jumpinglillies

Latest Posts by jumpinglillies

HELLO HELLO!! I think your writing is super duper adorable, and often times really heartwarming!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

How would Sukuna be with a shy partner? Lowkey a doormat but is trying their best? He’d be such a menace especially in a modern college au LMAO

sorry sorry sorry i took so long to answer, life is so crazy and busy but omg i love you!!!! thank you so much for reading my works i'm so glad that you enjoy them!!!

and arghhhhhh!!!

sukuna with a shy reader would be...something.

i would say at first he would make fun of you and nitpick at your lack of confidence but as your relationship develops he realises your shy nature and feels a weird instinct to protect you.

sure he can make fun of your shyness but if anyone else made fun of you or bothered you about it i'm sure he would say something.

your shyness comes particularly when it comes to asking him for things or asking him to hang out. your tone drops and you mumble, it's annoying to him but he has his own pleasure in making you speak up.

'what was that?'

'i didn't hear you the first time, speak up.'

'why are you so embarrassed?'

on the other hand he knows you're introverted and trying your best, so when you have trouble speaking up he'll attempt to stick up for you.

'if they don't want to speak, they don't have to. move it.'

if you have a presentation for one of your uni classes he'll go over it with you, practising as many times as you want but also giving feedback on how to make your voice sound louder.

'pretend i just punched the shit out of everyone and they're all unconscious.'

'why would i do that?' you frown.

'to make you more confident. duh.'

he'll be there cheering you on, sneaking into the back of the class and watching. you're not sure if that adds onto the pressure or not but somehow he makes you more confident and reminds you of all the times that you did get your words right.

after your presentation you find him waiting in the hallway after class with your favourite snack as a reward.

'i told you it would go well, you worry over jack shit sometimes.'

babydoll

frat!gojo x shy!fem reader !!

wc: 6.5k

part one ! part 2 ! part 3 !

part two in the works…

disclaimer !! slow burn, fluff, angst/comfort, yearning satoru, whipped satoru, satoru is just so enamoured with reader omg. follows the ‘was i just a bet?’ premise!! eventual smut (most likely). reader is implied to wear very cutesy kinds of clothings and enjoys very girly and feminine things !!

artist: thatsallitcheif on x!

“yo, toru. whatcha lookin at?”

standing so sweetly in line at jujutsu university’s student cafe, stood the most adorably breathtaking girl satoru swears he’d ever laid eyes on. looking up at the variety board of drinks with one adorable manicured nail tapping your chin, you shyly made your way up to the counter.

you we’re what he was staring at.

suguru nudged the white haired boys shoulder as they sat back on a bench, not far from the café’s store front. they lounged back with widespread legs, still dressed in their sweaty basketball jerseys.

“hey man, i’m talking to you.”

shaking his head trying to regather his thoughts, satoru half heartedly responded.

“yeah man that sounds good. whatever you wanna do.”

the purple eyed man let out an annoyed huff, “that’s not even— you know what? forget it.” used to his best friends frequent ditzy zone-outs, suguru knew it was best to just drop it and try his luck asking about what had him so enamoured later.

satoru paid no mind to it, still trailing his eyes over your frame as you seemed to stumble over your words when ordering whatever cute little iced drink he’s sure a sweet thing like you enjoyed. he wasn’t sure what had his eyes suddenly so drawn to you, a random campus girl he’d never seen in his life.

maybe it was the fact you had the whole, ‘girl next door’ thing down pat, or maybe how you looked like you owned fifty vintage Hollister sweaters, the real tight ones that showed off your body in that innocent kind of way. you were clad in just that, a grey one, paired with a cute skirt, some stockings and those leg warmers he always saw the cute girls on instagram wear.

very attractive, in his opinion.

he let out a deep breath through his lips as he watched you sip the straw of what looked to be an iced latte, your rosy pink gloss slightly staining the white paper. how could he see from so far away? no one really knew, satoru gojo was known for having real good eyes.

he was known for a lot, actually— his trust fund worth more than what it cost to build the prestigious university and then some, or his effortless charm that never failed to nudge pretty sorority girls into his bed.— but most of all, satoru gojo was most renowned throughout jujutsu for his insane ragers; the ones where the cops get called one way or another, and hundreds of drunken collage kids scramble in all directions out of his notorious frat, alpha phi. and sure, he was at uni for basketball like his buddy suguru, but satoru could ace any course this school had to offer, and that was the scariest thing about him, his sheer wit.

“suguru, d’you know that girl sitting over there, at the cafe? the one with the cute sweater.”

his friend raised his head from looking down at his phone to meet where satoru was pointing.

“ah, so that’s what you were looking at. glad i got my answer ten minutes fucking later, tsk.” suguru pocketed his phone and sat back against the bench, continuing.

“yeah i know her, the names y/n. she’s in my ethics class, a real cute one, huh? really quiet, always fiddling with her hair and shit, classical doll faced nerd.” he said pulling out a cigarette.

satoru nodded and hummed in response, still watching you from afar as you tapped at your phone, shyly tucked away at a table outside the cafe and under a big oak tree.

‘y/n…’

“what, you wanna talk to her or something? the whole shy and prude thing isn’t really your type, fuck boy. i’m almost certain a sweet thing like that doesn’t need a frat boy ruining her life, don’t cha think?” suguru chuckled with a now lit cigarette between his lips.

god, he was right. sure satoru had pretty much pictured your adorable little self in a long white wedding dress already—not sure why, since he never entertained the idea of getting married; especially not anytime soon—but the way you carried yourself, the way your sparkly little nails traced the lid of your cup as you looked down through your long, pretty lashes at whatever was on your phone had him completely entranced.

“jesus christ satoru. you look like a dog in heat staring daggers through her head like that.” the black haired man took a puff before continuing. “if you really want to, just go over and sweet talk her, get her number, fuck ‘er real good and get it outta your system.” suguru said nonchalantly.

satoru shivered a bit at the thought, like for once, just fucking someone and dipping was suddenly disgusting. for once he looked at someone he found attractive and instead of feeling the urge to rut inside and fulfil his desires, he felt a compulsion to care for and protect them. god what was he? a fucking dog? reluctantly, satoru sighed and stood up infront of the other male.

“nah man… you’re right, she’s just a bit too… ‘pure’ looking for someone like me. let’s get outta here, i need a drink.”

suguru chuckled as he clasped hands with his friend, satoru pulling him up from his seated position. “pretty girls like that deserve better than us, toru.” he only let out a breathy chuckle, knowing deep down he was very right, that he should just ignore the deep feeling of warmth inside his gut from when he was staring at you earlier.

~

later that night, now dressed in a black shirt and grey sweats (get my reference) paired with the classic fuck boy silver chain and jordan’s, satoru was sat on his frats couch, sipping the jungle juice him and nanami made earlier for tonight’s party.

bodies clashed on the makeshift dance floor as the smell of weed and booze hung heavy in the air. on any normal night, satoru would be in the middle of it all, dancing and making out with whatever sorority chick he chose for the evening, but now? he was moping alone at the edges of the crowd. his mind was hazy with a distant feeling of… dread? was he seriously feeling anxious in the one place he thrived the most?

he let out a sigh and stood up, downing his drink, trying to revoke some sort of ‘party satoru’ he knew was swimming somewhere inside him. but with each faked smile he plastered on his pretty face when greeting his fellow frat brothers with claps in the back, he felt himself growing more and more uneasy.

each thought swimming around in his head was full of one thing, and that was the cutie he saw at the cafe earlier today, ‘y/n.’

he repeated the name over and over again in his head. it was an adorable name, one fit for someone as sweet looking as you. what would she be doing right now? sleeping? studying? showering? his thoughts were interrupted when he heard the name he was just singing in his mind come from the familiar mouth of his friend, choso.

“y/n? who the hell is that?” suguru, choso, and yuuji were all standing around in a small semi cirlcle, drinks in hands as suguru was letting the alcohol talk for him.

“just this girl satoru couldn’t stop eye-fucking today.” he said slightly slurring his words.

satoru rolled his eyes and turned to join them. “what’s new? he’s always doing that.” said yuuji, earning a chuckle from choso. suguru also laughed before continuing.

“yeah, but this girl was different. she’s the sweet type, y’know? the ones that look so cute and untouched you feel bad for even lookin at em in that kinda way. ain’t that right satoru? poor guy didn’t even go up to her..”

the blue eyed man rolled his eyes. “tsk, so what i was staring? she was cute. and i didn’t want to sleep with her alright. just eye candy, that’s all.”

all three guys were inwardly confused. their party animal of a friend, the most confident ladies man they knew was getting all hung up over a quiet, shy girl he saw at a damn cafe? what the fuck?

choso tried to stifle a laugh. “you’re telling me you saw a girl you liked and didn’t fuck her? what’s wrong with you man, are you sick?” the small group laughed, and so did he. because they were right, not once had he not gotten what he wanted from a girl, but this time he held back.

why? why the hell didn’t he just go up to you and ask for your number? now he was stuck at this party he didn’t want to be at anymore getting harassed by his stupid friends. he was sucked out of his self pity when choso nudged his arm.

“gojo, five hundred dollars says you can’t fuck her by the end of june.” the brunette man said, taking a swig of his drink. before satoru could outright refuse, suguru jumped in. “raise that to one thousand. this guys not doing it.”

they were winding him up, and it was working. “you fuckers are so lost. but fuck it, whatever. two thousand dollars says that i can fuck her by the end of may.” it was currently march, so that meant two months to woo you.

god, he shouldn’t of shortened it. he shouldn't of said that at all! but what else could you do when your fuckass friends try brusing your ego?

suguru and satoru shook on it.

~

the first time you had ever seen satoru gojo was late one afternoon on campus, he had his tounge down a very pretty girls throat, one from your chemistry course. the girl was a tad bit bitchy but she never bothered you, so you just assumed it was her boyfriend and didn't think much of it.

oh were you wrong.

from then on out you had managed to catch the white haired male flirting, touching up on, and kissing four different girls on four different occasions throughout the collage grounds.

'oh, so he's a slut.'

you didn't have the brain space to think too much about the stupid frat guys that ran the school like teenagers with too much testosterone, so you never once thought of the guy again, chalking him up to just another fuck boy.

his friend suguru however? you weren't gonna lie, totally your type. he was in your ethics class and he knew his shit. he was tall, dark and handsome and god he looked like some guy out of a punk rock band. he was your little hallway crush, but you knew of his frisky behaviour being apart of a frat and all, so you only really payed attention to him when you needed something pretty to look at.

like right now, as suguru and the white haired guy you were yet to know the name of sat together squeezing water into their mouths from their water bottles after a basketball training session. they were both pretty guys.

you were walking from your physiology class to the library, shyly taking glances at the black haired male when he suddenly caught your eye. you quickly turned away and walked abit faster to your class, missing the way suguru nudged satoru's elbow with a grin.

"look, it's that girl we made bets on last week."

satorus head flew up to trace your retreating figure. 'god even from this far away she looks stunning.'

he had been searching for you around campus for almost a week straight, under the guides of 'scoping out some fresh meat.' he stood up almost as fast as his head rose and started jogging to catch up to you. god you were adorable, you were dressed in the cutesy style you always stuck to, walking so prettily as your shoes pitter pattered against the concrete. what the hell was he even gonna say when he got to you? he had no idea.

once he had caught up, not even slightly out of breath and still in his sweaty basket ball uniform. he slowed down and walked around beside you, clearing his throat as he stood off to the side but infront of you. he looked down to meet your eyes, and to say he was flabbergasted was an understatement.

shit, you looked even cuter up close. your big eyes and those fluttery lashes had him choked up, the way your hair framed your face, how your long sleeved shirt hugged your figure in all the right ways. he was speechless in your presence.

you were startled when the 6'4 jocked up guy you knew to be a notorious player suddenly approached you. he was towering over you, so much so that you caught a whiff of his heavenly cologne mixed with abit of his sweat.

gross? sure. hot? absolutely.

you assumed he was just trying to pass by so you also cleared your throat gently and picked up your pace, nodding politely in apology as you walked past him completely.

this made satoru panic. he stammered a bit before choking out an awkward "hey! wait up!"

you turned on your heel to see him still standing where he was, bashfully rubbing his neck as he looked away almost... shyly? what the hell?

you nervously played with the sleeves of your shirt that covered the better parts of your wrists, slowly rubbing your lips together as you looked up at him through long lashes. seriously this was getting weird, what did he want? this overly confident frat guy who was known for being rowdy and tuff was almost shying into himself as he stood infront of you.

"...yeah?.." your voice caught him a little off guard, it was silky smooth yet shy and unsure.

'very feminine', he thought.

'what the hell are you doing man... she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but here standing next to someone like you.' he sighed and tried to push away his self deprecating thoughts. with a deep breath he stared back into your pretty little eyes and finally opened his mouth.

"you're uhm... your hair clip, it's pretty cool."

'her fucking hair clip? really satoru? the prettiest girl you've ever seen in your life is standing right infront of you and you chose to compliment her hair clip of all things?!'

he inwardly groaned, feeling more than embarrassed.

he was shoved out of his own head when he saw your cheeks dust an enticing pink as you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. you looked so fucking good right now.

"oh, uh. thank you so much." you said with a small smile, trying to stay polite despite your immense discomfort at the moment. he nodded and coughed into a closed fist awkwardly.

'now what?!' since when did talking to pretty girls become this hard for him?! the two of you stood their staring at eachother stiffly, none of you sure what to say next. you were beyond confused, you were sure this was some stupid frat thing where they went up to random girls and tried poking fun at them.

"so uhm... your name is what? i mean- what's your name?" he mentally facepalmed at his idiocy, biting his lip as to not let anymore corny word vomit escape.

you brushed a strand of hair out of your face and blinked up at him, now noticing how ripped he was. each and every muscle on his visiable forearms were perfectly sculpted along with his sharp facial features and piercing eyes.

"it's y/n... and you?"

of course a sweet closeted thing like you didn't know his name. he was more-so famous around the greek scene, but nethertheless he felt his ego take a hit at the lack of knowledge. he looked you once over, trying his best to surprise the noise of appreciation for your absolute perfection from humming out of his throat.

"satoru. satoru gojo."

"uh, cool. did you... need something? from me?-"

"your number." he blurted it out almost a little too loud, immediately covering his mouth and flushing abit red. he cleared his throat and said it again. "could i have your number, please?" he readjusted himself, trying to regain abit of his confidence and act like he knew what he was doing, because he did, he'd done the whole flirting thing a million times for god sake! you were just making it abit difficult with that adorable confused look on your face.

you didn't fully process what he was saying, just that a guy way out of your social circle was trying to get your number, and you were gonna give it to him because you had absolutely no confidence to say no.

so, pulling out your phone encased in its cute pink cover and tons of dangly charms, you pulled up your number and showed it to him to copy down.

satoru, now composed and feeling abit more like his usual self, smiled at your shy gesture. he too took out his phone and quickly jotted down the number into a new contact, you watched him save it under 'n/n 💗' .

still flushed, you timidly watched as he pocketed his phone, turning his head to look back at where suguru was sat at the bench not far too far away.

"thanks, sweetheart. i'll text you later, yeah?"

he said it with more calm in his voice, a stark difference from how he first approached you. you nodded awkwardly and turned around to finally walk away. once you were a good distance away from satoru, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. did that really happen? why the hell did he of all people want your number? you were getting a tiny bit scared he'd use his frat boy charm to get you into bed and then ditch you like it was any regular friday.

you tried pushing it down, opting to forget about the entire interaction. it would be better on your psyche.

satoru on the other hand, he was estatic. he practically skipped back to suguru with a big goofy smile on his face.

"i got it! man aren't i awesome!"

suguru just smirked and patted his back like a proud father.

"good job, man. now all you gotta do is actually get close enough to her that she'll let you in her pants. an easy 2000 dollars, right?" suguru said a tad condescending.

satoru sucked in a breath, oh yeah, the bet.

~

later that evening, you found yourself studying quietly in your cozy dormitory. it was clad with plushies of all shapes and sizes, a pink plush bed full of fluffy blankets and pillows, and a beautiful vintage style vanity off to one side. your books lay scatters over the soft rug beneath you, you sat beside your bed re-reading the notes taken today in chemistry. with your major being in the science feild, you had frequent nights like this; cramming knowledge inside your pretty little head like there was no tommorow.

you were distracted from the comfort of your blanket pile on the floor by a buzzing on your phone, situated on the vanity across the room.

sighing and standing up with a small groan, you grabbed it and plopped onto your comfy bed. opening up messages, you saw an unknown number pop up the top with another notification.

xxx xxx xxx xx : hey pretty girl

xxx xxx xxx xx : it's gojo

xxx xxx xxx xx : hope i didn't scare you off too badly today 😅

you found yourself getting flustered at the messages. sure you got hit on pretty much all the time, but coming from someone as popular as satoru had you quirking your brow due to the clique difference between the two of you.

the only other guy who was similar to satoru that had tried his luck with you was sukuna… and that was a shit show. a big frat guy with an even bigger ego mixed with a sweet girl like you was not a good partnership. safe to say you two ended after a few months of being him pushing you around like his own personal plaything.

the thought of being involved with another mean frat boy like that really did frighten you, you wanted to feel loved, not like a trophy to show off.

reading satoru’s messages once over again, you decided to not respond. sure he was kind of sweet today asking for your number all akward and bashful, complimenting the hair clip you took five minutes this morning trying to pick out; but deep down you knew you didn’t really want to give him your number. you were just too shy to say no. at least now you had a choice to talk to him or not, and you chose the latter. better to keep yourself safe.

before you could set your phone down, another influx of messages appeared.

xxx xxx xxx xx : read? looks like i did scare you off :(

xxx xxx xxx xx : i’m sorryyy i came off too brash didn’t i?

xxx xxx xxx xx : i was being such an akward loser today

xxx xxx xxx xx : please let me redeem myself 🙏🏻

you once again found yourself smiling, maybe responding just once wouldn’t hurt.

n/n 💗: hey, sorry for not responding earlier !!

n/n 💗: i was pretty swamped with course work 🙁

you clicked on his number and made him a contact before he responded.

gojo : oh hey!

gojo : no worries, glad you're working hard 🤝

on the other line, gojo was grinning like a madman at the thought of your nose stuck in a text book.

he was lazing in his room shirtless with a pair of black shorts, his signature thin silver chain dangling from his neck. his room was dimly lit with posters of all the bands he loved plastered on the wall, what a perfect opportunity for a photo. smirking to himself he snapped a photo of his shirtless top half with a big smile on his face, clearly showing off his beautifully sculpted chest.

gojo : [Attachment 1 image] for my contact photo ;)

you did a double take at the photo, clicking into it and zooming in to make sure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing. you weren't normally the type to get all hot and bothered over guys, but shit, he was hot. you shook your head and saved the photo, making it his contact photo since you really didn't have anything else to set it as. your phone dinged again.

gojo : so? where's mine? can't have your photo blank now can we?

you bit your lip nervously. sure you put a lot into your appearance and knew a lot of people thought you were 'absolutely adorable', but you weren't really convinced yourself, so taking selfies wasn't something you were used to.

regardless, you found yourself putting on a small smile and snapping a picture of your pretty face. giving it a once over you hovered over the send button. why did you care about what this guy thought of you anyways? weren't you the one who was just lecturing yourself about not getting involved with another guy like sakuna? you huffed and sent the picture trying not to think too hardly of it.

n/n 💗 : [Attachment 1 image]

gojo : wowza 🤯

gojo : you're fucking stunning 😍😍

on the other line, satoru could feel his blood rushing south at the photo you sent, it was innocent and oh so adorable. everything about your features made his heart feel woozy. after staring for a good five minutes, analysing each and every aspect of your face and what he could see in the background, he set it as your contact, smiling to himself.

n/n 💗: thank you

he chuckled at the some what dry response. he could tell you weren't very comfortable and he desperately wanted to change that.

gojo : hey, so i was thinking... you seem really cool to hang with, we should totally go out some time, yeah?

he hit send quickly so he wouldn't overthink it too much. he watched his screen a bit worriedly. he wasn't sure how you'd respond to that after only just meeting him today, but it's the best he had under his belt. satoru was strictly a hook-ups-only kind of guy, going on dates was foreign for him, but for you, he would.

he saw you read the text and type out a reply, delete it, then type out another.

n/n 💗 : thank you for the offer ! i'm sorry if this sounds abit rude, but we kind of just met today... and you suddenly want to hang out with me of all people?

n/n 💗 : is this like, a prank or something like that?

gojo cringed at himself for making you feel like he was trying to hang out with you for ulterior motives -which he kind of was considering the bet- but it was more than that, he genuinely did think you were cute and wanted to get to know you.

gojo : what? no! i just thought you were really cute, that's all. if you don’t feel comfortable hanging out i totally get it!

he anxiously watched as you read his message, fiddling with the sheets beneath him.

you did feel bad, really you did. and god knows you're way too shy to outwardly reject anyone. so, you let out a sigh and decided to humour him.

n/n 💗 : no, no! it's fine don't worry, we can hang out.

with all his anxiety dissipating, gojo let out a breath and quickly typed out a reply.

gojo : awesomee how does tomorrow for coffee at lunch sound? my shout, ofcourse.

n/n 💗 : okay!

gojo : sweet, i'll meet you outside the cafe at 12, see you then sweetheart ;)

~

the next day came faster than you'd expected. your fingers toyed nervously with the zipper of your off shoulder jacket as you stood beneath the awning of the student cafe, you were standing off to one corner trying not to stand out too much as your eyes scanned the crowd for that unmistakable shock of white hair.

your mind was still reeling, you believe you’d said yes to him. the rational voice in your head had spent the entire morning trying to talk you out of it, replaying memories of the only boyfriend you’d ever had being a frat boy. sukuna.

but here you were—waiting for gojo. the satoru gojo.

he showed up exactly at 12:03, He strolled toward you like he owned the pavement, hands shoved into the pockets of his grey sweats, his messy white hair tucked under a backwards baseball cap. He wasn’t wearing his usual frat-boy grin—instead, his eyes flicked over you, softening as he approached, his lips curving into something almost bashful. maybe the frat thing didn’t look so bad on him. maybe.

“hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice light but laced with a note of something softer, something real. “hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

you shook your head, smiling shyly up at him. “just got here.”

you weren’t used to towering boys like satoru opening doors for you, but he did, motioning for you to walk in first. surprisingly gentlemanly. the café was warm, the windows fogged with spring condensation, the air filled with the soft hiss of the espresso machine. once you’d sat outside under the same oak tree he’d first seen you under, surprisingly, satoru stayed mostly quiet. he wasn’t bombarding you with charm or flirting overkill like you expected. instead, he seemed… careful. like he didn’t want to scare you off.

he glanced at the menu, but looked back at you quickly. “tell me what you’re having so i can grab it. i promised i’d pay, remember?”

your lips parted slightly in surprise—no cocky comment, no flirtatious undertone. you told him your order, voice soft, and he nodded like it was the most important thing in the world, striding to the counter with ease. you watched him exchange a joke with the barista, his laugh echoing warmly through the small space. he really was effortlessly charming, you had to admit that.

you shyly bit your lip as you replayed the whole situation you were in right now. you had to tell your best friend yuki all about this later.

he returned with two drinks—your regular iced latte and something caramel-colored for himself—and two pastries. “didn’t know what you liked, so i got a cinnamon swirl. it looked like something a girl as cute as you might like,” he teased gently.

you smiled, biting back a laugh. “thanks a bunch, i like cinnamon.”

“see?” he leaned back in his seat with a smug little grin, sipping his drink. “i’m good at this.”

it was awkward at first. you weren’t sure where to look—his face, the window, the table?—but he made it easier than you’d expected. he asked about your major, why you chose it. he didn’t interrupt. he didn’t make jokes at your expense. when you mentioned how much you liked microbiology, instead of zoning out, he asked, “that’s the one with the cute little organisms, right? like, the blob guys?”

you giggled, making his cheeks flush slightly pink at the sound. “kind of, yeah.”

he grinned wide, pleased with himself for making you laugh. “you like what you like. that’s cool. most people don’t talk about something and light up like you just did. i could get used to seeing that cute smile more often, y’ know.”

you felt your cheeks warm and looked down, hiding a smile behind your drink. you didn’t know what you expected from this coffee date—maybe a few hollow compliments and an invite back to his place—but you didn’t expect to feel... seen.

“i’m glad you came,” he said after a pause. his voice was a little quieter now, more honest.

you glanced up at him, unsure of what to say. so instead, you just nodded.

and for now, that felt like enough.

satoru and you spent the rest of what would of been your chemistry lecture talking about how much you loved being feminine, doing your make up and creating a dormitory that reflected fragile femininity to the tee. satorus smile never seemed to drop as he asked you question after question never seeming to get bored of your shy voice.

“so like, are you into james charles and stuff? he’s the only make up person i know.”

he said with a little laugh. you joined in, gigging to yourself.

“not really, i don’t go as heavy as him. i just like to… i don’t know, make my face look abit cuter? does that make sense?”

you covered your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket as you looked up at him bashfully.

his face seemed to soften seeing you hide behind your sleeve, reaching over and pulling it down, causing you to let out a small noise of surprise.

“you don’t need to hide your pretty face from me. it’s too cute not to be seen, you’re obviously doing a good job if you look that adorable.”

after a pause you nodded your head, making a note to try and not touch your face out of nervousness as you usually did.

“you know,” he finally said, tapping the table with one ringed finger, “i don’t usually do this.”

you blinked. “do what?”

“go for coffee. with girls.” his tone was sincere, his brows lifting slightly as if he was the one feeling small. “usually it’s just… parties, hookups, and then nothing. but you’re… different.”

you bit your lip, unsure how to respond. “because i look innocent?”

satoru let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. because you are innocent. but not in a bad way. you’ve got this whole thing about you that makes me—” he paused, chuckling at himself. “—makes me wanna, like, put on a sweater and meet your parents or some shit.”

you couldn’t help but laugh quietly, hiding your smile behind your cup. “you’re weird.”

he grinned like he’d won the lottery. “yeah, but you smiled. that’s a win.”

and for a moment, as the sun filtered through the oak leaves and warmed your cheeks, you let yourself wonder—maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the start of a cruel bet or a frat boy’s usual game.

the minutes turned to hours and suddenly you had sat through a five hour conversation with satoru about his basketball, your course work, the hobbies you both had, and the friends you liked the most.

“mmm. if i had to pick, i’d say suguru is my best friend. do you know him?”

‘ah, suguru.’ the hot guy in your ethics you have a small crush on, of course you knew him.

your face heated up as you turned your head to face or the window, stuttering for the first time in about four hours.

“y-yeah… i know him.”

satoru raised a brow at this. he wasn’t sure why you were suddenly so nervous, he thought he had overcome your shy barrier a few hours ago?

he cleared his throat, continuing on. “so? i hear you guys are in ethics together. is that like, good?”

‘is that like, good? seriously man? you’re sounding like a loser right now.’ he thought to himself.

“i.. yeah.. it’s good… he’s really smart, and pretty. p-pretty good at the subject, i mean!”

‘that was a shit save, y/n.’ you inwardly groaned. you could see satorus face slightly drop from his usual laid back grin.

satoru’s brow furrowed for a moment as he processed your sudden nervousness. it was subtle, but enough for him to catch it. he leaned back in his chair, studying your face, the way your eyes darted away from his and your hand fiddled with your jacket sleeve. something wasn’t adding up.

he wasn’t sure what was bothering you, but for the first time that afternoon, he felt a flicker of doubt. he had been so careful, so mindful of you—why were you suddenly pulling away?

“huh, really?” he said slowly, his voice softening, as if giving you space to explain. “didn’t know suguru was your type.”

you could feel his gaze on you, like he was trying to piece together something he hadn't understood yet. his usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression that made you feel a little... vulnerable.

“ahhh, you’ve got it wrong. he’s… just a good guy,” you mumbled shyly, hoping the topic would pass.

but satoru didn’t let it slide. not this time. he was quiet for a few seconds, his fingers lightly tapping on the table. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious.

“y/n,” he began, his tone oddly gentle, “if you’re into him, that’s cool. i just want you to know, though, that i’m not here to play games. not with you.”

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. there was something unspoken in the way he said it, something that made your heart race like you had done something wrong. god you messed up. you’ve just had the most enjoyable time with satoru now he thinks you’re inlove with his best friend. yikes.

you were not one for confrontation, so you were getting nervous. you really didn’t like suguru, you just thought he was pretty, how the hell were you going to save this… you sighed deeply, peering into his orbs.

“hey, i don’t like him like that. i just think he’s a pretty guy… like you, you’re a pretty guy too.”

you bit your lip anxiously waiting for his reaction…

satoru blinked a couple of times, clearly processing your words. the usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found as his gaze softened, something almost vulnerable flickering behind his bright blue eyes. he leaned forward slightly, his arms resting casually on the table, but his posture had changed. it was like he was giving you space, like he was trying to understand you more than just joking around.

"i... i get it," he said, his voice low and a little more serious than you'd heard all day. "it's just... i’ve never really talked like this with any girl before, i’m not sure how this all works to be honest. and with suguru, i guess i was just making assumptions." he ran a hand through his white hair, looking out the window for a moment before turning back to you. "but, i’m glad to hear that. 'cause, you know, i really enjoy spending time with you. and i don't want you to feel like you have to explain yourself to me.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, feeling some of the tension melt away between the two of you. "you’re a silly guy, huh?"

he smirked, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "yeah, i know. but i’m also a pretty straightforward guy. so just, uh, don’t feel like you owe me any explanations, okay? you’re cool, y/n. like, really cool."

your heart skipped at the compliment, but you were still a bit nervous, unsure of how to react to his change in tone. still, you managed a small smile, feeling a little lighter.

“t-thanks satoru,” you said, your voice softer now.

he leaned back again, relaxing into his chair with that signature confident grin returning to his lips. “no problem, sweetheart. you’re way too cute for me to get all weird about things. just... don’t go falling for suguru, okay?” he teased, his smile widening.

you rolled your eyes, feeling the nerves ease, though your cheeks were still a little flushed. “i’ll try my best.”

"good," he said, winking at you. "because you’re already way ahead of the competition."

you shied into yourself at the flirty gesture, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

suddenly, satorus face dropped from his laid back casual expression to one of almost annoyance. you saw his eyes trailing at the entrance of the cafe to see a group of what looked to be frat guys walking out.

“you uh.. okay?” you asked sweetly, watching him shift in his chair.

satoru didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stood up abruptly, muttering, “stay here. i’ll be right back.” his tone was sharper than usual, and you couldn’t help but watch as he plastered on a grin, striding toward the group of guys with his usual charm. but this time, it seemed different. there was a bit too much of a show in his smile, a little too much forced energy in his greetings.

“look who it is. how’s it, gojo?” one of the guys shouted, clapping satoru on the back. the others chimed in with loud greetings.

you watched from afar as he made conversation, subtly steering the group away from where you sat. after a while you saw them wrapping up.

“alright, alright, go on then. catch you later, gojo,” one of them said with a half-smile, walking away with the others. he slumped back into his chair with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder again to make sure they weren’t coming back.

“… are you okay..?” you asked, your voice soft, a little quiet. you could see the tension still lingering in his eyes.

satoru ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment. “yeah, just—” he sighed again, his voice lowering. “you know how it is. guys like them… they don’t know when to quit.”

“quit?” you repeated, brow furrowed. you were trying to piece things together, but his mood had shifted so abruptly. “what do you mean?”

he looked at you finally, his expression softening a bit. “they can be… fuckwits, to put it lightly. don’t want them coming over here and making any fucked up comments or anything.”

you blinked, realization slowly dawning on you. “you didn’t want them bothering me?”

“yeah,” he said quietly, avoiding your gaze. “i mean, it’s one thing if they’re messing around with me, but... you shouldn’t have to deal with their shit.”

your heart fluttered a little at his words. satoru was trying to protect you, even if it meant dealing with his friends’ annoying antics. it was... sweet. "thank you," you said softly, a small smile forming on your glossed lips.

he glanced at you, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “no problem. i just didn’t want them to say anything messed up to you. that’s all.”

“that’s really kind of you satoru, very chivalrous,” you said, your voice teasing yet holding its own sense of shyness.

satoru’s smile returned, this time a little more genuine. “yeah, of course. don’t know what you’d do without me.”

you raised an eyebrow playfully. “i’m sure i’d manage.”

“nah, i’m irreplaceable, girlie.” he grinned, his usual cocky charm back in full force.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were starting to like this side of him—the side that wasn’t always trying to show off. satoru may have been surrounded by chaos, but right now, in this quiet moment, he felt... real.

“well, thank you,” you said, your smile softening. “for looking out for me.”

“always,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and looking at you with a glint of something softer behind his usual cocky grin.

your date with satoru revealed a lot about his character. he was a dork, a cute dork. he was charming, funny, hot as hell, but he was deeper than that. satoru had a layer to him you we’re sure only those close to him were allowed to see, and for the time you we’re together, he showed that side you you. deep down he was thoughtful, he was kind, observant.

he cared for people and how he was perceived. and most of all he made you feel like the only girl in the world on that date. not too flirty, but just enough to make your heart flutter with life, something you hadn’t felt since you had broken up with sukuna about a year ago.

for a second, you wondered if maybe there was more to this guy than the image he liked to project, maybe he’d let you see it if you stayed around. maybe you needed to do just that.

chat my first start to a long fic on this app what do we think 😟😟

no. 1 fan ... sukuna ryomen x reader

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ - since when did sukuna ryomen have a girlfriend? and why is she so cute (and absolutely perfect for him)? tags: basketball!au, fluff, swearing, sfw <3 masterlist

The gym lights caught on the glossy surface, a faint shimmer bouncing with every shift of motion. Tiny flecks of glitter sparkled like distant stars, the edges glinting silver against the stark backdrop of the jersey. A burst of pastel pink contrasted sharply, the soft hue radiating a kind of innocent charm that felt entirely out of place.

It was a detail almost too small to notice—yet somehow, it drew eyes in, an odd juxtaposition against the chaos of the pregame atmosphere. The gym was alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished wood, players stretching, and the low hum of excited chatter from the stands. Sukuna Ryomen, lounging casually in the middle of his team’s warm-up drills, was the last person anyone expected to have such a thing plastered on his shoulder. But there it was. My Melody, a sweet little bunny holding a basketball.

Satoru was the first to spot it, of course.

“Aw, how cute, Sukuna-chan. Didn’t know you were into Sanrio like that.”

Sukuna turned, narrowing his eyes at the playful teasing in Satoru's voice. “The fuck are you on about now?”

Satoru just pointed, smirking as all eyes followed his gesture. "Your cute little stowaway there."

And there it was—bold against the red and black of Sukuna's jersey, a sticker of My Melody, holding a basketball positioned perfectly as if to dunk it. It was so out of place, yet it felt strangely fitting. Its innocence danced in stark contrast to Sukuna's menacing aura, and the sweetness of the bunny somehow managed to coexist with the intimidating presence of the player.

Sukuna glanced at the sticker and then smirked, barely able to suppress the grin tugging at his lips. His eyes softened just slightly, knowing exactly where it came from.

“Guess it’s not that bad,” he muttered under his breath.

No one knew who had put it there, but there was no mistaking it—Sukuna wasn’t bothered in the slightest. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it made him smile.

“He’s so weird, I swear,” Satoru muttered, squinting across the gym floor as he slouched against the edge of the bench. The air around them crackled with energy, the squeak of sneakers on the polished hardwood floor echoing through the arena as players warmed up. The thudding sound of basketballs bouncing, the low hum of excited chatter from the crowd, and the faint whistle of the referee adding to the chaos all buzzed around them.

Suguru, already feeling the weight of Satoru's nonsense, pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried to focus, pushing away the mounting noise as he geared up for the game. "Satoru, shut up. He’s literally just smiling."

"Exactly!" Satoru gestured with both hands, his voice carrying over the cacophony like a loud bell ringing. “I’ve never seen him... like this. It’s unnatural!”

Suguru flicked Satoru lightly in the forehead, the sharp sound of his fingers connecting with the skin cutting through the background noise. “You’re lucky he can’t hear you, idiot. Besides, he’s allowed to smile. It’s not a crime.”

“It’s so creepy, though!” Satoru rubbed his forehead dramatically, leaning back against the bench. His voice was exaggerated, filled with playful disdain. “I’ve never seen him so... soft. Gross. Eugh. What happened to the demon we all know and love?”

The gym seemed to buzz even louder as the players amped themselves up, a couple of them tossing passes back and forth with fast, sharp movements that made the air feel electric. Sneakers squeaked and slid across the court, some heavy breaths echoing as bodies shifted into the final preparations for the game.

Suguru, however, was still fighting for some semblance of focus, trying to shut out Satoru's ridiculousness as his mind sought that familiar pregame calm. He tried to breathe in rhythm with the ambient noise—the rustling of the crowd, the sharp claps of teammates slapping each other on the back—but Satoru just wouldn’t let up. "It’s because his girlfriend’s watching today," Suguru said casually, as if the thought didn’t even require a second glance.

Satoru snapped his head toward him so fast it almost looked like he was about to knock over the water bottle on the bench. “He has a girlfriend? How do you know?”

“Yuji told me about her yesterday,” Suguru said, brushing it off as if it were nothing. He wasn’t quite sure how to process the idea of Sukuna with someone so... normal, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, letting his thoughts return to the game.

“What about me?” 

Satoru’s stomach jolted, heart skipping in his chest. “Jesus—fuck, Yuji, you scared me!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest as if Yuji had just jumped out from behind him in a horror film.

Suddenly, Yuji’s face popped up right next to them, grinning widely with that unapologetically boyish enthusiasm. “Oops, sorry! I just heard my name and wanted to make sure you weren’t shit-talking me! Haha!”

The two seniors exchanged a look—Suguru, contemplating the comment, and Gojo, mildly entertained—but as usual, the latter barrelled straight past it. “Anyways, we were just wondering about Sukuna-chan’s little girlfriend. She’s here?”

The sound of basketballs slamming into the backboard reverberated loudly around them, rattling the floor beneath their feet as a player went for a dramatic dunk across the gym. The high-pitched swoosh of a net followed. Yet, the small chaos of the game only seemed to amplify Yuji's carefree nature, his laughter infectious.

He gave a single enthusiastic nod, expression lighting up with pure, uncontained excitement. “She should be! She just called to say she found a seat.”

The three of them turned toward the crowd, scanning the packed bleachers. It was almost impossible to pick out individual faces among the sea of fans, but they didn’t have to wonder for long why Yuji could find you so easily.

“There!” Yuji pointed, practically bouncing on his heels.

All at once, they saw you.

You weren’t loud or over the top, but there was something about you that drew attention, like a light you couldn’t help but turn toward. Your eyes sparkled with a warmth that didn’t belong in a crowd this rowdy, your face alight with unguarded joy. You leaned forward, effortlessly engaging the little girl beside you in a cheerful conversation, hands animated as you gestured toward the court.

The little girl giggled, clutching a handful of skittles you must have shared. It wasn’t just the candy; it was the way you leaned in, nodded attentively, and treated the child like her words carried the secrets of pandora’s box. The moment was so natural, so disarmingly sweet, that even Suguru had to admit he could see the charm.

“She’s just... giving away candy to kids?” Satoru blinked, eyebrows raised as though the sight was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen.

Suguru’s smile slowly turned into a gape, crossing his arms. “And apparently making everyone within a ten-foot radius feel like they’ve won the lottery. What a menace.”

“She’s adorable,” Satoru hissed, ignoring the sarcasm. “There’s no way Sukuna convinced someone like her to date him. I mean, look at her!” He gestured dramatically, nearly toppling off the bench.

“She’s smiling, not performing a miracle,” Suguru deadpanned. “Relax.”

“But that’s what’s weird about it!” Satoru insisted. “She’s the sunshine’s asshole, and he’s... I don’t even know what he is, probably just the asshole part.”

