.” gojo said, voice dripping with mischief as he read the commentor's question. “hello, im a big fan of you guys!!! i have a question, though. doctor [your last name], are you planning to retire from your work after the baby’s born? you know, step back from the science world, take it easy?”

before you could even lean in, sukuna shifted forward, the mic catching the rumble of his voice. “huh? what makes you think a baby’s gonna make my wife give up what she loves? someone ban that commenter right now.”

you dissolved instantly, laughter bubbling out of you so fast you had to hold your stomach. “oh my god, my love—” you wheezed, nearly falling against his shoulder.

satoru’s laugh turned into a full cackle. “you can’t just threaten the viewers, man! that’s not how podcasts work!”

“don’t care.” sukuna muttered, scowling behind camera at the staff as though the camera had personally offended him. “ban them. seriously.”

you were still shaking with laughter once again, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. but beneath the humor was that steady warmth. you knew he meant every word. that’s just how he has always been, even when you first met. 

he had gotten both screaming matches and physical beatings about it with everyone and anyone. he never let anyone question your work, never let anyone assume you’d have to sacrifice when he knew exactly how much you loved it.

sukuna’s hand slid over yours, thumb brushing your knuckles as he added, softer but firm, “we talked about this even back when we first started dating. volleyball won’t last forever, i’ve always known that. i’ve had injuries before, and it was bad too. i knew this day would come. i’ll be the one retiring from playing when the time comes, you know?”

“no plan on teaching?” satoru asked him, looking at him. “i mean you have a sports science degree, you can help teach teams about the technicalities and science of the sport. you can also coach volleyball teams.”

“i mean, i’d welcome working online, like giving advice to sports teams and fitness and all that stuff, but i just don’t really have a big dream about life or anything else because i already got my dream." he points to you. "and its being with her and having a life with her."

"in short?" satoru leads him on.

"in short, im very satisfied being at home and being a husband and a dad, soon to be, at least.” sukuna says honestly. “like, i’ve achieved all that i need to these many years, no? its good to be satisfied. and i already am. my life with her completes me.”

you didn’t look surprised at that, not one bit. even when everyone else around you, even gojo satoru, were. but it did make you feel so warm inside. to always be affirmed and told that you are so loved, so important to your husband makes you feel so genuinely happy. beyond even what words could express. even beyond what any action can give.

you wanted to say something about it, to tell him you loved him and are thankful for him but you also didn't wanna take away from your husband's moment. so instead, you take his hand and squeeze it and looked at him with a smile.

then you found yourself looking back at satoru and then nodded at him as though to confirm yojr husband's words, with your tender lips following as it ended up curving with quiet agreement with it.

“it’s true. he’s always said that. it’s not something he just decided today.” your voice gentled as you glanced at him, showing all the love you have for him, still wishing to always be expressed.

“my love here is actually really good at housework. people don’t believe me, but he is. he’s an only child, always alone. he learned how to cook, clean, do laundry. everything, since his parents are doctors abroad, he’s had to take care of himself for as long as i’ve known him.”

sukuna’s ears tinged red, but he didn’t interrupt you. he too did not want to take away from your moment, so he continues to hold your hand tight, his thumb brushing against the well toned wonder of your soft fingers.

“like my husband took care of me for years and years with such great attention and gentleness, before we were married and even now. he’s more of a househusband than anything else. he was more mother hen than my mom.”

gojo satoru, of course, pounced on it. “hold up, househusband sukuna? you mean to tell me the guy who spiked a ball so hard it dislocated a dude’s shoulder can also fold fitted sheets?”

you nodded solemnly. “perfectly. each and every time. he has not failed once to do anything that makes our lives hard. he always makes it easy. always makes it a home. me and our dog marin are legitimately princesses at home.”

satoru jaw dropped theatrically. “what? no. i don’t believe it. i demand video evidence. an olympic champion with a spray bottle and dish soap. this i need to see.”