The three of them continued to watch as you apologized to a student who stumbled near you, even though it was clearly no fault of your own. You placed a steadying hand on their shoulder, offering a bright, reassuring smile that seemed to melt the poor kid’s embarrassment on the spot. A moment later, you turned back toward the court, your attention zeroing in on the players warming up.

Then, a laugh as melodic as an orchestra bubbled from your lips, captivating everyone within a 20-foot radius.

Heads turned—not just Sukuna’s, but several others, curious to see who’d spoken. Sukuna, however, didn’t seem fazed by the sound. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the court like a predator waiting for its prey. A mere glance from a teammate was enough to send them scurrying in the opposite direction, but when he caught sight of you, his posture seemed to relax just slightly. His gaze softened, and for a brief second, he didn’t look like a demon—he looked... content.

“Holy shit,” Satoru muttered, leaning closer. “He’s smiling again. Suguru, this is unnatural. I don’t think I like it.”

Suguru sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re just jealous someone actually loves him.”

“Jealous?” Satoru scoffed. “Please. I’m too fabulous to be contained by one person. It’s just—look at her! She’s pure, and he’s... him. Do you think she read his terms and conditions properly?”

Yuji, meanwhile, was grinning ear to ear, his chest practically puffed out with pride as though her presence was his personal achievement. “Do you get it now?” he asked, turning toward the two seniors.

“Get what?” Gojo drawled, still squinting at her like she was a science experiment.

“Why she’s perfect for him,” Yuji said simply.

Satoru opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to argue, but Suguru cut him off with a raised hand. “You know what? He’s got a point.”

For a moment, even Satoru was quiet, his gaze drifting back to you. You were now laughing, your head tipped back slightly as the little girl beside her showed off her Skittles-stained tongue. The sound was bright, full, and utterly unrestrained—like you’d never learned how to hold back your joy.

Satoru sighed, flopping against the bench in defeat. “Okay, fine. She’s perfect. Whatever. But I still don’t get how he landed her.”

Suguru chuckled. “Maybe she sees something in him you don’t.”

“Oi, loudmouths—and Suguru. Get your asses moving.”

The voice that rang out was unmistakable: Sukuna, cutting through the chatter with his usual no-nonsense tone.

“Sir, yes sir!” Gojo saluted.

“God, I hate you.”

“Love you too, Captain!”

The gym was buzzing with the typical pre-game chaos, but Sukuna’s attention was elsewhere, drawn by the familiar warmth cutting through the din of the crowd. His gaze swept over the stands, and it didn’t take long for his eyes to land on you.

There you were—unmistakable. Even in the sea of faces, your presence stood out. The way your eyes sparkled when you caught his gaze, the playful curve of your lips as you gave him a wink.

Then, as if the universe had granted him a brief moment of peace in the chaos, you blew him a kiss. A simple gesture that made his chest tighten. He of course caught it effortlessly, bringing a hand to his heart in mock reverence, but it was the next movement that caused something unfamiliar to flicker inside him.

Without missing a beat, his hand dropped to his shoulder, tapping the My Melody sticker with a subtle grin. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to Sukuna, it was his unspoken reply to you affection.

The smile lingered on his face for just a moment longer before he wiped it away, a smirk taking its place as he stood tall, ready to head out onto the court.

Deleted scene:

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THAT WAS ALL BALL! OPEN YOUR GODDAMNED EYES.”

Your voice sliced through the gym like a whip, sharp enough to make heads turn. Conversations stuttered, sneakers skidded to a stop, and even the referee hesitated for a beat before remembering he was supposed to be an authority figure.

On the court, Sukuna barely reacted—barely. His stance remained firm, shoulders squared as he glared down the ref with the same look that had sent weaker opponents scrambling. But for a fraction of a second, his eyes flickered to the stands, finding you instantly.

His girl.

You were on your feet, fury blazing in your eyes, hands clenched into fists at your sides. The tension in your stance screamed protective, and fuck if that didn’t do something to him.

The gym erupted as the ref made it official. Technical foul on number 20 - Sukuna Ryomen.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned. “A tech? For what? Looking too scary? Boohoo.”

Satoru’s whistle cut through the noise as he turned to Suguru, his grin lazy but amused. “Oh, this is fun. You ever see someone go feral for Sukuna before?”

Suguru hummed, watching Sukuna carefully. “Not like this.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Satoru mused. “Usually, it’s just people going feral at him.”

Yuji snorted. “Right? And he’s actually letting her.”

Which was the weirdest part. Sukuna hated when people stuck their noses in his business. If this were anyone else—even a coach—he’d have shut them down with a glare and a stay the hell out of it.

But with you?

He was letting you bark at the ref, letting you take up space in his fight.

And even worse?

He liked it.

Whistles blew. The opposing team’s bench erupted into cheers, and the ref signaled for free throws.

“Bullshit,” you muttered, arms crossing tightly over your chest.

“Damn,” Satoru mused from the sidelines, still watching you with newfound amusement. “She’s got more fight in her than half the guys on the court.”

Suguru hummed in agreement. “And he’s actually letting her.”

Yuji grinned. “Ah, shit. She’s really gonna go off.”

And he was absolutely right.

Because as the opposing player stepped up to the free-throw line, your voice rang out again—clear, unwavering, and loud enough for the entire gym to hear.

“Oh, come on! You’re calling that a foul? What, is Sukuna just supposed to breathe and get penalized now? Maybe we should just wrap him in bubble wrap and call it a day!”

Scattered chuckles rippled through the stands, but you weren’t joking. You knew how people saw him—how they wanted to see him. A villain. A monster. A player too aggressive for his own good, a walking technical foul waiting to happen.

They didn’t see the discipline. The precision. The sheer skill it took to dominate the court the way he did.

They didn’t see him.

The ref shot you a warning look, but you only lifted your chin, undeterred.

“Terrible call,” you sang again, just loud enough for Yuji to hear.

“Yeah,” he called back with a chuckle. “But that’s just how it is for him.”

You exhaled sharply, frustration curling in your chest. “It’s not fair.”

Yuji just smiled. “He’s used to it.”

That didn’t make it right.

Back on the court, Sukuna set his stance, waiting for the rebound. He should have been focused—should have been calculating his next move—but instead, his gaze slid sideways, just for a second.

You were still standing. Still fuming on his behalf.

His lips curled.

The first free throw went up. The ball arced high, hit the rim—bounced once, twice—then rolled out.

The crowd erupted into noise, but you? You smirked.

“S’what you get for being weak,” you muttered under your breath, knowing damn well the shooter couldn’t hear you.

Sukuna did.

And though he didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge it outright, something about the way he held himself shifted. Shoulders looser. Jaw unclenched.

He wasn’t alone in this.

You had his back.

And for a guy who’d spent most of his life being the villain, that was a weird fucking feeling.

The second free throw went in, but it didn’t matter. The moment the ball was inbounded, Sukuna was a force of nature, tearing down the court with single-minded determination.

And if, after scoring on the very next possession, he just so happened to glance toward the stands—seeking you out, locking eyes for the briefest of moments—well.

That was nobody’s business but his own.

And yours.

a/n: he's a huge red flag but i can't help but romanticize him... anyways sorry its been a while

mwah <3

where I first saw you

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 10.3k content: fluff, grumpy+sunshine vibes, sukuna is low-key an asshole, reader is depicted as a bit naive, special guest starring choso my shnookums, almost loss of virginity, smut, 18+

Sukuna loved his job— no really, he did. He didn’t have to speak a certain way to garner respect, his marked up face helped his occupation rather than hindering it, and he was finally able to put to use what seemed like the one goddamn skill the universe graced him with. Anyone who walked into the shop and saw that look on his face though might assume he’d rather be anywhere else than holed up in the dimly lit tattoo parlor he worked at, but it truly was just his face. Luckily for him though, his resting bitch face seemed to match the vibe of the shop, so his boss let it slide.

So, yeah, there really wasn’t anywhere else the daunting man could see himself working in, but there was one qualm about his job— the people. God, how Sukuna fucking hated some of the half-wits that sat in his chair most of the time. Whether it be cuddled up inconvenietnly to their significant other with whom they would soon be matching ink with, or the awkwardly beefed up masculine types that were convinced that their decision to get a big ass tiger on their back was unique. 

Perhaps he should have started working on his judgemental nature long before he decided on a career that centered around servicing people, but he just couldn’t find it in him to feign interest in their drawn out stories about why they were sitting in his chair that day. At the end of the day, it was the art that kept his soul alive while having to work with so many idiots. He loved drawing, since he received his first sketchbook at the ripe age of ten so that he’d stop scribbling on the walls of his room. 

He often joked that it was his one redeeming feature, never having been the best academic student and failing to be as charming as his twin brother so easily managed— this was his one thing. 

That was why he seriously had to exercise restraint and put on his best poker face when a group of babbling college students stumbled into the shop just shy of an hour before closing. There were about five of them, all shouting over each other and giggling obnoxiously as if they could hear any of what the others were saying. 

Don’t lose your job over some sorority kids. He had to keep telling himself as he set his pencil down, looking up from his sketchbook with his lips set in a firm line. They were huddled around the stencil book now, shoving at each other for turns looking at the choices before them. The bickering grew louder and louder until his last thred of patience snapped. 

“Oi, if you shitheads are gonna come in here so close to closing, you better quiet the fuck down and pick which one of you is getting inked, cause I ain’t got time for all of you, and you’re givin’ me a fucking migraine.” 

The group was stunned to silence, blinking up at the aggravated man behind the counter who was shutting his book with a huff. It was silent for a moment before they broke into hushed, excited rambles about how he was perfect and how fucking funny this would be in the morning. Taking in a controlled breath, he watched them shove one of their members to the front.

“It’s her, she wants a tattoo.” They all guffawed, looking at each other with barely concealed smirks that appeared far too incriminating. 

You stumbled forward, bracing your hands on the counter as the room seemed to spin around you. The apples of your cheeks were flushed red, but he assumed it was your nerves, along with the fact that your gaze couldn’t seem to focus on the man before you. 

“It’s late, so if you want something it’s gotta be small.” Sukuna explained with poorly concealed annoyance as he stood up to begin prepping a chair. He heard you begin to speak, but you were quickly cut off by the boisterous group surrounding you. 

“It can be small!” One of the guys insisted desperately as he guided you by your shoulders to sit in the leather, reclining chair the tattoo artist was standing by. “She wants a…” His words trailed off as he glanced back at the giggling group, who were all giving him a thumbs up as they shouted various ideas at him. “A tramp stamp! She wants a tramp stamp.”

Sukuna felt his jaw tick at the outdated term, but he swiveled his head to face you nonetheless. 

“You fuckin’ mute or what?” He grumbled as he snatched the stencil book from the group. 

“N-No, I… they told me they’d pick something nice for me.” Your words slurred almost unintelligbly, and, upon closer inspection, he was taking note of the blearly look in your eyes. 

“You plastered right now?” 

“She’s only had a couple drinks!” One of the girls defended quickly, leaning the entire upper half of her body across the counter in anticipation. “But she’s been talking about this for like everrr.” 

Something about their eagerness to speak for you sounded off warning alarms in his mind, but he shook his head nonetheless. 

“You ever done this before?” The pink-haired man questioned as he donned a pair of gloves. 

“Umm…” You hummed nonsensically, head lolling to the side to watch him snap on the last glove. His deadpan expression made you flush with embarrassment, staring down self-consciously at your ink-free skin. “No.”

“This one! She wants this one!” Another degenerate spoke up, pointing excitedly to the stencil depicting various sized lipstick marks that would traverse the expanse of your lower back. When you leaned your head forward to look, he quickly snatched the book away from your line of sight. 

Sukuna watched the motion with narrowed eyes, irritation slowly creeping up each of his fingers with an urge to ring someone’s neck out. Glancing back at the way you were slumped back in the chair, eyes barely able to stay open, he gave a curt shake of his head. 

“Nah,” He finalized, ripping his gloves off before tossing them in the bin beside him. “I don’t know what it is you lowlives call a joke, but I ain’t the one. Take her home.”

The group quickly broke out into a string of protests, walking around the counter to level with the man, but he had already made up his mind. 

“C’mooon, man!” The guy pleaded with the stencil book still clutched in his grasp. “She’s fine! I’ll pay extra, c’mon!”

Sukuna stepped forward to snatch the book from his grasp, pointing it back at your figure still sat obliviously beside them. 

“She can barely fucking sit up straight. Take her home before you seriously piss me off.” He repeated once again. 

There was an encore of disappointed groans from the idiotic group that had brought you in. 

“Whatever man, there are like three artists on this block. We’ll go somewhere that actually wants to make money.” The ringleader quipped before grasping at your arm to pull you up.

All at once, his patience seemed to drain from him as his hand came forward to grip the man’s wrist in warning. Sukuna towered over him, his broad shoulders unknowingly blocking you from his view as he tilted his head at him. 

“Yeah? How ‘bout I call the fucking cops?” The shadows seemed to cast an impossibly more intimidating aura to his already less than welcoming expression. “Or do you wanna take this outside?” 

The group could be heard murmuring to each other, weighing their options out and deciding their cruel joke wasn’t worth whatever fate this man had in store for them should they continue. Upon acknowledging the fearfully complacent expression on the guy’s face, Sukuna leaned back, dragging his gaze across the group where not one of them stepped up to defend you in your inebriated state. 

As the idiot rushed to get you up so they could hightail it far away from this shop, the artist shook his head, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“She’s fine there.” Sukuna said simply, not trusting that any one of these lowlives had even the slightest intention of taking you home unscathed that night. 

Baffled eyes stared up at him, but he remained resolute in his decision. It didn’t take much convincing at all though, because soon enough the group was scrambling out of the shop without so much as a second look at their ‘friend’. 

With an aggravated growl, Sukuna finally turned to face you again, only to find you passed out against the leather chair. He pursed his lips in annoyance, carefully reaching out to jostle your shoulder. You groaned softly, your still flushed face falling against your shoulder. 

“C’mon, brat.” He grumbled, glancing at the clock on the wall and deciding he deserved to close the shop a little early tonight. His boss would just have to get an explanation the next day. Reaching up, he gently pinched your warm cheek between his knuckles in an attempt to rouse you from your comatose state. “Where does your sorry ass live?”

Your eyes opened blearily, and it almost appeared as though there were two of him. Trying desperately to focus your gaze, a dumb smile spread across your face as you reached up to poke at his cheekbones. He grimaced, trying to shift his head away from your reach. 

“Haha, ‘sup four eyes?” You giggled deleriously at your own joke. 

“Yeah, real funny,” Sukuna quipped with a huff as you tossed your head back against the chair to close your eyes again. “Hey, hey, no, wake up and tell me where the hell it is I need to drop you off at.”

You only hummed sleepily at his words, and it was clear that he’d already lost you once again. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly through his nose to calm his temper. When he opened them once again, your lips were parted ever-so-slightly as you slipped off into a drunken slumber. 

He tsked in frustration before giving you a once over. You didn’t have a bag on you, and he wondered if your ‘friends’ had taken it with them. Glancing down at your pockets, he carefully reached down to feel around for a phone or wallet that he could use to get you home. When your front pockets proved to be useless, he grimaced slightly as he slumped you forward to search your back ones, sighing in anguished relief when he procured a cell phone. 

“Fuck.” He growled out when the damned thing prompted him for a passcode. 

In a desperate attempt to get you the hell out of his shop, he began pounding in random variations of four digit codes. Typical ones, 1-2-3-4, 0-0-0-0, 9-9-9-9, anything that might get him out of the situation he’d put himself in. After countless attempts though, he nearly tossed the device across the room when it alerted him that he was locked out due to too many failed attempts. Opting to toss the wretched thing on the table beside him, he groaned up at the ceiling. 

This is what I get for not minding my own damn business for once in my god-forsaken life.

There was a light scratching noise that flooded your consciousness. With it, came the realization that your brain was absolutely pounding against your skull, and you were sure there was a knot in your back that no amount of stretches would be able to unfurrow for at least another week. Parting your lips to lick the desert-like dryness from them, you noted that your mouth was just as parched. 

It was cold— far colder than you ever dared to keep your dorm room set at, and the sensation manifested goosebumps that prickled at every inch of your exposed skin. Despite this, there was a sheen sweat that was lining the back of your neck as you attempted to stretch. The nearly forgotten scratching stopped abruptly at your movements, and you slowly pried your eyes open. 

“Oh my god.” Your rasped voice blurted out as you came to the gruelling realization that the ceiling you were staring up at was not that of your room. Sitting up with a start, you frantically took in your surroundings as your mind reeled with the feeble attempt to remember what had transpired the night before. 

There were a myriad of… unique posters lining the walls, and, from where you were sitting, you could see a counter filled with various body jewelery. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front were drawn, making it difficult for you to determine what time it was, though you could swear you saw a sliver of sunlight peeking out through the cracks. 

Your hands suddenly began feeling around your own body in search of your phone, but you came up short. 

“It’s on the table.” Came an unfamiliarly deep voice on your right. 

Whipping your head around so quickly that it nearly made you dizzy, you caught sight of the monstrous-sized man lounging on the leather seat on the opposite end of the room. His hair was disheveled, but you were still caught off guard by its soft pink hue as strands strew across his forehead. An intricate work of black tattoos lined his face, emphasizing the secondary set of eyes he had inked under his real ones. 

“Oh my god!” You repeated with a mortified expression. He set aside the notebook that was perched on his lap to stand from his seat, and you shrunk farther into yours as he stretched to his full height. “Did we… oh my god, did I get a tattoo?” You weren’t sure which outcome sounded scarier to you as you frantically began assessing your skin for any evidence. 

“Check your ass.” He quipped with an amused glint on his otherwise stoic expression, but it almost broke upon seeing the horrified look on your face. “I’m fucking with you. Nothing happened— no thanks to your dumbass choice of friends though.”

You slowly settled back against the leather seat, trying to calm your racing heart as his words sunk in. With a vague haze, you could recall going out with a few members from your class who you were paired with for a group project. They weren’t exactly your friends, but you were desperately trying to change that being new to the city where you had begun university. 

“What… what do you mean?”

“I mean, they brought you in here telling me to tat you. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open. I told ‘em to fuck off.” His explanation was nonchalant as he began organizing a few things behind the counter. “And your sorry ass wouldn’t wake up long enough to tell me where you lived.”

The hazy puzzle pieces slowly started to come together, and you felt yourself flush instantly. Glancing at the time on your phone that was waiting for you just beside your seat, you noted it was still far too early for a tattoo parlor to be open. 

“I’m so sorry, this is mortifying—” You babbled as you stood up, quickly trying to straighten your rustled clothes. “I’m not from around here, and I was just trying to make some friends, but I didn’t know that—”

“Woah, woah woah,” The man before you grimaced with a wave of his hand to halt your rant. The warmth in your cheeks grew that much hotter at the realization of your rambling. “I just spent the night on a damn tattoo chair. I am nowhere near awake enough for your sob story right now, doll.”

“Right, sorry. Um, I should really get out of your hair.” You stammered, glancing awkwardly down at your feet as you made a beeline for the front door. With a barely noticeable hesitance, you turned back toward him one more time. “Thank you, by the way. That was… really cool of you.”

Sukuna watched with a lazy gaze as you pulled at the door only to be met with stark resistance. With a quiet huff, you used both hands this time to try to wrestle it open, even attempting to push it just in case. His long legs slowly dragged toward the front of the store with a tired mischievousness. Reaching over you, he switched the door unlocked before leaning back again, watching as the heat creeped up your neck. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled once again in humiliation, unable to face him as you finally pulled the door open. In an instant though, his hand was reaching above your head to hold the door closed. Your heart leaped into your throat, a nervous sweat nearly breaking out onto your forehead as you hesitantly looked up at him. 

“No friends is better than shit ones, you hear me?” One of his brows was raised as he glowered down at you, and the breath slowly escaped your lungs. 

His broad figure made sure his shadow consumed you, and from this close your clouded mind was finally able to process how terrifyingly hot this man was. Not trusting your voice, you could only nod meekly at his solemn advice, nearly crying in relief when he finally pushed off the door and allowed you to slip through it. 

In the end, you, by the grace of a higher being, made it to practice only ten minutes late, though you were still scolded by your instructor since you cut into your warm-up time. It was arguably the hardest practice you’d yet to endure, what with the crink it your back from spending the night on a tattoo chair. 

The more you thought about the mortifying events that had transpired the night before, the more you wished you could take your brain right out of your skull and hose it down in hopes of forgetting all about it. It was humiliating to think of how naive you had been to keep accepting drinks from the group you were with, who were still essentially strangers to you. Still, you were desperate for some friends after having spent an entire semester holed up in your dorm with nothing to do and no one to see. 

You had moved to the city from a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone, and the culture of hospitality was far different from the uppity vibes you had received from nearly every new person you had met here. It was never really in your plans to move so far from home, but the university you had been accepted into had one of the best ballet programs in the country, and it had been your dream to dance professionally since you were six years old and perfected your first pirouette.

Still, you hadn’t expected to sacrifice so much to make it happen. 

You were friendly with the other members of your ballet group, but they all seemed to have already known each other for so long. It was more difficult than anything— trying to fit yourself into friend groups that had already been solidifying for years before your appearance. So, when your group members invited you out with them that night, you were more than elated to go along with whatever they had planned. 

You groaned in frustration, gently hitting your head against the wall of your shower as you washed off the sweat that had built up from your questionable night as well as practice later that day. There were at least five minutes spent inspecting your naked body in the mirror to confirm that you did not in fact have any unexpected ink anywhere. 

Despite your being in the clear, you couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of what could have happened had the kind yet terrifying tattoo artist not been as decent of a human being as he was. The guilt and embarrassment gnawed away at you in the few days that followed at the thought of the complete stranger staying with you in the shop until your stupidly drunk self decided to wake up. You thought of his parting words as well, that made you feel even a tiny bit better about your less than fortunate social circumstances.

It was an impulsive urge spurred on by your incessant boredom just two days later that had you meticulously weighing out the ingredients for the easiest cookie recipe you could manage in your dorm’s tiny kitchen. You heard the timer ring in the next room as you tied your hair up in front of the mirror. After carefully packaging the baked goods in a leftover, holiday themed cookie tin with a neatly written ‘thank you for not tattooing me!’ note written on some pink stationary, you set off for the shop that had been haunting you for the past two days. 

The lit up, neon red ‘TATTOO’ sign that hung outside the front seemed to buzz ominously as you stared up at it. It was never the type of… establishment you ever frequented, but it was far from you to judge given your previous circumstances. 

With an anxious sigh, you pushed into the door, hearing the faint jingle of the bell attached to it. The shop was fairly busy, a stark difference from that morning you’d woken up in it prior to its opening. 

“Welcome in. You here for a tattoo or a piercing?” You were pulled from your thoughts as a man behind the counter greeted you. He definitely fit the part, you thought as you took in his tattooed nose and pierced lips. What appeared to be eyeliner was smudged haphazardly around his already ominous, dark orbs, and there were two spiked out buns at the top of his head. 

“Um, neither actually.” You flushed unnecessarily, your fingers curling tighter around your tin as he raised a curious brow at you. Mustering up a kind smile, you finally found the courage to look him in the eyes. “I’m looking for a guy that works here. Tall, pink hair, face tattoos— do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Sukuna? Yeah, he’s working on an appointment right now.” The man explained as he looked at the time. You opened your mouth to ask if he would be so kind as to just give him the tin whenever he got out, but he cut you off. “He should be finishing up soon if you wanna wait here for him.”

Abruptly shutting your mouth, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t bring yourself to decline his offer, far too self-conscious about your every breath in this place. Nodding in thanks, you slowly sat down on the low, leather black couch that was in the waiting area. You clacked your nails anxiously against the tin in your lap, hyperaware of the man’s eyes still on you. 

“So, what’s in the container?” He questioned with a curious glint in his eyes, jutting his chin toward your lap. Looking up at him in surprise, you offered a bashful smile.

“Oh, they’re just cookies.” You explained with a nonchalant wave of your hand. 

His intimidating expression seemed to melt right off of his face, darkly lined eyes lighting up in a way that gave him a child-like aura. Smiling knowingly, you stood to walk over to the counter and opened the tin to offer him one. The boyish smile he gave instantly fought off any fear you previously held toward him, and the tension in your shoulders slowly faded as he eagerly grabbed one. 

“‘Thank you for not tattooing me’?” The man read the card through cookie-filled cheeks, crumbs gathering around his lips as he looked up at you in question. “I’ve gotta hear this—”

“Choso, get him a tube of aftercare, will ya’?” That familiar, deep voice saved you from the embarrassment of having to explain yourself to the kind man at the front desk. Sukuna, as you had now learned his name was, was walking in from the back followed by a shorter man. His movements faltered upon seeing you in the shop again. 

His ruby eyes took in your soft appearance in contrast to the gothic decorations that adorned the shop. You stuck out like a sore thumb, with your baby pink cardigan and perfectly glossed lips, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of why you would step foot back in here. 

“Sorry, doll, bed and breakfast is closed.” He quipped as nodded at the customer who had stopped to thank him again before exiting the store. You flushed at his jab, wondering why you bothered humiliating yourself like this. 

“She made you cookies.” Choso announced excitedly, once again with his mouth stuffed.

“Yeah? Then why the hell are you eating them?” He grumbled, swatting the man on the back of the head as he raised his hands in mock defense. The pink haired man walked behind the counter, picking up your note and skimming it with a raised brow before casting his eyes to the side dismissively. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you had flustered him. “Don’t gotta thank me for not being an asshole.”

As he leaned over to distract himself with checking the computer for his next appointment, Choso stared incredulously between him and you.

“You can thank me, I’m not an asshole.” He gushed, leaning his forearms on the counter to smile invitingly at you. His eyes skimmed your face before a flush fell over his cheeks. “Won’t tat you either if it means a pretty girl brings me cookies, too.”

“Quit being such a freak.” Sukuna growled as he elbowed him, finally tearing his gaze away from the computer to close the tin back up before Choso could steal another, but he was far too focused on getting your attention to pay the grouch any mind.

“How ‘bout a piercing, hm? Bet you’d look reeeal cute with a septum ring.” 

“Oh, um…” You flushed at his words, subconsciously reaching up to touch your bare nose. “I’m actually in ballet, and they’re pretty strict about—”

“Ballet?” Choso guffawed, much to Sukuna’s dismay as he huffed at the energetic man. “That’s so tight. So you do like shows and cool shit like that?”

“Yeah! I… actually have a recital coming up next week.” You explained enthusiastically, eager to connect in any way you can to the first person who’s shown you any sort of kindness since moving here. Without stopping to think about how desperate you might appear, you fished out a spare handout from your bag. “You should come— y’know, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

The pierced man before you snatched up the paper eagerly, dark eyes skimming the contents before he slumped in disappointment. 

“No can do, I’m working that night.” He sighed before turning to Sukuna, who had been watching the exchange with a barely concealed glare. “You should totally go though— he can go, right?”

You were undeniably flustered as you looked up at the man you had come here for, who looked less than enthused about your sudden turning up to the shop again. God, were you totally out of your element inviting this insanely attractive, crushingly edgy man to your ballet? Gulping down your nerves, you nodded softly, offering a timid smile. 

“Y-Yeah! Of course—”

“What the fuck would possess you to think I look like a dude who goes to ballets?” 

Your words died in your throat, and you felt all the blood rush to your face so embarrassingly fast that the only possible solace would be if the ground opened up below you and swallowed you whole. Looking down at your pristinely manicured nails, you dug your top lip mercilessly between your teeth. 

“Well, I-I usually invite my friends, but… it’s my first show since moving here, and I don’t… really know anyone, so…” It was as if you were growing more pathetic by the second, and you willed yourself to just shut the fuck up.

Sukuna, on the other hand, felt his stone cold heart shrivel up in horror at your words. Even with all the terrified glances he’d get from passerbyers on the street, and all the children he’d scared to tears with just a sharp glance their way, he had never felt like more of a monster than he did in that very moment watching your lively face dim so abruptly. 

He remembered what you had said the other day about trying to make some friends, and apparently you were desperate enough to get yourself in the position he’d had to pull you out of himself to do so. Beside him, he could feel Choso stepping on his toes as if to tell him to take it easy on you, but he was already wallowing in a pool of his own guilt. 

With a guarded scowl, Sukuna snatched the paper from his half-brother’s hands, red eyes skimming it furiously as you began apologizing for disturbing him. As you turned to make a desperate speed-walk toward the door, he spoke up. 

“Better be fucking good, brat.” 

Pausing mid-step, a subtle warmth spread in your chest as you slowly turned back around with a tickled smile. He didn’t deserve it, he was sure of it— not with the way your eyes lit up the entire room as if he’d just found the cure to cancer or solved world hunger. No, he’d just stepped on your innocent offer with the sole of his heavy, black boot after you’d just brought him home-made cookies for not tattooing you while you were under the influence. He didn’t deserve the way you flashed your teeth at him. 

“Heading to practice right now, boss.” You beamed with a mock salute before making your way to the exit with more pep in your step than had been there previously. Just before the door shut behind you, you shouted over your shoulder. “I hope you like the cookies!” 

“Why doesn’t this type of shit happen to me?” Choso questioned rhetorically as he stared longingly at the door you just left through with a shake of his head. “You’re a real asshole, you know?” 

And, boy, did he know it. 

While you had been flattered at Sukuna’s implication that he’d be showing up to your recital, a larger part of you was coming to terms with the fact that there was no way in hell that dude was coming. You couldn’t blame him. After all, you were essentially strangers, and it truly didn’t seem like his scene. Still, it would have been nice to have one person coming in your support. 

Sighing wistfully, you sprayed the final touches of hairspray into your slicked back bun, turning your head to the side to assure there were no stray strands. The lights of the dressing room mirror reflected the subtle glitter on your eyelids as you watched your fellow dancers bustle around behind you as they also prepared. 

Resisting the urge to bite at your lip for fear of ruining your lipstick, you glanced down at the message on your phone. 

Mom: Please send me a recording! I hate that I can’t be there for you today :(

In all your years as a dancer, you had always had someone there for you in the audience to cheer you on. Whether it be your family or your hometown friends, someone was always waiting for you outside with flowers and a proud smile. Swallowing down your self-pity, you gave yourself one last once over before you heard your three minute warning. If you weren’t dancing for anyone, you determined, you would just have to do it for yourself. 

That was the notion that got you through both of your group numbers and your solo. With every pointed kick and turn, you reminded yourself that this was for the life you were working so hard to achieve. The stage lights were blinding, and the beautifully orchestrated music almost made you forget that you were so upset in the first place. It showed on your face though, you were sure. After all, every instructor you’d ever had always told you that your expression would tell the story of your number louder than any lyrics ever could.

With all the preparation that went into every recital, you still never failed to be shocked whenever it ended so suddenly. There was a strong sense of pride bubbling in your stomach as your team met up backstage for a few celebratory photos. That familiar buzz came to an end though as everyone began departing, all greeted by friends, families, or lovers. With a wistful smile, you tugged your jacket tighter around yourself as you stepped out into the frigid air. 

“There you are— jesus,” A man sighed in exasperation as you accidentally shouldered into him, his hand closing around your arm before you could walk away. “All you people look the damn same with your hair like that.”

Looking up in bewilderment, your jaw fell open in surprise upon seeing that familiar head of pink hair. He was scanning the area with an awkward tension in his shoulders, as though he felt out of place in the midst of all these ballerinas— he certainly looked out of place. 

There was a black, button down dress shirt clinging mercilessly to his sculpted form, the first few buttons undone and revealing a teasing amount of his chest. As if it was the only color that ever graced his closet, his slim-fitting dress pants were also black, emphasizing his slim waist as it contrasted against his broad shoulders. 

Your lips parted as you took in his appearance, and you could swear the air around you grew at least five degrees warmer. As if your face couldn’t get any hotter, your eyes finally landed on the arrangement of flowers clutched in his hands. He glanced down at them with what seemed like an annoyed expression before shoving them toward you. 

“My brother said you’re supposed to bring crap like this to these things…” He explained, still not looking you in the eyes as you slowly took the bouquet into your arms.

“You actually came.” You commented, still a bit shell shocked to see him here. 

“I said I was gonna, didn’t I?” It came out harsher than he would have liked, but he couldn’t help but feel so oddly out of place before you. 

“Right.” You muttered pathetically, looking down at your feet so he wouldn’t see the flush in your cheeks. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you offered a hopeful smile that struck him like lightning. “Did you like the show?”

“You were alright, brat.” Sukuna grumbled as he peered down at you. 

It was a gross understatement though, because the man was absolutely floored when he saw you on that stage. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before— so used to the heavy metal and the harsher things in life. As soon as that center light hit you though, reflecting the ardently despaired expression on your intricately done up face as you allowed the music to take hold of you, it was as though you had cast a spell on him. 

The flowers in his lap nearly dropped to the floor as he found himself subconsciously leaning forward in his seat, lips parted in disbelief. You were angelic, each of your calculated movements translating etherally into the overall story you were conveying through your choreography. Even the subtle positioning of your delicate fingers seemed intricately thought out, pulling him further into your orbit. It made him want to trap you in your own little snow globe to put you on his shelf, ready to twirl so breathtakingly each time he longed for it. 

Yeah, maybe alright was an understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to you. Even now, as you smiled up at the waiter taking your order, Sukuna pretended not to be enamoured by the way your stage makeup made your eyes glitter under the restaurant's dim lighting. He had insisted on taking you to dinner following the show, not exactly asking and certainly not taking no for an answer as he led you to his sleek, black car with an urging hand on the nape of your neck. 

And you— you were far too elated to be making a friend to care about his off-putting demeanor. You barely had the chance to be remotely nervous over the fact that this teetered very closely on the edge of being a date with a man you would have deemed far out of your league just days ago. 

“So, you own the tattoo shop?” Your soft voice pulled him from his haze once the waiter placed your plates in front of you. You leaned forward on the table, a curious smile tugging at your red painted lips.

“Hah— yeah, that’s fucking hilarious.” He scoffed with an amused grin, leaning back as he took a sip of his drink. Taking note of the barely concealed confusion on your face, he cleared his throat, trying to remind himself to be on his best behavior. “I mean, I just finished my apprenticeship— don’t got the kind of money it takes to own my own shop.”

“Oh,” You muttered with a shy smile, suddenly feeling stupid for asking in the first place. “Well, I’m sure you’re really talented. I could barely draw a stick figure without making him look deformed.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, amused by your attempt to smooth over his negativity. You nodded affirmatively as you took a sip of your wine. There was a subtle flush in your cheeks that told him your drink was starting to catch up to you, and he made a mental note to stop the waiter from refilling your glass again. “And what about you, huh? You’d let me come at you with some ink since you think I’m so talented?”

A mock hum bubbled in your throat as you pretended to think about it. 

“I don’t know, you’d have to come up with something real cool.” You teased, running your hands dramatically up and down your bare arms. “This is virgin skin you’re seeing here— not to be tainted with any of those boring designs, you know?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.” Sukuna assured with theatric sincerity, only spurring on your giggles as you played along. 

“It has to be something that’s me, you know?” You pursed your lips pensively before casting a sidelong glance his way. “Maybe like a pair of pointe shoes.”

“A pair of what?” 

 “Pointe shoes! You know, the shoes ballet dancers use?”

“That’s fucking lame.” Sukuna blew a raspberry at your idea.

“Oh yeah?” You quipped, biting down your embarrassment at his abrupt shut down of your suggestion. “What would you put on me then?”

The tattoo parlor was already closed by the time you and Sukuna stumbled inside, your excited giggle filling the deadly silent shop as he locked the door behind you and switched on the lights. He shrugged his jacket off, watching you carefully as you snooped around the store. 

“Why don’t you sit your ass down before you break something?” He grumbled, snatching a tattoo gun from your curious grasp before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs. You rolled your eyes playfully before sitting down across from him, swinging your dangling feet gently as you looked around. 

“So, what were you thinking then, boss?” You questioned, watching as he pulled out his sketchbook and flipped it open. Rummaging through the drawer for a pencil, he peered up at you with a raised brow. 

“I don’t know. Tell me something.” He murmured as he began a rough sketch. 

“Like what?”

“About you.” 

“Oh.” You looked down bashfully, toying with a run in your tights before shrugging at him. “I don’t know. Nothing to tell, I guess. I’m kind of boring.” 

“That’s bullshit.” He brushed off nonchalantly, not looking up from his book. You blinked owlishly at him a few times. Noting your silence, he continued. “I saw you dance— saw the look on your face. Can’t tell me there’s nothing to tell there.” 

You were taken aback by his astute observation, staring back at the way he concentrated so intently on his drawing. He didn’t look nearly as intimidating in this light. It was silent for a beat too long, and he glanced up at you, the sharp nature of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. 

“Well?” 

“Okay, well, um… I guess I just never know if I’m making the right decision? About anything ever?” You rationed with furrowed brows, trying to make sense of your own illogical feelings. “I moved here because of the dance program, because I thought that this was really what I wanted. Now I’m here though without all my friends and family, and I’m…”

“Lonely?” Sukuna finished for you as you trailed off. 

“I guess so. And, I mean, I know it’s supposed to be hard in the beginning, but I can’t help but feel like I made a massive mistake and my life is about to crumble around me?”

The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper filled the sudden silence that hung between you, but you knew he was listening. Taking advantage of his distraction, you stared unashamedly at his hunched over figure. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black rings that were tattooed across both his arms. There was a subtle furrow in his brows, but for the first time since meeting him it wasn’t born out of anger or frustration, instead telling a story about his dedication to his craft.

You felt the breath get knocked out of you as you observed him. Frantically trying to veer back on topic before he noticed your creepy gawking, you cleared your throat before offering an enthusiastic smile. 

“Guess it’s just always been hard for me to commit to things.” You tried to wrap up your subtle sob story. “Maybe that’s why I’ve got no tattoos then, huh?”

He huffed out a breathy laugh, the corners of his lips curling up ever so slightly as he shook his head at your conclusion. 

“Is that what you want? You know, do this ballet shit for a living?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

“Then to hell with people. If they give a shit they’ll be there whenever you come back.” He scoffed as though the notion offended him personally. “You’re too talented to hold yourself back for that kind of crap.”  

His nonchalant compliment made your heart pound just a little bit harder.

“What about you?” You asked breathlessly, shaking off the butterflies waging war in your stomach. 

“What about me?”

“Why tattooing?”

“Wasn’t good at anything else.” He answered simply, and his dismissal made you roll your eyes. 

“Come on, I was just very honest with you.” 

“Yeah, well you’re probably better at all that sap shit anyway.” 

Sliding off the chair, you walked closer to him and leaned your elbows on the work table before him. Propping your chin on your fist, you grinned knowingly at him, though he still hadn’t looked up from his sketch. 

“Maybe that’s why then, huh?” You assumed. He hummed in question at your vague statement. “You draw cause you’re not good at all the… ‘sap shit’. If you don’t know how to say it, you draw it, right?” 

The careful maneuvering of his pencil slowed before pausing all together at your read. Of course, he’d always known that his drawings were an outlet for him, having learned through years of repressed feelings how to convey words through lines and swirls. No one had ever explained it so… simply to him before though. Taking note of his forlorn expression, your lips curled up empathetically. 

“I do it sometimes too, you know— when I feel too overwhelmed to put my thoughts into actual words. I put them into my choreographies instead.” 

“Yeah, it shows.” Sukuna finally spoke up,  suddenly uncomfortable with the serious energy that had invaded the space around them. Clearing his throat, he put his pencil down before handing you his sketchbook with an awkward scratch to his forehead. “That ‘you’ enough for ya?” 

Your pretty, pink nails clutched at the edge of his sketchbook, slowly bringing it toward you as you soaked in his creation with parted lips. Right in the middle of the page was a snow-globe, flowers that you recognized as the same type he’d brought you earlier decorating the base of it. Inside though, was a ballerina in the very costume you had donned just hours prior on stage, one leg curled up as her arms curved softly around her in the perfect pirouette position. 