“you’ll see it when hell freezes over, six eyes.” sukuna growled.

but you only smiled, leaning into the mic. “no, he’s really good to me. he always will be. i know that. he cooks better than me half the time. i can’t count how many nights in college he’d show up with containers of food because he knew i’d forget to eat while working on my papers. even when he was tired, he took the time."

satoru gasped dramatically, smacking the desk. “you mean…you’ve been a domestic king this whole time and hiding it from the public?”

sukuna grunted. “it’s not hiding. ive been so open and upfront about it. i just....i just dont post about it all the time. i like to keep most of it to myself. it’s private. my wife knows. my marin knows. our precious baby will know soon enough. and that’s enough.”

you nudged him with your knee under the table, still laughing. “he’s shy and humble about it, but trust me. hes so good at being the strength of our home. home would not exist without him. so he's serious about the househusband thing."

satoru leaned back in his chair, grinning like a devil. “so you’re telling me, every olympic medals, trophies, accolades, all that is out the window. ryomen sukuna, future househusband. apron, baby carrier, grocery lists. the full package.”

“exactly, you got it.” sukuna said flatly, arms crossed again. “i’ll be happiest there, serving the people i love.”

satoru nearly fell out of his chair laughing. “i can’t—oh my god, the internet’s gonna eat this alive. wait till they make fanart of you pushing a stroller. or maybe you in a kiss the chef apron while making bento. especially that one!"

sukuna’s glare cut to the camera, sharp enough to kill. “if anyone draws that, i’ll—”

you tugged on his arm gently, giggling. “don’t threaten the fan artists, my love.”

“—i’ll frame it, to be sure, babe.” sukuna muttered under his breath, making you laugh even harder.

“oh, you’re so down bad.” satoru laughed, leaning back in his chair, hands thrown up like he’d just uncovered the scandal of the century.

“damn straight i am.” sukuna didn’t even flinch, his voice firm, his hand sliding easily into yours. he lifted your knuckles to his lips but didn’t kiss, just rested them there for a beat. “i’m lovesick.”

you laughed out loud, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. your fingers curled around his, squeezing back. “yeah, i guess you are. i am too.”

“hm, that’s right.” sukuna hummed, that low rumble of his chest catching on the mic. “nearly thirteen years and counting.”

you smiled widely at that. "its for forever, to be sure."

"forever and ever, babe." he agrees, smiling back.

satoru blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “thirteen?!” he practically yelped, like he hadn’t expected that number. "i didn't think it was that long."

"i mean, it is quite a long time, i agree on that." you nodded at him. "but then again, you met us in college."

"i just thought you guys dated in high school."

"no, it was longer, six-eyes." sukuna spoke into the mic. "you rarely see this type of long lasting childhood sweethearts these days."

“you’ve been together since….what, puberty?”

“last year of middle school.” you corrected gently, though your smile was fond. “it feels like forever ago.”

satoru slapped his palm against the table, grinning wide. “if you two ever break up, love isn’t real.”

sukuna scoffed so hard the mic nearly caught static. “that will never happen.”

“well, i mean, there could have been.” you teased, tilting your head at him, “it nearly happened one time—”

satoru immediately sat forward, eyes glinting like a predator catching scent of blood. “ohhh, do tell.”

your husband groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “don’t start.”

“no, no, wait—” satoru cut in, his grin feral. “you can’t just drop a bomb like that and then shut up. spill. what happened? was it juicy? was there drama? did someone storm out into the rain?!”

you laughed, covering your face with your free hand, shaking your head. “you’re impossible, sato-kun.”

sukuna leaned closer to his mic, voice sharp, final. “okay, enough. that’s not podcast material.”

satoru pouted, slumping back in his chair with exaggerated disappointment. “you’re no fun. i could’ve gotten so many clicks with that story.”

“you’ll live, six eyes.” sukuna muttered, though the way he squeezed your hand under the table was soft, grounding, like the memory wasn’t one he cared to revisit but one you both had survived together.

satoru leaned forward again, refusing to let it go. “come on, just a hint. what happened? was it a fight? another guy? did sukuna forget your birthday?”

you laughed so hard you nearly snorted. “no, not another guy. are you kidding me? i don’t think anyone would’ve survived trying to flirt with me back then.”

“damn right.” sukuna muttered. “she was the same too.”

you nodded. “damn straight.”

“but i’m so curious, though.” satoru whined, dramatically clutching his chest. “thirteen years, near breakup, and i don’t get a morsel of gossip? the people deserve to know!”

sukuna tilted his head, eyes narrowing at him like he was lining up for a kill. “the people don’t deserve anything.”

“hey—” satoru pointed at him, grinning wide. “you’re really no fun. what’s the point of a podcast if you’re not gonna traumatize yourself for content?”

you rolled your eyes but were still laughing. “he’s not wrong. you’d go viral instantly, my love.”

sukuna turned to you, incredulous. “you’re not helping.”

you squeezed his hand again, softening the moment. “it’s not really a funny story anyway. it was just…life. we were kids. we didn’t know what we wanted yet. and we fought.”

satoru perked up instantly. “ah, so it was juicy!”