“Sukuna, this is…” Your voice failed you as you gave each detail another weighted once over. Blinking back the haze that threatened to form over your eyes, you looked up at him with a besotted smile. There were stars in your eyes, and he didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of them. “This is so beautiful. You’re incredible.” 

He tsked dismissively, trying desperately to conceal the softness in his gaze as he took in your reaction. 

“Why the snowglobe?” You questioned suddenly, glancing down at the sketch before flashing him with that eagerly curious grin. 

He opened his mouth only to shut it once again, not sure how to tell you of where his thoughts had taken him to while he watched you dance so gracefully across the stage. So, he simply huffed in feigned annoyance before snatching the book from you and jutting his chin toward the chair. 

“You questioning my artistic decisions now, brat?” He didn’t give you the chance to respond as you sat back against the leather chair. “So, where are we putting this thing?”

“Oh!” You quipped, suddenly coming to the realization that he was dead serious about giving you a tattoo. Anxiety creeped up in your stomach as you brought your hand up to chew apprehensively at your nails. “Um…”

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me now.” Sukuna teased with a mischievous smirk.

“No!” You quickly defended, much to his surprise. “I want to do this— get over my fear of commitment, right?”

He hummed thoughtfully, brushing your jacket from your shoulders to inspect your arms. Grasping at your hand, he turned the inner side of your arm out to face him, purposeful in the way he allowed his fingers to trace up the delicate skin of your forearm. It made your breath hitch, his proximity allowing for a generous waft of his cologne to flood your senses. You clenched your thighs together in a manner you prayed was subtle. 

“I think it’d look good right here.” He suggested, grazing his thumb over the expanse of skin just above where your elbow creased. 

Taking in a calculated breath to pull yourself together, you quickly shook your head. 

“Can’t be anywhere too visible.” You explained, staring down at where his hand still wrapped around your elbow. “I mean, it can, but I’ll have to worry about covering it up for every performance.” 

Sukuna’s dark eyes glanced up to meet yours at this statement. His brows were raised in suggestion, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. 

“So your friends were serious about you wantin’ a ‘tramp stamp’ then? That what I’m  hearing?”

“I don’t want a— a tramp stamp.” You scoffed with flushed cheeks, but he was just too elated at how easy it was to fluster you. “I don’t know, where else do you think that can be covered up easily?”

Sukuna sighed, eyes trailing over your body in thought. It made you squirm in your seat. After a moment, he leaned forward to pull the lever on your chair, sending it reeling backwards until you were nearly laying flat. You squeaked in surprise, quickly grasping his arm for support as he smirked at your reaction. 

You watched as his hands came up to hover over the hem of your sweater before glancing up at you in question. Despite the way your heart was beating up into your throat, you nodded softly at him. It had to have been deliberate— the way he dragged your sweater up so agonizingly slow, assuring his fingers brushed against each inch of skin that was exposed on the way. You gulped as he paused just under your bra, and he was once again looking up at you in search of approval, to which you nodded silently, far too convinced you’d embarrass yourself should you speak.

With your approval, he tugged your hem up to rest just under your chin, trying to appear professional as he took in the sight of your bra-clad chest. The truth was though, that his thoughts were so very far from the tattoo at the moment, reveling in the way your breasts strained against the confines of your cups with each ragged breath you took. Your breathing had been growing heavier since the second he laid his hands on you— and he noticed each time. 

He trailed his hands up your sides, thumbs grazing over the divets of your ribs in a manner far too sensual to just be chalked up to searching for a good placement. As his pointer fingers traced where the wire of your bra met your skin, he hummed affirmatively. 

“It would look nice right here.” His raspy voice was almost a whisper now as he tucked his finger underneath the area of your bra just between your breasts, right over your sternum. 

A breathless whimper threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back and looked down at where he had placed his finger. 

“Y-You think so?” You whispered, and he quickly nodded, gradually leaning over you more and more with the illusion of getting a better look. 

“Might be a little painful, but…” His voice trailed, as did his hand, escaping from under your strap to dance up your chest and neck. “I’ll let ya’ hold onto me if you’re good.”

You were sure your soul had left you at that point, off to find a body whose nervous system wasn’t utterly short-circuiting. Your knees drew together as you fought to maintain your composure at his suggestive words. 

“Sukuna, are we… still talking about the tattoo?” You questioned doubtfully, and the smirk on his plush lips told you you weren’t wrong. 

“Do you want it to be about the tattoo?”

“Well, it’s just…” He thought the way you stammered over your words was endearing, and it was sending all the blood in his system rushing down south. Glancing up at him timidly, you chewed on your bottom lip. “Would it hurt more if it’s… my first? You know… tattoo, of course.”

For the third time since meeting you, Sukuna was struck by the startling realization that he seriously didn’t deserve any of this. The hand that had been slowly traversing up your neck grasped at your jaw. 

“Well, I’d make sure you were good and ready first, doll.” He assured, eyes drifting down to stare longingly at your parted lips before meeting your heated gaze once again. “But you should always be sure you chose the right artist first, you hear?” 

And you heard him loud and clear. With your heart beat reverberating mercilessly in your ears, you nodded breathlessly at him.

“I trust you.”  

And oh, how hard he worked to assure you didn’t regret those words. Something told him you didn’t though— maybe the way those pretty, manicured nails were digging into his scalp just as his jaw began to ache deliciously in tandem with his mouth’s relentless ravishing of your perfectly supple pussy.

You were dripping down his chin, evidence of you tickling down his neck as he desperately tried to drink up every last drop of you. His colossal hands had come up to hold your trashing hips down against the chair after one too many jolts away from his eager tongue. The sound of his grotesquely sloppy, open mouthed kissed against your core filled your ears as you stared up at the ceiling blearily. 

You were so grateful that you always wore waterproof makeup for your performances, because you were sure your mascara would have been smeared unattractively down your face with the sheer force of your overstimulated tears. The saccharine moans that were hurdling their way from your throat made him dig his black fingernails into your stomach as he sucked on your clit as if rewarding you for the melodies. 

He grunted when the sensation made you yank at the roots of his hair, and you quickly gasped apologetically before releasing your tight grip. 

“Oh! I-I’m— ah! I’m sorry.”

Your disappointed whine made him smirk as his face suddenly emerged from between your legs to leer at you menacingly. One of his hands left your stomach to catch yours as it departed from his scalp, guiding it back affirmatively. 

“Tear the shit out if ya’ want— quit fuckin’ apologizing.” 

His words had your eyes rolling back into your skull, more confident now as you dug your fingers through his soft locks once again. The hand that had abandoned its post on your stomach never returned, and you instead felt it gliding purposefully up the inside of your thigh. Two of his long fingers sweeped up your weeping slit, gathering some of your arousal as his lips remained focused on your bundle of nerves. 

With a thrust that seemed so uncharacteristically careful of him, he dipped his two fingers into your sopping entrance. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, the heels of your feet finding the edge of the chair to pull yourself away from the subtle sting. 

“Easy, easy,” Sukuna rasped, tearing his mouth away from your honied center in favor of talking you through your unease. The remaining hand on your stomach began tracing soft, sensual circles against your silken skin. It made you slowly release your hitched breath, apprehensively relaxing back against the leather. “Atta girl, relax for me, yeah?”

You nodded deleriously up at the ceiling, head lolling to the side to watch what he was doing, not expecting to find his ruby eyes already focused on you. A flush fell over your face, hoping your expression didn’t give away how utterly torn apart he had made you with his tongue alone. A smirk tickled his glistening lips as you met his gaze, and he turned his head to press comforting, open mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

After a few moments, his fingers began slowly pushing through the subtle resistance of your core. Casting a sidelong glance your way to catch your reaction, he gently curled his fingers up, digits massaging at the cusiony bundle of nerves at the roof of your walls, and god, how the blissed out popping open of your mouth failed to disappoint. 

Burning for a closer look, he rose from his knees to climb onto the tight space of the chair. It was by no means designed to hold two people— especially not when one of them is as abnormally overgrown as Sukuna, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t drink up those candied whimpers slipping past your lips. The steady pace of his fingers picked up as he hovered over you, taking a moment to soak in how beautifully debauched you looked just like this. 

“Sukuna—” You whined at the sensation of the steadily growing knot in your stomach, but he only offered a mockingly sympathetic nod. Your fingers dug into the soft fabric of his button down, clinging for dear life as he lowered himself closer to you until his lips brushed against your ear. 

“Call me Ryomen, doll.” 

And that was the very name that slipped from your lips in an almost strangled sob as you crumpled against him. His lips quickly found yours, though you were hardly able to reciprocate his kiss as moans continued spilling from you, falling into his awaiting mouth like a prayer. 

Much like the startled realization you had earlier that he was very serious about tattooing you that night, you were for some reason just as gobsmacked as you watched him rise with his knees trapping you in, purposefully unbuttoning his now wrinkled dress shirt as his hungry eyes stared down at you. He had pushed your sweater off of you just before burying his head between your thighs, and he was now reaping the reward of watching your breasts heave as you looked up at him. 

Your expression must have given you away, as it always seems to, as he stood up to work his belt off. The clinking of his buckle made your mind race, chest swelling with a feeling that you couldn’t decide was anticipation or anxiety. As he pulled the leather material through the loops of his dress pants and worked away at his button and zipper, he observed your horribly practiced poker face. 

He tilted his head to the side as his bottoms pooled at his feet, the outline of his erection now on full display for your already perturbed gaze. Maybe it was just because you’d never exactly seen one up close before, but, even through the straining fabric of his boxers, you were almost positive that thing wasn’t natural. Hiking yourself further up on the leather chair, you tried not to stare in a way that screamed fear. 

The motion made him pause, his thumbs slowly unhooking from their spot in the waistband of his boxers. A careful sigh escaped him, the tiniest of knowing smiles masking the subtle disappointment in his chest as he turned from you to pull up a stool. 

“W-What are you doing?” You questioned, watching with fluttering eyes as he leaned down to begin pulling supplies out from the drawer to place on the work table beside your chair. 

“I’m tattooing you— the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” 

Your mouth opened and closed much like a fish as you closed your legs self-consciously. His hair was still rustled from your fingers’ assault through it, and there was still a very prominent tent poking out through his boxers, though he still began prepping his station as though he hadn’t just been about to take your virginity in the middle of this tattoo parlor. 

“Well, um… what about you?” You stammered anxiously as he guided you by your shoulder to lay back. 

“What about me?” He murmured while pulling on a pair of gloves. 

“Didn’t you want to…” The words died on your throat, far too embarrassed to utter them aloud. Your eyes drifted to the side as you felt your face flush. “I mean you… helped me, so.”

Sukuna finally paused, tilting his head to look at you with a challenging raised brow. 

“I wouldn’t tattoo you in that chair cause you weren’t a hundred percent about it before. What makes you think I’ll fuck you in it when you clearly don’t want to?” His crude words only made your embarrassment grow that much deeper, but his fingers quickly came up to tilt your chin toward him before he winked teasingly at you. “Don’t worry— one commitment at a time, right?”

Your gaze softened at his consideration, even as he turned away from you to continue prepping his station. It made you forget how nervous you were that he was about to permanently mark you, but a small part of you already felt like he had. 

So, you allowed him to carefully pull your bra off when he asked, sighing wistfully as he pressed a longing kiss against each one before cleaning the area. Much like just minutes prior, he let you pull at his hair as the needle gradually began piercing your skin, laughing through your tears as he grumbled about how much of a wimp you were. His soft smile told a different story though as he sat still clad in his boxers and paused each time you needed to breathe, taking each opportunity to kiss and nip at your lips with the false pretense of taking your mind off the pain. 

You were sure the process was prolonged at least an hour longer than necessary with how long your breaks would last as he couldn’t bear to interrupt you as you nervously rambled about whatever came to your mind. As you began growing used to the subtle pain, you traced each of the black marks on his face as he worked with a fierce concentration. 

Pathetic tears of awe and shock spilled from your tired eyes as you stood in front of the mirror to observe his delicate handiwork. It was just as beautiful as it had been when he first showed you the rough sketch, though he would argue that your skin did it far more justice, chin hooked over your shoulder as he observed your reaction in the mirror. 

Sukuna scoffed at you when you tried to ask him the price, much to your mortification. He wouldn’t even look in your direction, busying himself with cleaning up the station as he pretended not to hear your countless protests. 

“You just spent like— hours doing this.” You gaped, through flushed cheeks as you jostled his arm. “Please, let me pay you.” 

“Wanna know how you can pay me?” He finally questioned gruffly, leaning back against the counter as he pulled you in closer to his bare chest. Breathlessly, you nodded, eyes unable to meet his as they were too focused on his curled lips. 

“Whenever you’re ready for your next big commitment,” He whispered, his warm lips brushing against the shell of your ear as you clung to his biceps. “Let it be me, yeah?”

part two

a/n: got the inspiration for this yesterday, blacked out, and suddenly it was finished the next day oops

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Picturing the JJK men as dads on the beach!

Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Nanami

TW: Fluff, Established Relationships, It's silly if you think of Geto as a cult leader and you really don't know what he does for a living.

Gojo Satoru is definitely the playful type. Gently holds your toddler’s tiny little hand as they take their very first steps onto the beach. You, of course, are a few steps behind, recording the whole thing, his white hair blowing in the breeze, those bright blue eyes flickering back to you with the happiest smile you’ve ever seen.

When your little boy finally reach the wet sand, the first chill of seawater brushes over his little toes as he squeals, cautious of the water. Satoru crouches slightly beside them, steady and so full of joy. You can hear his soft giggles and gentle reassurances, “I got you,” and “Don’t worry, daddy won’t let anything happen”, as he coaxes him forward, step by tiny step.

Each time the waves grow taller, he lets out a playful, “Wooo!” before shielding your little one with his long frame, bursting into laughter that makes your chest ache with love. “That was a big one, huh?” he grins, scooping the toddler closer. Checking them over as they spit out salt water. Helping him rub his little blue eyes that resemble his fathers. “My brave little man”

Eventually, you make your way over, camera tucked away, the salty breeze tangling in your hair. Satoru looks up the second he senses you near, and his grin only widens.

“There’s mama,” he coos, squeezing your toddler's small hand, pulling them close, before reaching for your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “C’mon, join us. The water’s not so scary.”

And just like that, the three of you stand at the edge of the sea, the water coming in cold burts, shells dazzling in the sand. When the next one crashes in, he pulls you both close, laughing loud and bright as cold water splashes up your legs.

“See?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek as your little one squeals with joy. Small little kicks in the water. “Told you I’ve got you.”

------------

Now Geto Suguru, absolutely has a schedule in mind. A bit of time at the beach, a long scenic car ride timed perfectly for the twins to nap, then dinner at a place he made reservations for weeks in advance, with a menu that includes safe foods for the kids and views that he knows you will love.

You, of course, have no clue what the schedule is. You’re just following his lead, letting him steer the day. If he’s being a little overprotective? Well, he means well.

He kneels down to carefully lather sunscreen onto the twins' cheeks, smoothing it into their soft skin with those big gentle hands. Then he sprays down their arms and legs until their glistening (hey do you want two little ones complaining about sunburns? No? Thought so), before adjusting their sun hats and leading them down the sand toward the tide pools.

“The tide’s too rough for little girls,” he murmurs, glancing back at you with playful violet eyes as if daring you to challenge him. He’d said the same thing when school season came up, murmuring something about “not just yet” and “there’s still time.” You’re starting to realize he just doesn’t want them to grow up too fast.

Once you reach the tide pools, it’s like watching a nature documentary, narrated carefully with a smooth, honeyed voice. Suguru who crouches low, sleeves rolled up, pointing to colorful sea anemones and starfish nestled in rock crevices. The occasional hermit crabs scrambling about. He gently holds the girls back with one arm as he explains how we have to be careful, how these creatures are delicate, how we should never touch unless we’re invited. He asks them questions, listens closely to their little answers, and hums in thoughtful praise when they’re right.

You take pictures from behind for his little scrapbook - your husband hunched beside his daughters, the wind tousling his dark hair, a small smile on his face as they eagerly chatter about “funny sea goos” and “squishy blobs.”

Even when the four of you walk along the shore, he’s still tuned in. He picks up every seashell they hand him and slips them into his pockets, keeping each one safe. Talking to you that he will have them do a little craft, maybe decorate a frame for your next family photo. His other hand stays laced in yours, thumb brushing your knuckle like a quiet thank-you for being here, for trusting his rhythm.

And when the twins break into a run, he calls after them, not angry, just firm. Protective.

“Hey, stay where I can see you. Don’t go too far, yeah?”

You can't blame the man for being a little overprotective. He's just trying to protect the only family he has left in the world.

------

Nanami finally got his beach house.

It wasn’t something he ever really thought he’d have, not in the way people dream of it. Certainly not with a wife he adores more than life, and definitely not with a little girl who just turned one. Both surprises. Both blessings he never knew how much he needed until they arrived, warm, loud, full of life and love.

He lounges beneath a large umbrella, reclined in a low chair on the sand with your daughter curled up sound asleep on his chest. A small paperback rests in his hand, the other gently cradling her back as he reads aloud in a quiet, steady voice. Loud enough only for himself to hear. Enough for her to feel the rumble of his chest when he speaks. The soft rise and fall of her breathing tickles his cheek where her chubby face presses into him, her tiny hand curled in the fabric of his white linen shirt.

Every so often, he glances up from the page, eyes following you as you wander the shore barefoot, collecting small shells and smooth stones. Things for her little fingers to hold, to marvel at.

Sometimes, you join him again. Both of you kneeling in the sand with your babbling baby girl perched in your lap. You and Nanami take your time building crooked little castles, digging moats and shaping towers, only to watch her gleefully slam her tiny fists into them, squealing as the grains collapse under her touch. He chuckles each time, murmuring that it’s good for her sensory development, brushing sand from her face and little hairs before beginning again.

Every now and then, Nanami looks at you.

Just looks. Like the tide has swept something open in his chest and left it raw in the most beautiful way. Sometimes he’s still trying to understand how he got here, how he gets to have this. How he deserves to have this.

There’s a softness in his gaze that lingers longer than the shell rustling in the waves. A quiet, awestruck kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud, because it’s seen in every glance, every kiss to your lips, every shell gently placed in your daughter’s hand.

He never expected this life. But god, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

madness

It started innocently enough.

“Here. Happy anniversary, brat!” 

Sukuna handed you a big ass box (his gift), grinning like he’d just given you the solution to all your life problems. You took it, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Wow, you’re really splurging on me, babe. What’s inside?”

“Just open it.”

“Okay fine –” you tore off the wrapping and blinked. “What the fuck is this?” You asked nicely with shock as you stared at your husband’s gift, utterly baffled.

Because, really. What the fuck was this? Inside the big box… were six smaller boxes.

And as someone who’s chronically online (admit it, the only apps you ever open are twitter – you still refuse to call it ‘X’ – for F1 updates, tumblr, instagram, youtube, and pinterest), your algorithm had NEVER shoved this thing in your face.

Sukuna, on the other hand, looked way too smug about it. Arms crossed, smirk in place, even throwing in a wink for good measure.

“That, my dear wife, is a fucking Labubu.”

“A what?”

 “A Labubu,” he repeated, as if that explained anything.

“Huh?”

“You seriously haven’t heard of it?” Sukuna blinked, feigning shock. “Weird. I thought you were the one most updated between us.”

“Well yeah, but not with… whatever this is,” you narrowed your eyes as you shot back. “Mostly just F1, Stardew, and some new game drops. Not this.”

“Oh well,” he shrugged. “Just open one already.”

“Fine,” you sighed, grabbing a box and tearing into the packaging.

“Huh, why is there another plastic inside?”

“Obviously, because it’s a blind box, brat,” Sukuna replied, his tone dripping with amusement.

“Pfft, why are you so impatient today?”

“I’m just very excited for your reaction”

You narrowed your eyes, again, at your husband and said, “No, really. Tell me, babe.”

“Just open it. Stop stalling.”

“Hmp, fine –” and you ripped the plastic open.

Then you squinted. “What the hell am I looking at?”

Inside was a tiny, goblin-looking creature. You held up the plush toy in your hands, inspecting it like it was an alien artifact. It had big round eyes, sharp little teeth, and fur that made it look like a cross between a mischievous raccoon and... a gremlin.

"It's cute," Sukuna declared, like that was the only justification needed.

“You’re telling me this –”you wiggled the plushie at him, still very skeptical about this whole gift thing, “– is supposed to be cute?”

“Obviously.”

“Sukuna. This thing looks like it’s gonna scam me out of my life savings and then laugh about it.”

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Just like you.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “Wow. So that’s what you really think of me, huh?”

“Don't act so shocked.” He leaned in, voice dropping to that infuriatingly smug drawl. “You did swindle me into marrying you.”

“Excuse me? I swindled you?”

“Mhm.”

“You literally begged me to marry you.”

“Did I?” He tilted his head, playing dumb.

“Yes.” You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “You were down bad. It was embarrassing, honestly.”

Sukuna scoffed. “I don’t recall.”

“Should I pull up the texts?”

“Anyway,” he cut you off, reaching for another box inside the box set, “open the other ones. You’ve got five more to go.”

You eyed him warily. Then the box. Then back at him. “…Why do I feel like you just dragged me into some weird collector's cult?”

“It’s not a cult—“

“That’s exactly what someone in a cult would say.”

Sukuna just chuckled and handed you the next box.

You sighed, opening it—because at this point, you might as well embrace your fate. After opening all the boxes, you set them on your shelf, thinking that was that. Oh, if only you know how wrong you were.

A week later, you found yourself scrolling through Labubu forums. You don’t know how it happened. One moment, you were researching out of sheer curiosity – and then it was 3AM. Sukuna was fast asleep beside you, and you were staring at photos of different Labubu plushies and figurines, heart pounding like you’d just discovered a new religion.

Wait… are these actually kinda cute?

No.

No, no, no.

You turned your phone off. Absolutely not. And put in on your bedside table. No way in hell.

But the next day, you found yourself staring at your Tasty Macarons Labubus a little too long. And your husband? Of course, he noticed this.

“Babe.”

No response.

He moved closer, sitting beside you on the couch. “Babe, you’ve been ignoring me. What’s up?”

“…Huh?” This time, you finally tore your gaze away from your shelf and turned towards your husband and said, “Nothing, don’t worry.”

“You sure? You look like you’re about to shut down.”

Ttruth be told, you were debating whether to check out the Have a Seat collection sitting in your cart since 3AM or not. But you’d rather die than admit that to Sukuna.

And then another week passed, and somehow – somehow – your new collection arrived. Your husband took one look at it and raised a brow.

“So that’s why you’ve been out of it all week.”

“What do you mean?” You shot back.

“Babe,” he drawled, smirking. “I knew you’d get addicted,” he simply added with his I-know-everything-about-you tone. “Next thing you know, you’ll be selling your soul to rare editions.”

“Pfft, no way.”

“Uh-huh. Give it two weeks before you start spiraling.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a phase, babe.”

It was not a phase. You were wrong. Sukuna was right. Always right.

Because a week later, you nearly had a breakdown when Sukuna surprised you with three big-ass plush dolls – Angel in Cloud, I Found You, and Catch Me If You Like Me.

“Oh my God, they’re so fucking cute,” you whispered, clutching one to your chest like it was your firstborn.

And your ever-loving husband? He just flashed that signature smirk of his, watching you descend into madness. As if he’s actually supporting (more like enabling) you going crazy over these plush toys.

Another week passed, and you found yourself pressing “checkout” on the Coca-Cola Special Set. Then, not even a week passed but in just 3 days, you went full psycho mode, caving in and splurging on all the special edition Labubus – Wings of Fortune, Happy Halloween, Wings of Fantasy, Fall in Wild… and more.

At this point, your soul had left your body, and you refuse to do the math on how much you had spent. And as they say: denial is a healthy coping mechanism.

By the time your birthday (just a week later passed) rolled around, Sukuna dropped the biggest bomb yet and gifted you four entire boxed collections which are all lined up on the dining table, wrapped with a pretty ribbon.

You gasped. “FOUR?!”

Yes, you were losing your mind. You were in Labubu fucking heaven. This was no longer a phase. This was a full-blown lifestyle.

And your husband? He was just watching. Amused. Satisfied. Like a man who had bet on the right horse.

“You’re so gone,” he smirked.

You clutched your new babies and agreeing with him, “I am so gone.”

But you see, there was one problem. Scratch that, four problems.

After all your collections, the only ones missing were the Mega Sketch Labubu 1000% and the elusive secret plushies from all the pendant sets. I mean what are you even gonna hang on your designer bags for next week? Here’s when your true descent into madness began.

As a woman on a mission, you scoured the internet, joined every damn collector’s group to hunt these secrets down. And after an intense bidding war – finally – you secured the three missing secret plushies.

For… a mere $700.

The cherry on top? Once these plushies came, you ended up opening all boxes and inside were fucking Lafufus. The knock-off ones who don’t even look the exact same.

Of course and obviously, you cried. And Sukuna? Oh bless the Gods everywhere, your husband was pissed. Not just the mildly annoyed kind of pissed – it’s the you-are-the-biggest-dumbass-I’ve-ever-married kind of pissed. In short, he was fucking livid.

“Are you kidding me?” He grumbled, rubbing his temples with one hand and the other patting you on the back with you crying for hours now since you opened those damn boxes. “I told you to double-check before buying from random sellers, dumbass.”

“I did check!”

He shot you a look and said, “For someone who triple-checks F1 rumors, you forgot this one time where it involves your money, brat.”

“I panicked!” You wailed. “The seller said it someone else was gonna buy it if I don’t act fast.”

He exhaled, slow and controlled. “You fucking idiot.” And yes, he’s done with your bullshit. For the next two days, he said nothing about Labubus. Which meant you were suffering in silence.

With your husband being him, even after all that, even after your idiotic decision-making, he still went and did what he does best – spoiling you rotten.

On the third day of Labubu silence, you woke up to a giant box sitting in the middle of your living room.

You gasped, scrambling to tear the wrapping open. And there it was, in all its oversized glory – the Mega Sketch Labubu 1000%. And right next to it? Three, small neatly wrapped packages.

Your hands shook as you opened them. And when you did, your soul left your body. Yes, it was that crazy for you.

Inside were the three secret plushies. The real ones!

You turned to look at Sukuna, eyes wide with tears and disbelief. And yes, you’re on your knees, grabbing the couch for support, “You… you did not. No fucking way this is real!”

Sukuna smirked, arms crossed. “Well, I did, baby. And it’s real. And just so I don’t forget, happy belated birthday, dumbass.”

Still can’t believe that all of this is true, your jaw dropped. “I – HOW?! THESE ARE – THEY’RE LIKE – THEY’RE IMPOSSIBLE TO GET??? IT’S SOLD OUT EVERYWHERE!”

“I have my ways.”

You choked on air. “SUKUNA!”

He just shrugged and leaned on the doorway, looking way too pleased with himself. “Figured I’d complete your collection before you go and do something stupid again.”

You threw yourself at him, clinging to him like a koala, tears in your eyes. “You’re the best husband ever, oh my god.”

“Ugh – get off!” He groaned, trying to pry you off him.

“NOPE! NEVER LETTING GO! You love me so much, it’s actually embarrassing for you”

“Tch. As if.”

“You doooo,” you cooed, snuggling closer. “You got me my dream Labubu even though I made the dumbest purchase of my life.”

Sukuna sighed, but his hand was already under your butt and squeezing them. “Yeah, yeah. You’re still a dumbass, brat.”

You pouted. “Rude.”

And so, with your ultimate Labubu collection complete, you swore you were done. No more. This was it. The final haul.

The next week, your doorbell rang. Sukuna frowned as he stared up from his laptop and called for you, “Babe, did you order something again?”

“Nope!”

You ran towards the door and find another large parcel sitting on your doorstep. And yes, you just remembered, you did order something… when you were sulking over that scamming situation.

You brought the box inside and set it in the middle of your living room. With Sukuna who stopped his reading and raised a brow at you. Giggling, you opened the box and yes inside was an entire Space Molly figurine set.

You turned to Sukuna in slow motion.

He just let out a long, suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. 

“You’re fucking hopeless.”

“Ehh, you still love me.”

a/n: this was one of the reasons why i was gone for a month or two. i was fucking livid with these damn blind boxes. especially, labubus! but thanks heavens, all my blind boxes were gifted to me and i haven't spent a dime yet on any of these blind boxes... and please... this hasn't been edited nor proofread yet aaaa

Absolute art omg

MONA LISA ⋆˚࿔⸻ Nanami Kento

THE WAY YOU LOOK I UNDERSTAND THE HYPE, YOU KNOW YOU'RE JUST MY TYPE꩜ .ᐟ Gotta, gotta, get ya, 'cause you know just what I like.

cw ꩜ .ᐟ nothing, just fluff, but there is a dumbass ex, whirlwind romance sort of cliche, some suggestive stuff, but just me being a poetic dumbass mostly, i heard the song and i was like yes, so just enjoy.

a/n: fully inspired by mona lisa by jhope

Nanami Kento is a connoisseur of art. He is the greatest opponent of the philosophy presented by Plato, that art is an imitation of an imitation, and therefore not a true representation of reality. He believed that art has always been and will always be the direct and indirect reflection of reality. And if Plato were alive today, he would not hesitate to blurt it out in his face. 

So after saving up for a while and doing an insane amount of overtime, when he found himself in Paris, all by himself, he knew exactly where he wanted to explore first and foremost.

The Louvre museum was somewhere he always wanted to explore, not vicariously through a digital screen or how Gojo flew out his girlfriend there for her art history project—he wanted to see everything with his own two eyes, and just get lost in there if possible.

He expected the crowd. Even when he scheduled his visit at an odd time, to enjoy some serenity in those masterful pieces from the past. He wanted to find the Venus de milo, the coronation of Napoleon, and of course, the Mona Lisa.

But instead he found you, standing opposite to the Mona Lisa herself, just staring at Veronese's wedding feast at Cana.

Even when he came on a weekday, during downtime, there was still a crowd in front of the mona Lisa. But honestly, he would get in a queue to watch you instead. Maybe frame you in his eyes forever, if it is possible. He never really got the hype about Mona Lisa anyway, of course it has its own significance with how the colors and techniques were so sophisticated for its time that it was thought to be irreplicable. But Nanami was not fascinated by the, now, dull colors of the painting. But he is sure if it was you that Vinci decided to immortalize in his painting, the crowd would have to be bigger, and the queue has to be longer. And the colors have to be more vibrant and acute. And even then he could not have captured your beauty. 

But then again, you do not need such empty validations.

He never thought of himself as a person to think his type was a pretty face, if you asked him, he would say personality. Yet here he is walking up to the gorgeous woman of his dreams, and asking her if she wanted to stroll around the museum with him. 

If only your, now ex, boyfriend took a second too long before saying he wants to break up with you to get with the younger hotter girl at his office; he would not have been backtracking from that statement in a panic when you told him right after that you got two tickets to Paris for your anniversary. And he would have probably been here standing next to you. But thankfully you threw him out of your apartment, threw everything of his in your home, on the street. And got a considerable amount of refund on his ticket, and made your way to Paris. Fortunately instead of your ex, this gorgeous stranger, who looked really dazed when he came up to you, and gave you company through the rest of your trip. All he said was a simple, 

“Hello.” a gorgeous voice to match a gorgeous voice. 

And suddenly it was as if you two were in a movie, about two strangers falling in love, in the city of love. You did every cliche tourist thing with him, to your heart’s content. From going to the Pont des Arts to the Eiffel tower. And doing things out of visiting historical monuments, like struggling to order a croissant and coffee. The days you spent with Nanami in Paris, became some of the most cherished memories you have created in your life. And you can only hope you get to have him around for more memories to create. 

While you were too busy wallowing in your own head about never possibly seeing him ever again after this—Kento was becoming borderline obsessed with you.

The amount of time you occupied in his thoughts and his journal, was getting concerning. You simply have him bad. And he is ready to submit himself, nay, devote himself to you. Frame you in a picture, make a shrine out of it and call you his religion, his one and only. 

By the third day of knowing Nanami Kento, you somehow ended up in the same hotel as him. With different room numbers to your name, you still somehow always ended up in each other’s rooms. At first it was petty excuses like the bed is better in your room, then it was the shower not working well, the lights in your room were too fluorescent. These were things easily solved by calling the front desk, but then it would mean these were real problems and not made up excuses. 

And everytime your horrible ex tried to call you and ruin your mood, he was there for you with some bottle of wine he found at the grocery store down the street. Along with some variety of cheese and fruits, to make you a charcuterie board of sorts.

And you appreciated it all. The cheap wine, cheap ‘i heart Paris’ t-shirts, wild little flowers from some random park you two stumbled upon, to the diamond earrings he insisted on buying you. Something about them matching your smile too perfectly to let them be bought out by someone else. And you have never felt so at ease to be spoiled like so. Never with your parents, nor with any ex, or even friends. And it was all too much and too easy to get used to. 

“Will I ever see you again, after this?” you were in his bed, fully clothed and in his arms, but never in your life have you ever felt so naked. 

“You are asking the wrong questions sweetheart.” he moved his head just enough to take it off the top of your head, and came eye to eye with you. His one hand steady as ever on your waist, slightly bunching up the satin of your nightdress. While the other held your own hand in comfort, with the most delicate touch. As if you were some exquisite work of art that would crumble with just one thoughtless touch.

“What should I be asking then?”

“How can I look at you for the rest of my life instead?”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune. header is Monalisa by Leonardo da Vinci.

big Plato disliker here. you can say i loathe him even. fuck Plato. first Nanami work woooo!!! also shit i made up from my own trip to paris like when i was a wee baby so it is def not accurate i think.

I LIKE MY GIRLS PRETTY IN THE FACE ART PIECE TO FRAME MONA MONA LISA YEAH I NEED YA

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @alygator77 @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi

jongin’s tiktok with tita being flooded with bada lee hate comments is so awkward like y’all are such sheep grow the fuck up LOLLLL you didn’t like ONE performance that longtime friends and collaborators put out into the universe and now former fandom darling bada is the latest target of groupthink vitriol? so predictable so dumb. just say you have no capacity to hold art (or like fucking humans) in all of their interesting complexity and go.

How I feel after skipping past all the smut in a fanfic cause I’m only in the mood for fluff

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days 😔

dogs out. zenin toji

fluff ‐ parents au. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ slice of life, mom!reader, unnamed 2yo daughter, megumi is four, and tsumiki is six. preschool teacher!nanami cameo ♡

little sunshines au

"moooooom! the baby took her shoes off again!"

tsumiki's voice has you peeking your head from the kitchen, trying to catch sight of your little girl. you're about to call your husband's name when he walks into the living room and picks your daughter up from the floor.

"dont like 'em?" he smirks, holding her tiny foot up and inspecting it.

she grins cheekily at her dad, proudly wiggling her little toes and showing off the sparkly nail polish on them.

"spaw-cle!"

finally done with the dishes, you join them and see her crocs discarded by the couch.

"again?"

"let her be, ma." toji has her foot against her cheek, both of them giggling at the silliness of it.

"she has to get used to them, toji."

he finally meets your eyes and sees the stern look in them. slowly, he puts your daughter down while she looks at him in confusion. toji doesn't have the heart to force his youngest to do stuff she doesn't like. but after three kids and years of marriage with you, he knows this is a battle he won't win.

"sorry, kiddo."

—

two days later, he's standing by the gates of the kids' school, waiting for them, when he notices something odd.

his face quickly switches from boredom to concern once he spots nanami holding his baby girl in his arms, her face visibly blotched from crying.

"she wouldn't stop taking her shoes off during class. I'm afraid we had to take... drastic measures." the blond man hands her over, visibly tense at toji's reaction. tsumiki and megumi stand next to him with matching frowns, having seen (and heard) their baby sister's cries. "school's policy."

"daddy!" she's bursting into tears as soon as she's in his arms, her watery eyes set on his concerned ones. "want 'em off!"

toji looks down at her feet and sees the brown tape around her pink sneakers, clashing horribly against it and causing him to sigh in defeat.

"baby, you can't keep taking your shoes off." he's patting her back in comfort, letting her sob against his shoulder while he turns to nanami again. "any advice? my wife and I have been struggling for weeks."

having seen this before, nanami recalls a piece of advice given from a couple who struggled with this, too. "try to find a pair that she likes. they don't have to be sneakers—the school isn't strict with that."

and suddenly, toji has a brilliant idea.

—

"princess, c'mere."

both you and your husband enter your daughter's room, sitting on the floor, and she comes closer with her plushie hanging from her hand.

toji places a box in front of her, your demeanor slightly anxious as you wait for her reaction. for a two-year-old, you're aware that she can be the toughest crowd sometimes.

her eyes are fixed in front of her, watching her dad opening the boring, brown box until pink and glitter are all her brain can process.

"woah..." she's clearly in awe, her little hands quickly grabbing the tiny pink heels and slipping them on her feet. "mommy shoes!"

the heels clack loudly against the floor, her steps uncoordinated and clumsy, but she can't stop giggling happily, walking back and forth.

"what did i tell you, ma?" toji's grin is smug, his arms wrapping around you while you play it off with a roll of your eyes. the sigh of relief is obvious from you two. "problem fixed."

he hasn't even finished gloating when you spot megumi standing by the door with his hands covering his ears, glaring ominously at toji.

"don't be so sure, honey."

Dog-sitter!Toji - chapter 10

last chapter - series masterlist

Synopsis: Toji was quite accustomed to objectifying himself for a check. And to be frank, far worse actions as well. Now he’s not sure what to do with himself after meeting the kind and generous owner of the dog he pet-sits for.

read along as Toji learns that you don't need to lose yourself in order to love and be loved.

Qouth the poet, 'Come, love and health to all; then I'll sit down.' Only, at this feast of heart, the mind and soul is clear as day.

--

It had been right around late January when you started noticing your dog's anxiety. Early February before Toji started to look after the sweet boy while you worked. Back then, you had spent early mornings in the dark preparing for the day and late nights in the office, readying your space for the next shift.

The days had been monotonous, bleeding into one another. Quickly, you began to break under the weight of the expectations from your peers and superiors. It seemed that nothing you did was worthy of praise and every little error stood out more than any others. All achievement was expected of you and in the event you fell short, the worst you could hear would always be the silent thoughts coming from yourself.

It hadn't taken long for Toji to become an active part of your lives. And now, as the seasons changed, so too did your routine. With the advent of Toji, you were kept to a strict standard of self-care. The winter weather had always been a burden to you, only now, a warmth you hadn't ever known presented an arrival, coming into existence in the form of heated palms and gentle brushes on your cheek.

Toji would not hesitate to flick your forehead if ever he felt you were working too much. He had seen those parts of you and was determined to look after you in any way you would let him. With the growing relationship, he no longer would stand by and let you work yourself to the bone.

The new routine came comfortably, you and he simply fit into each other's lives without sharp edges or bumps. And not much changed in the dynamic you held. You had fallen into life with each other quickly and genuine was the care you had for one another.

Only now, in the evening when he finds you at your desk, pouring over something he doesn't even want to try and understand, instead of leaving you to your devices like a good employee, he leans down and kisses you. Waiting patiently for your acceptance before making sure you weren't overdoing things.

--

He kisses you often these days, as you are aware, he is not the type to hold back and he feels the urge to share breaths often. The urge to synch his heartbeat with your own when he holds you to his chest.

Toji's life had shifted so much in the past year that it could give him whiplash if he weren't so grounded in you. True to his word, he loves to look after the dog, only this time around, it wasn't because of the uncanny luck of the job, the generosity of this strange workaholic. No, it was because he had always been one to want the best for his family.

And for his you? Though he watches the dog with regularity, he refuses any money you could offer him. This was one of the real changes between the pair of you. And try as you might, Toji was stubborn in his assertions. It had come to be one of your first true arguments, but Toji was determined to push away any generosity that was not the food, amenities, or affection of yours.