“i mean, sure. i guess. but it was more idiotic than anything else.” you said firmly, laughing. “we were kids, who were just stupid. and in the end we figured it out. that’s what matters.”

sukuna leaned back, exhaling through his nose, but his arm pressed against yours under the table like he couldn’t stand to put space between you, even here. “and it won’t ever happen again.”

the way he said it was simple, but the conviction in his tone left no room for doubt. you agreed, smiling. “yeah, never again.”

satoru, of course, ruined it by fanning himself dramatically. “ugh, god. you’re so disgustingly in love. i’m gonna need bleach for my ears.”

you and sukuna both chuckled, trading a glance that said you didn’t mind one bit. satoru fanned himself one more time for dramatic effect, then leaned forward with his elbows on the table, grinning like a cat who’d cornered two mice. 

“okay, real question, though. how the hell did you two last thirteen years? i can barely keep a plant alive that long.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “honestly? i think it’s because we grew up together. we were kids when we started dating, and we had to learn everything the hard way. you know, mistakes, fighting, making up, figuring out what we wanted out of life. but somehow, every time, we kept choosing each other.”

sukuna hummed, tilting his head like he agreed but had his own take. “and we’re stubborn. neither of us ever wanted to give up. even when it was hard, we’d rather fight it out than walk away. we’d rather choose each other.”

satoru raised his brows. “wow. that’s actually…kinda sweet. stubborn love.”

“sweet, sure.” you teased. “though at the time it felt more like we were ready to strangle each other half the time.”

“sometimes, that’s still the case.” sukuna muttered, though the slight tug of his mouth betrayed him. “loving someone is not easy, guys. it’s not for the faint hearted.”

satoru cackled. “god, that explains everything. no wonder it works. you’re both equally insane.”

you laughed, brushing your thumb over sukuna’s knuckles. “there’s also trust. a lot of it. i mean, we had to learn to let each other grow, even in different directions. i had my career, he had volleyball. sometimes we barely saw each other. but we never stopped believing we’d come back to the same place.”

“that’s why even when we have busy schedules, we try to see each other every two weeks.” sukuna’s hand tightened on yours, his voice dropping. “you make it work. that’s the truth of it. no matter what else was going on…she was always my home.”

satoru groaned loudly, tossing his head back. “oh my god. stop. you’re killing me. people are gonna think this is a romance advice podcast.”

you snorted, leaning into the mic. “maybe it should be.”

sukuna smirked, low and smug. “wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

satoru pointed at him immediately. “nope. never. i’m not hosting you two again if you’re gonna flirt in front of me. i’m too single for this. i’ll combust.”

“hey, we told you we'll set you up. do you wanna talk about it now?"

"okay, okay, who are you thinking about?"

"i’ll introduce you to one of my colleagues.” you grinned across the table, voice playful. “there’s this new girl—”

before you could finish, sukuna cut in, deadpan. “no, he might find keiji hotter.”

you laughed, nodding immediately. “i mean, true.”

satoru gasped, throwing his arms up. “don’t arrange my dates like i’m not here!”

“you need someone to arrange them, though, bachelor.” sukuna shot back, rolling his eyes. “left on your own, you’d probably take your date to a convenience store for cup noodles.”

“hey!” satoru said, feigning offense. “cup noodles are a classic. you don’t mess with tradition.”

“you’re hopeless, aren’t you?” you teased, shaking your head.

satoru leaned across the table, jabbing a finger toward you. “no, you don’t get to call me hopeless when you’ve been together with mr. grumpy househusband here for thirteen years. thirteen!”

“exactly, though.” you said sweetly. “because unlike you, i can commit.”

the crew behind the cameras burst out laughing, and even sukuna cracked a sharp grin, satisfied at the blow landed on his friend. satoru slumped back, clutching his chest like he’d been stabbed. 

“low blow. on my own show, [name]-chan.”

“you set yourself up.” sukuna muttered.

“yeah, you walked right into that one.” you added, still smiling.

satoru groaned loudly, but the twinkle in his eye gave him away. “i hate both of you. so much.”

sukuna snickered. "what a liar."

"hey! im not—"

"we love you too, sato-kun!"

"[name]-chan, stop, i need to be a bit mad!"

sukuna laughed. "good luck with that."