He would see your frustrated expression when turning your money away. Had it been anyone else to push back against his wishes, he might have lashed out, but he knew well that he could only hold adoration for you.

Life had just as much routine to it for him as it did for you. He took up working at a shelter just by your neighborhood. He brought the dog with him often, and the socialization was good for both parties.

Plus, you always got all excited when he would send pictures of your boy playing with other dogs. More than anything, he loved to see you happy.

And as it would turn out, Toji made a very good trainer. He kept busy, on his feet and such. It felt good, to be outdoors so often. Working with the animals to help them overcome any issues that might keep them from adoption was one of his main goals now.

And beyond that, he was making his own money, that part felt good too, to retire the title of 'employee' from you. He would grin at the thought. So out of his league, and still, he had graduated to something far more intimate with you.

--

Toji had come over early one morning, intending to catch you before you left for the office. You were slipping your shoes on right as he stepped through the threshold of your side door.

He was dressed in a fitted pair of canvas pants. A thick hoodie hung just at his hips, and he swung his keys around in a loop as he leaned up against the doorframe, watching you move.

"Mornin'." Toji grins at you, the dog was bounding around him, well aware that a car ride awaited him in his near future. Panting in excitement.

"Good morning." You smile, trying to fix your makeup in a mirror on the wall, "You've certainly got him all excited." You laugh, tilting your head to the exasperated dog, his leg thumping loudly on the hardwood as Toji scratches behind his ear.

The man watches as you reach over to swing your jacket over your shoulders. He nearly bolted to you at the opportunity to be of service. Pulling your arm through the sleeve and wrapping you up comically tight. He sways you from foot to foot, his chin on your head.

You giggle, "He really likes going with you, ya know?" You look at the dog by the door patiently swaying his tail while looking between Toji and his car in the driveway.

"Oh yeah?" Toji leans down, kissing your neck. Not sensual, just sweet. He hums, wanting to stretch out the moment as long as he could. Silently promising to himself come over early from now on.

"Yeah." You pull his arms from your body and turn to wrap yourself in him instead. "You'll be here for dinner?" Your ear finds his pulse and you chuckle to yourself at the sheer speed with which it beats, and the fact that he acts all cool, you'd never have guessed.

Toji hums, head still resting on you, "I'd never miss it."

--

On one particular morning, Toji was off work, staying at your place. You had been leaving the house early that week, needing to implement a new system update for your company's software. A lot of the transfer relied on you and because of this, you were taking the brunt of the stress.

At one point in your life, coming home after a long day to another person with whom you would reliably need to interact with, would be, if nothing else, exhausting. Somehow, with Toji, that was not the case.

Coming home and seeing him there on the couch was like a breath of fresh air. You felt a fair bit giddy knowing he would be waiting for you during your commute those evenings.

You would find yourself excited, leaving for the office during such stressful days, knowing that by the end of your shift, he would be there for you.

That week, Toji had been watching you closely. He would come home from work and immediately prep some nutrient-dense meal.

One of the perks of loving a largely fit individual was that he knew how to get protein and vitamins, and he made sure to stock you full.

It was almost cute at times. Clearly, he didn't want to overwhelm you or be a bother. Still, he would stand awkwardly in the hall and murmur something about being sure to drink some water. That or just coming out and asking if you'd eaten. And if you had, he would want to know it was.

He never came across as a hyper-protective parent, simply caring. He knew you worked a lot and that you needed fuel. Sometimes being the one to care for you was more reliable. He knew you could forget at times. And that was okay, he didn't mind.

--

One of his favorite parts of the day would be when he got to tuck you in before leaving in the evenings. He didn't actually tuck you in, not in the usual sense of the word, but that's what he liked to call it.

He always predicted when you would start to offer to walk him to his car and would adamantly refuse to let you get the words out.

No, no, no, he was not going to let you out in this cold, are you crazy? You would be staying nice and warm, wrapped up in this fuzzy blanket that he kept mussing around you.

The best part about the whole thing for him was that for the first sustainable time in his life, he did not feel a pressure to be anyone but himself. He never felt compelled to change around you, to be someone else that you would like more. He could please you not by constant vigilance to create someone loveable, but rather, by being honest.

Looking back on his past, he had lived in a constant state of anxiety, a tension that was exhaustive. He wasn't a friend, a lover, or an employee. His relationships were never professional or real. He was whatever someone wanted from him at any given moment and then, after the fact a hollow shell of whatever he could salvage.

He was no longer void, he was fulfilled, his glass was half-full, he was no one but himself, and you wouldn't ask him to be anyone else.

For the first time, possibly ever, he did not have to lose himself to love or be loved.

--

One rainy afternoon, you asked him to move in with you.

It had been a recurring thought of yours, wondering how you should ask him. It came up naturally one evening. You were both lying on the couch, the dog at your feet. A blanket covered the entirety of your body. You had given up trying to share with the warm-blooded man.

Some movie was playing but neither of you was paying close attention as you flipped between different conversations.

Eventually, you just let it slip, "You know, you're here enough, and you've lived here before. Why don't you just move in?"

You weren't sure what you expected as his response, but when he grabbed your hand, kissing the back while shaking his head "no", you knew, it hadn't been that.

You tried to pull back but he wouldn't allow it, "What? Why not?" Your brows got all furrowed suddenly and he nudged a knuckle between them to smooth the disturbance there.

He smelled the lotion on your arm, finding the words, "Not yet...." He gave the back of your hand a lick and you really did jerk back this time. Wiping it off on his pant leg, laughing.

"Eww Toji-"

He slid his shoulder down on the back of the couch to lean on you, "One day... but not yet." He could see the gears turning in your head and he simply tapped your nose with a finger, "And it's not because I would feel like a leach, I just... I want to be ready?" Even he struggled to reach for the phrasing.

"I wanna pay everything off." He looked at you, "Don't even think to offer." You huffed, annoyed that he rarely let you pay for stuff anymore. "I wanna... I wanna be someone you deserve, I want to be good for you the way you've been good for me."

He had such a tender look on his face. It almost hurt to hear him say such a thing. "Toji..." You narrowed, pulling back from the weight of him to see his face "Whyever would you not be deserving? You've been nothing but...pure goodness for me." You scoff.

He rolled his eyes but that only frustrated you more. You shoved his shoulder a bit, only pushing yourself back, the damn immovable object he was.

"No." You continued on, serious, "You allowed me a more efficient schedule, you helped the dog overcome his anxiety, you... for heaven's sake Toji, you saved his life- twice!" You leaned forward now, yanking the blanket down onto your lap.

"You listen to me and you care, you help me stand up for myself and you cook for me, and you're ever so sweet" You tugged on his earlobe when he tried to look away from your gaze, "You have never been anything but good for me."

He just stared at you then, replaying your words over and over in his head. "But I won't ask you to do anything if you'd rather stay in your apartment until you're more comfortable; that's fine."

He wouldn't say it, but you knew he was at least slightly concerned about the wealth dynamic. After confessing to you that he didn't want to be paid anymore, the idea of being an employee to you was a long-gone notion.

Toji smiles down at you then, bringing the blanket back up under your chin. "Well... this place is closer to the shelter..." He shrugs, allowing himself to really consider the idea.

He loved his job, he loved how fulfilled he was, and most of all, he loved you. You had changed his life and set him on a whole new path. Opening his eyes to a new way of life that he had thought impossible for the likes of him.

If he could repay such a kindness, he would spend the rest of his life attempting to do so, with eager love more than any conviction.

And the funny part is? You felt the same way about him.

And in that dim living room, some silent movie droning on in the background, the dog at his feet, he can picture a future where you leave him notes. Something similar to how you once did, only this time, you would be asking him to pick up groceries for your shared kitchen. Something simple like that.

He wanted it badly, the domesticity. The house would look so different, though he had been staying there for over a year now, knowing it belonged to the beautiful word that is "us".

And God willing, that "us" would propagate into every second of his timeline. Every moment of his life. Every breath he took. Every pounding in his chest. Everywhere, his everything, till the moment he was dragged from this earth.

And above all, on that living room sofa, in that moment, he felt the most affection for the knowing little friend at his feet. The life that brought him to you.

For him, Toji was eternally grateful.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Thank you for reading this story, I had the most fun writing it. I was deeply inspired to create a world where Toji could live comfortably without being forced to give of himself. In doing so, I was motivated to bring actual writing back to my blog for the first time in four? five years?

If you have dog-sitter toji thoughts, feel free to shoot them into my inbox! This chapter was intended to serve as an epilogue but who knows? I might add little one-shots in the future.

Thank you for following this journey! I had a blast! I will likely go through chapter by chapter and edit the story but for now, I hope the conclusion brings you peace!

Check out my masterlist

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The masculine connotation of a bow tie and the feminine connotation of a bow on the top of the head implies a nonbinary bow style placed directly over the nose

The fact that humans can be killed through physical means is so ridiculous to me

Sincere Apologies

A/N: apologies for being MIA for a week, finals and papers were just stabbing me violently as i sobbed in a corner. hopefully i pass everything, as an apology, have some cute/darkish nanami content

warnings: trophy wife, kinda sugar daddy behavior, not realistic relationship, nanami dilf, very rich nanami, obsessed nanami, reader that knows exactly how to play the game etc. slight smut? idk, i mean theres dirty talking.

The heavy oak doors to Nanami Kento’s office slam open.

His fingers freeze over his keyboard. His shoulders go stiff. His breath stills in his chest.

Because he already knows.

Before he even looks up, before he even sees you—he knows.

His wife.

His stunning, painstakingly perfect, effortlessly devastating wife.

And she was pouting.

He had a weakness for that pout. It was a dangerous thing—plump lips slightly pursed, red catching the light just enough to remind him that they belonged to him. It was a silent declaration of displeasure, one that he already knew was going to cost him. Dearly.

And when he does lift his gaze, slow, measured, bracing for impact—fuck.

You’re breathtaking.

Black Louboutins clicking against the marble, each step a deliberate statement. A dress that fits so exquisitely it looks like it was painted onto you—sleek, elegant, and sinful all at once, the kind of thing that demands to be touched. Silver jewelry gleaming against your skin, subtle but devastating, the perfect complement to perfection itself. Hair styled, nails manicured, every detail painstakingly crafted. You’re a masterpiece, a walking vision of power and indulgence, and all of it—every inch of it—is his.

And yet—you’re pouting.

A slight downturn of those plush lips, a delicate furrow of your brow, the barest tilt of your chin—but it guts him. Slices through him like a blade.

He knows exactly why you’re here.

Knows because he pays people to know.

His phone had buzzed earlier, a series of updates from the security detail assigned to you—updates he gets religiously.

12:30 PM: Madam has left the penthouse. 12:45 PM: Madam has arrived at Restaurant L'Ambroisie. 1:05 PM: Madam is still waiting. 1:20 PM: Madam has left the restaurant.

And now?

Now you’re here, standing in front of him, looking like that, dressed like that—for him. And he had made you wait.

Nanami’s jaw tightens. His fists clench against the desk.

“Darling—”

“You forgot.”

Your voice is soft. Too soft. Dangerous in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

You step closer, impossibly close, hands resting lightly on his desk. The scent of your perfume—expensive, delicate, the one he handpicked for you—wraps around him like a noose. His control is a fragile, fraying thread, snapping one fiber at a time.

His eyes roam—devour. The curve of your waist, the way the fabric hugs your body, the smooth expanse of your throat where your necklace rests.

The pout on your lips.

God, that mouth.

He wants to bite. Wants to mark. Wants to ruin.

“I—” He stops. Swallows. He doesn’t forget things. His mind doesn’t work like that. But work had been relentless, drowning him, dragging him down into a cycle of meetings and reports and phone calls that never ended.

And you—you had been waiting for him.

Dressed like this, expecting him, and he had left you alone.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is rough now, thick with something dark, something possessive. He reaches for you, fingers brushing your wrist—where the bracelet he gifted you glints under the soft glow of his office lights.

Your arms remain crossed.

Your lips press together.

“You know I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice lower now, almost pleading. A thing that no one—not his employees, not his shareholders, not his competitors—would ever think possible.

But with you?

With you, he is nothing if not desperate.

You tilt your head, lashes fluttering, and he knows you’re toying with him. Knows because you are brilliant, because you are calculated, because you know exactly how to play the game.

And Nanami—Nanami will always lose to you.

“Oh, I know,” you hum, stepping forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his crisp white dress shirt. You lean in, lips brushing just barely over his ear, voice syrup-thick.

“You’re so busy, Kento.” Your tone is laced with something dark, something teasing, something lethal. “Too busy to eat. Too busy to see me. Too busy to keep your promises.”

His grip on your waist tightens—too tight.

You let out a soft little sound—half a sigh, half a taunt.

Nanami’s jaw clenches. He wants to snap. Wants to drag you into his lap. Wants to press you into his desk and make up for every second you were sitting at that restaurant alone.

He breathes in slow. Forces restraint into his bones. Forces control into his voice.

“You know that’s not true.”

Your fingers trail down his tie- the very same tie you picked out for him this morning, playing with the silk, teasing him.

“Then make it up to me, Kento.”

His fingers tighten on you.

His vision blurs with want.

*-*

7:45 PM

Nanami Kento is waiting by the car, hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, watching the screen of his personal phone with the same level of intensity he reserves for high-stakes deals.

It’s a habit. A ritual. A necessity.

The only notifications that ever dare to light up this device are hers—or the ones detailing her movements.

7:30 PM: Madam is in the walk-in closet. 7:35 PM: Madam has selected a dress. 7:40 PM: Madam is trying on jewelry.

Nanami Kento had cleared his entire schedule.

Meetings? Cancelled. Calls? Postponed. Obligations? Nonexistent.

For the first time in months, the empire he meticulously built—the empire that consumes every waking hour—takes a backseat. Because his wife—his beautiful, brilliant, ruthlessly enchanting wife—deserves his undivided attention.

And he is a man who learns from his mistakes.

So when you want the best sushi in the country—you get the best sushi in the country.

Never mind the twelve-month waiting list. Never mind that reservations are impossible, that even the country’s elite have to pull strings for a chance at a table.

None of that matters.

Because Nanami fucking Kento wants a table, and when he wants something, the world bends to accommodate him.

So now he’s waiting outside the penthouse, leaning against the sleek, obsidian-black Maybach, his personal driver stationed at the front. His fingers drum against the cool metal of his phone, the only device he keeps on him after hours.

It only has two active notifications:

— You. — And the security detail assigned to you.

(The rest of the world can fuck off right now.)

The screen dings.

🔔 1 New Message [You]: Which necklace? The diamond choker or the one you got me in Milan? I’m wearing the dark blue dress.

Nanami’s breath stalls.

Because attached to the message is a photo.

You—standing before the full-length mirror in your dressing room.

The dress—deep, satin-dark blue, the kind that whispers power, elegance. Form-fitting, thigh-high slit, dangerously backless. But that’s not what sends blood surging through his veins like liquid fire.

No.

It’s the way the plunging neckline showcases your décolletage in unforgivable clarity. The soft, luminous glow of your skin. The subtle curve of your collarbones. The perfect swell of your breasts, barely contained, teasing at the edge of sinful.

His jaw flexes.

Nanami doesn’t move for a full minute.

Two.

His grip on the phone tightens.

His pulse hammers.

Because you know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve always known. You’re a woman who wields your beauty like a blade, precise and devastating, and he is your willing casualty.

He forces himself to exhale, thumb hovering over the screen.

But he’s not stupid.

You want him to suffer.

And he deserves to.

So he forces himself to wait—forces himself to stare, to commit every goddamn detail to memory, to let the slow burn of punishment sear into him.

Only after three minutes of grit-tooth restraint does he finally reply:

[Nanami]: The choker.

And then, because he hates himself:

[Nanami]: Send another photo.

You leave him on read.

God.

By the time you descend the marble staircase, heels tapping softly against polished stone, Nanami is already at the car door, opening it for you.

And fuck.

You are stunning.

No—beyond stunning. Otherworldly. The kind of beauty that destroys men. The choker sits perfectly against your throat, diamonds catching the soft glow of the city lights.

Nanami is silent.

Because words don’t belong in a moment like this.

You step closer, tilting your head up, lashes fluttering. “You’re staring, Kento.”

“I always stare.” His voice is low. Dangerous. “You know that.”

A small, wicked smile curves your lips. You step past him, sliding into the car with all the grace of a woman who knows she owns the room.

Nanami exhales sharply before following.

*-*

The restaurant is decadence incarnate.

An exclusive, private location overlooking the city skyline, filled with only the wealthiest, most powerful names in the country. The kind of place where privacy is sacred, where menus don’t have prices, and where each dish is a masterpiece.

But Nanami doesn’t give a fuck about any of it.

Because you’re across from him.

Because you’re sitting there, fingers delicately tracing the rim of your crystal wine glass, lips just barely brushing the edge before you take a sip. Because you tilt your head, watching him with knowing amusement, eyes full of mischief.

Because you haven’t stopped teasing him.

“You’ve been very quiet tonight,” you muse, voice honeyed. “Something on your mind?”

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightens.

“You know exactly what’s on my mind.”

You let out a soft, syrup-sweet laugh, taking another slow sip of wine. “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

His jaw ticks.

Your foot brushes against his ankle under the table—light, teasing.

Nanami barely suppresses a groan. His entire body is tight, heat simmering beneath his skin, because you haven’t stopped playing with him since the moment you stepped into the car.

You lean forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, giving him a devastating view of your cleavage.

Nanami forces himself to meet your gaze.

A mistake.

Because you’re smirking.

“Distracted?” you ask, voice smooth as silk.

His fingers drum against the table. Slow. Measured. Controlled.

Barely.

“You’re enjoying this,” he states.

Your smile is all innocence.

“Enjoying what?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, clenches his jaw.

Oh, you are so very cruel.

But he deserves this.

He deserves every second of torture, every ounce of punishment, for making you wait at lunch, for making you doubt—even for a second—that you were the center of his world.

And so he lets it happen.

Lets you tease.

Lets you toy with him.

Lets you sit there, whispering filthy little nothings while you sip your obscenely expensive wine, eyes dancing with mock sympathy every time he struggles to maintain composure.

Because tonight—

Tonight is about you.

And when the night is over—when he finally has you alone, pinned beneath him, your lips bruised from his kisses, your body trembling under the weight of his obsession—

You won’t be smirking anymore.

*-*

The torture continues.

Your eyes, bright with mischief, your lips, sweet with wine, your voice, a weapon in silk and lace—you flirt with shameless abandon, reveling in the way your husband unravels before you.

And Nanami lets you.

Lets you drag him to the edge with every low, sultry laugh, every innocent little touch, every deliberate brush of your knee against his under the table.

He sits there, tense, his restraint hanging by a thread, watching the way your tongue darts out to catch a drop of wine from your lip.

“You’re staring, Kento.”

“You give me no choice.” His voice is low, wrecked, his grip tightening around his glass as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your smirk is wicked.

“I give you plenty of choices.” You tilt your head. “You’re just a little obsessed with me.”

Nanami exhales sharply, a dark, humorless laugh escaping his throat.

Obsessed?

My love, obsession doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But he doesn’t say that.

No, he lets you play your game, lets you lean in too close, lets your fingers trail over the rim of your glass too slowly, lets your words sink into his already fevered skin.

“Tell me,” you hum, tracing the stem of your wine glass, “are you enjoying dinner?”

Nanami drags a hand over his face. “Dinner?”

You blink, feigning innocence.

“Yes. The food. You know, the thing you forgot to show up for this afternoon?”

Ah.

So that’s what this is.

Nanami licks his lips, tapping his fingers against the table in slow, deliberate movements, eyes locked onto you with unwavering intensity.

“You’re cruel,” he murmurs, voice deep, edged with something dangerous.

Your eyes dance. “Am I?”

His lips quirk—not quite a smile, not quite a warning.

“You know you are.”

You sigh, all soft and mockingly indulgent, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly against the table’s surface. “I could go easy on you,” you muse.

Nanami exhales, slow. Measured.

“But you won’t.”

You grin, lifting your glass. “Of course not.”

And Nanami takes it.

Takes the punishment, the taunting, the pure, unfiltered temptation of your presence like a man devoted to suffering.

And when dessert arrives—when the decadent dark chocolate soufflé is set before him, when he takes a bite and it melts like silk on his tongue—he thinks, for a fleeting second, that this might be the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Until he remembers that he’s tasted you.

And then—then nothing compares.

*-*

By the time you return home, you’re still smirking.

But it doesn’t last.

Because the second the door clicks shut, Nanami moves.

You let out a delighted little squeak as he cages you against the wall, hands bracketing your head, his broad, towering form pressing into you, his scent—woodsmoke, spice, and ruinous devotion—curling around you like a promise.

The air thickens.

The teasing, the power play, the entire night of slow, torturous foreplay—it all boils over in an instant.

His fingers graze your jaw, tipping your chin up, and his hunger is absolute.

“I should make you beg,” he murmurs, voice rough, laced with dangerous affection. “I should drag this out, make you feel every second of what you put me through tonight.”

Your pulse skitters.

But then he exhales, a harsh, heavy thing, his forehead dropping to yours as his hands skim over your waist, down, gripping the curve of your hips like he needs something to anchor him.

“But I can’t.” His voice is raw, desperate. “Because I—”

He stops.

Swallows.

Closes his eyes.

When he speaks again, it’s almost reverent.

“I just want you.”

A sharp inhale.

Then—his mouth crashes into yours.

*-*

Nanami takes his time.

Because he can. Because you’re his. Because he will never rush through the ritual of undressing the most beautiful woman in the world.

He peels away your dress, inch by devastating inch, fingers trailing over every new expanse of bare skin as if mapping out something holy.

When he picks you up—when your legs wrap around his waist, when your arms lock around his neck, when he carries you to the bedroom like you weigh nothing at all—you giggle, head thrown back in pure, gleeful delight.

And Nanami smiles.

Because that sound—that sound is everything.

He makes love to you with devotion, with worship, with the kind of reverence only a man who breathes for one person can possess.

And his favorite moments?

When he licks his fingers clean, and the wet sheen catches on his wedding band.

When he laces his fingers with yours, and the glint of your ring reminds him that you are his.

When he kisses you stupid, over and over, until you’re laughing, until you’re sighing his name, until you’re clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

Because, to him—you are.

*-*

The next morning, you wake sore, satisfied, and thoroughly adored.

Nanami watches from the bed as you slip out of his grasp, stretching like a lazy cat, striding toward his walk-in closet.

It’s routine, the way you pick out his tie each morning.

And when you return, holding a rich navy silk tie between two fingers, he smiles.

You press it into his chest, tilting your head.

“This one.”

He hums, looping it around his collar, fingers moving with effortless precision.

Then—before he leaves, before he lets work consume him again—

“Lunch date?”

Your eyes light up. “Of course.”

And Nanami swears he’ll move heaven and earth to make sure he never misses another one.

*-*

And all morning?

He watches you.

Because his security team keeps him updated on your every move.

And every time his phone dings—every time he gets a notification that you’re shopping, reading, drinking coffee, existing somewhere in the world without him—he exhales, taps the screen, and reads every word like scripture.

Because he may be at work.

But his mind?

His mind is always with you.

A/N: i wanted to make this slightly poetic i hope y'all see it. anyways after the angst, a bit of happy fluff is always nice.

Masterlist.

:)

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: sukuna's been a father for over a month now and seems to be getting the hang of things, or at least he looks like he is. he's no stranger to mental turmoil and it seems to have only gotten worse for him when ever he finds himself alone.

genre: hidden child trope, toxic relationships, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

part two | part three | part four

notes: taglist is closed!!! also this isn't proofread, I'll be doing that right after posting bc im an impatient pos.

The first time you meet him is a blur. You just so happened to be staying at the same hotel that night— you were on your first business trip while he was away for the nth time for a game. You wanted to enjoy the last night of your trip and treated yourself to a drink at the hotel’s bar. It doesn’t take long until Sayomi’s father spots you, goes to sit obnoxiously close to you, and proceeds to ask you what you were drinking, even though he already knew martini was. 

You’d think he couldn’t get any more cocky than he already is now, but that’s all what Sukuna was when he was 24 years old. He just couldn’t wait to tell you what he did for a living, and accused you of staring at his thighs to get that conversation rolling. 

“I don’t mind you staring at ‘em, just means I’ve been training right.”

You didn’t ask him to elaborate on that like he thought you would, so he eventually just told you. 

He also eventually convinced you to come back up to his hotel room with him, where he also couldn’t wait to show you how big his dick was and how good he could make you feel with it.

You really don’t remember much except for the way he kept pulling your hips back to meet each thrust and how that alone made you cum more times than you ever have in a single night. And the way he moaned— god it was sexy. So low, so smooth. He’d stare at you with half-lidded eyes, watching his cock split you open and disappear inside of you, in a complete trance over how you took every inch he gave you. 

That was the night he realized he’d fuck you forever if he could, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel that way anymore. 

It obviously didn’t last forever because that’s just not possible, but he did want your number. One could imagine his disappointment when he woke up the next morning and realized it was a fucking pillow that he had his leg thrown over, not the woman who’s guts he spent hours rearranging the night before. 

Fate decided to do its thing though when he spots you on the same plane back home, where you happened to be sitting right next to him in first class. 

No, you never met him in the bathroom for round 2. He tried, believe him, but he understood why you rejected him when he noticed you walking with a slight limp as you got off the plane. He did get your number though, which will always be worth so much more than just a quick fuck in a cramped bathroom of an airplane. 

He especially feels that way whenever he looks at his little girl that he’s known for over a month now— should be 10 months, but it seems to be just him that’s counting with how normal everyone is about this. 

Everyone except for the woman that’s been blowing up his phone, despite upping the number of date nights they have every week. 

He’s been wondering what his 24 year old self would think about all of this. 

Probably happy at first, after finding out the kid he has is with you, then confused after finding out you two weren’t together. Maybe even hurt after finding out how things ended. 

“What did we even do to her?” 

“I don’t fuckin’ know.”

He gets a knot in his stomach whenever he thinks about it long enough. This strange feeling of impending doom begins to wash over him, even when the worst has already happened. He’s constantly having to remind himself that he’s okay and everything will be fine, then he sees you and realizes that you’d slap his hand away if he ever tried to reach out to you. 

Gone is the girl who’d happily lean into his touch— she literally vanished into thin air for him. 

His phone vibrates after letting a call go to voicemail, and finally checks it. 

Yor: Are you sure you can’t leave early? We’ve been wanting to go to the concert for a while now. 

Sukuna: I really can’t, I already told you Yomi’s got an appointment. She’ll probably be in a bad ass mood after, you know how sensitive she is. 

No, she doesn’t know, she’s never met the kid.

He didn’t specify what kind of an appointment it’d be, but he’s sure getting an ear piercing would be a worse experience than getting flu shots or whatever they give to babies.

Truth be told, he just doesn’t wanna be away from her. He spends more time at your house than he has at his own and will probably stay with you both up until her bedtime tonight—ingraining it into his daughter's head that he’ll be there for her every time she feels pain.

She won’t remember it, but it’ll become a subconscious thing. She’ll eventually just know that he’s someone she can go to if she’s not okay. 

You two decided to go in the same car and meet your mom at the fancy piercing shop she suggested, more than ready to spend a fortune on her granddaughter's first pair of earrings.

“Are you excited, sweetie?” She turns to you and asks

“I’m just worried about how long she’ll be sore for.” 

“Just give her some Tylenol.” Your mother simply says, waving off your concerns.

“Fuck, I should’ve called her pediatrician and asked if that was okay.”

“Honey, we used to line your gums with vodka whenever you were in pain from teething, a little bit of baby Tylenol isn’t going to hurt her.” Your mother reveals and Sukuna immediately steps away from her, to which she immediately scoffs at. “It was a different time, okay? I’m sure your parents did the same to you.” 

He ignores her and turns to you, “call them and double check.” 

He met your parents a couple weeks ago and so far it’s been good. Their relationship is very relaxed. You weren’t sure what to expect since it was you that decided to be a single mother, but they were pleasantly surprised to find out who exactly it was, with your father muttering “I fucking knew it” under his breath. 

You ignored that comment. 

They’re just glad their grandchild’s father isn’t a bum, which also confused them more as to why you did what you did. 

“I kinda wanna get mine pierced with her.” Sukuna mentions while rubbing her little earlobe between his fingers. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah. I feel like she’d cry less if she saw me getting it done first.” He explains his little last minute theory. There’s also no doubt in his mind that they’d look good on him, but that’s something he keeps to himself. 

“Guess it won’t hurt for you to try.” 

He turns to your mother with a shit eating grin. “You tryna buy me a pair of earrings too?”

“Never in my life would I do such a thing,” she laughs a little too hard. “We all know you could buy this whole store and it wouldn’t put the slightest dent in your pocket.” 

“Rude.” He complains boyishly while looking at which diamond studs he wants. “It’s the thought that counts y’know.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind during christmas time. Let’s hope I forget how much Google said your net worth was by then.” Your mother quips. 

“Tch– whatever.” He clicks his tongue and chuckles, then turns to you. “Do you want anything?”

“No, I don’t see anything I like that I don’t already have. Thank you though.” You say after taking a brief look at what they had to offer. In the end you decided it’s probably best if he doesn’t buy you anything, even though there was a necklace in the corner of the glass display that you really liked.

One that he was more than capable of buying.

Soon enough, it’s you holding Yomi while you both wave at her father who’s sitting across from you too. For once, you find yourself appreciative of Sukuna and the lengths he is willing to go to in order to make your daughter's life slightly easier.

It was a smart idea, you could see why he thought that her seeing him getting it done would help the process.

Except when the gun goes off, she flinches and her eyes grow wide in horror as she sees the diamond stud that the little device left on his ear. 

She started crying before the piercer got to Sukuna’s second ear and cried even harder when he actually got the second piercing. You both ultimately decided that today just wasn’t the day you’d get them done— you might not get them done ever given how traumatized the experience of just watching her dad getting piercings has left her. 

The three of you were supposed to go out for lunch with your mother right after, but you also decided that it was best to go straight home. She’s having one of those meltdowns where it’s best to go home and put her to sleep, scheduling the appointment at noon probably wasn’t the best thing to do since it clashed with her nap time. At least she’ll sleep well, you know you do whenever you sob as hard as she is right now.

You ended up having to sit in the backseat to comfort her, which was fine until she decided that she was going to string out the tears, because getting attention from mommy is nice. 

“oohuhuhu,” she whimpered in her little voice, it was so forced— barely any emotion behind it and Sukuna bursts out laughing because of it.

You end up having to look away too, not wanting her to think you were making fun of her. But it was already too late as tears started to well in her eyes again from feeling embarrassed. 

Lately, it’s been him who’s been trying to coddle her whenever she’s in one of her moods. It actually works half the time— something that’s even surprised your parents when they came over the other week and watched him successfully calm her down. 

Today’s not one of those days, she keeps turning around and looking at you— wanting for you to come get her. Sukuna tried turning around so she couldn’t see you and she just stuck her little hand out to the side of him, reaching out for help. At that point you started to feel bad and ended up taking her, not missing the slight pout on Sukuna’s face when you did. 

“Sukuna.” 

“Hm?”

“Can you look away?” 

“Oh right, my bad.” He doesn’t mean it. You throw the baby blanket over you and let him know his eyes were free to roam again.

His eyes go straight to Yomi’s little feet that were sticking out of the blanket and joyously kicking around because she finally got what she wanted, once again reminding him how much of a brat she is. “Are you sure she didn’t get her attitude from you?”

“No, my parents said I was the easiest child ever.” You laugh at how in denial he is of being the one to pass down the ‘tude to her. “Even Jin said she gets it from you, you just didn’t hear him because you were too busy arguing with Yuji.”

“Don’t believe a word Jin says,” he says, taking a seat on the sofa across from the one you were sitting on. “He was a thousand times more sensitive than this one.”

“I’m sure.” You say and leave it at that. After hearing about their parents dying when they were just 18, you try not to talk about anything that would lead to a conversation about them. You’re only cautious about it since Sukuna’s never brought it up before. And aside from sharing a child together, you two just aren't that close. 

“How long are you planning on breastfeeding her for?” He nods at Yomi when he asks, or your tits, you’re not sure anymore. 

“I wanted to be done by the time she turns one, but that’s a month away and I just don’t see that happening.” You sigh, starting to get literal war flashbacks of when you tried to stop. “I tried weaning her off right before you came into the picture and I lost so much sleep that I started seeing shadow figures.”

“What the fuck?” His face twists in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” You wish you were kidding, that was the worst week of your life. “She’d take her normal naps during the day, then she’d cry all night. I had to have my parents come help. I slept for like 16 hours and went back to breastfeeding her.”

“I can always watch her for the night if you wanna try to stop again.” He suggests, it doesn’t surprise you, he’s been like that one guy from the movie Holes. 

I cAn hELp wiTh thAt.

Very sweet, but you can’t help but feel like he has an underlying motive sometimes. 

“Maybe. I thought about trying again when she’s 18 months old.”

“You mean a year and a half?” He tries to correct you. He thinks he might actually lose it if you say she’s 24 months old when she turns 2.

“Same shit.” You roll your eyes at the man. 

“Okay.” He says sarcastically. “The season starts again around that time though, so it’d probably be better if you do that before then.” 

“Oh yeah huh?” He’s been around so much that you almost forgot that he travels half of the year. 

He used to fly you out a lot when you two were messing around with each other. This was back when you had the energy to hop on a flight right after work on Fridays, then get ready for work at 3 am on monday so you could go straight from the airport to work. 

You’d never do that for anyone, ever again. It was so much work now that you’re looking back. There was one point where you did that for nearly a month straight. You just had to stop, but by then he only had a couple weeks of the season left, so he didn’t seem to mind when you tapped out on him. 

“Do you think you two can travel with me for a bit once the season starts?” He asks in a low tone, it’s almost as if he’s nervous to ask. 

“I’m not sure. It's doable since I work from home, but it’s hard traveling with kids.” You hesitantly say. You don’t really travel all that much with her anyways, the thought of being far away from home almost makes you nervous. 

“Well, think about it. Some of the guys on the team are married with children and they bring ‘em along for at least half the time. I’m sure accommodations can be made for you two, maybe even pay for a nanny if you need the help.”

“I will, I’ll let you know in a couple months or something.” You say, before you both are interrupted by his phone ringing again for the third time since you’ve gotten back to the house. 

“You can take phone calls in front of me.” You let out a light laugh. He thinks you don’t know, but you are very aware of how much his girlfriend calls and texts him. 

He lets out a deep sigh while looking at the phone screen, it ends up going to voicemail again, but at that point he’d rather not keep her waiting and calling and waiting and calling.

“It’s probably something important, so I’ll just take it outside.” He mutters before excusing himself and stepping into the backyard. 

By that point, Sayomi’s fast asleep, so you end up sending Sukuna a little text letting him know you’re going to be in the nursery with her. You try not to think about the fact that you heard a couple yells coming out of the backyard as you walk up the stairs. You shut the door too so you don’t have to listen to him fighting with his girlfriend for like the hundredth time that week. 

You set Yomi down in her crib and take a seat in the rocking chair next to it, letting out a little yawn and rubbing the day away from your eyes. Sucks that Sukuna had to take a phone call, you were just about to ask him if he could watch her while you take a little power nap, you don’t get to do much of that anymore.

Your own phone buzzes, but instead of a call, it’s a text from Suguru. 

[11:05 a.m] Suguru G: How’s your morning going?

[01:11 p.m] Suguru G: Just remembered your daughter was getting her ears pierced today, just wanted to ask how it went!

[01:11 p.m] You: Oh my god I never even saw your text from this morning! Sorry about that. And she didn’t even get them pierced. Her dad thought it might’ve helped if she watched him get his ears pierced beforehand, but it ended up scaring her lol

[01:12 p.m] Suguru: LMAO

[01:12 p.m] Suguru: You guys traumatized her

[01:13 p.m] You: I know, I felt so bad! But I think she was just tired too, she woke up kind of early this morning. 

[01:14 p.m] Suguru: Probably. Is everything okay now?

[01:14 p.m] You: Yeah, she’s finally taking a nap, she needed it lol

You hear a little knock at the door and Sukuna comes in right after, walking up to the crib. Except instead of looking at his daughter, he was looking at your phone in your hands— looking like he was about to ask who you were texting. 

And he was extremely close to asking, mainly because he has a habit of starting more fights when he’s in a bad mood, but this time he practices some self control. He already knows it was fucking Suguru anyways and he’d rather not get into all of that when he’s already got other shit to deal with right now.

“I gotta go,” he whispers to you. His hairs slightly disheveled, looks like he’s been pulling on it or something. He leans over the crib and gives Yomi a couple forehead kisses before standing back up at full height. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You whisper back and do a little wave before he gently closes the door.

Even with the door shut and him trying to keep his voice down, you can still hear him suddenly snap and say something along the lines of “I already said I was fuckin’ coming” after picking up the phone, again.

notes: i'm hoping you guys are enjoying the story so far!! seeing the theories and thoughts make me giggle and kick my feet like a little slut, i'm hoping to get back to them very soon!!

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

what!!

lads has fighting stuff?!?! i thought this shit was like episode💔💔 didnt know i’d have to work for it🤬

BILLION DOLLAR MAN | a series.

PAIRING: president!Sukuna x journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: you get in trouble with the law for hate speech (totally bogus; like, hellooo, Freedom of the Press, anyone?), and, in a way to get you out of further repercussions, the president, himself—whom you went to college with—proposes a deal: be his fake wife. totally preposterous, but, then again . . . your news column could use a little more publicity, and you were in need of a [pseudo] sugar daddy.

ⓘ MDNI; enemies-lovers; smut (every chapter); fake marriage trope; each headline will be additionally tagged on their respective posts.

A/N: the table of contents below is subject to change at any time.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈 : MAN of the HOUR ▷ preview. you've slandered his name all across your blog's public column since you got your master's degree, but tonight's gala is the first time you're seeing him face-to-face since your college days—ladies and gentlemen: Sukuna Ryomen, or, better yet, Mr. President.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈 : MIMOSA MONDAYS ▷ preview. would ignoring your work and avoiding paying taxes still be as bad if it meant joining the Mile High Club . . . ? when Sukuna drags you along on a business trip, there's only one way to find out.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : RED LIPS & RED BOTTOMS ▷ preview. to prevent any rumors, you two arrange going on a date—in public, where anyone could see. but, it's also so you two can finally get to know each other better, if that was even possible . . .

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕 : FIRST LADY ▷ preview. years have now passed since that fateful encounter at the gala, and Sukuna's first term as president has come to an end; could the same be said about your fake marriage, though?

nanami had picked up an endearing habit after getting with you. every week whenever he would meet you, he would bring you a bouquet — not those cheap, ordinary flowers from the supermarket but ones from an established florist shop. and with how many times he had frequented, the florist had come to recognise him, greeting him with a warm welcome when he came by.

nanami would pick out each and every flower for your bouquet. he would pick out the prettiest ones, those he thought that were nigh to your beauty — though nothing could ever be in his eyes. soon enough, he was helping the florist with the arrangement of the flowers, putting them in a manner he hoped you would love.

nanami's face would light up every time he presented you with a new bouquet. the sweet, adorable smile that sprawled over your face when he would give them to you made a budding feeling of amour blossom within him — just as how the flowers bloomed in the bouquet. he felt as if they bloomed even more in your presence.

nanami did not care for your protest regarding his newfound habit. you would constantly tell him that he didn't need to do this and that your home was now full of flora and you felt saddened whenever they perished. but he would simply tell you that that was all the more reason to buy more bouquets for you, so that your home would never be without them. and even though you would sigh in exasperation, the delighted glint in your eyes didn't escape him and that was all that mattered.

husband!nanami who is also the father of your 2 children. dated for 6 years and married for 3–you couldn’t ask for anything more.

husband!nanami who is visibly confused during a conversation he had with his colleagues.

nanami usually avoids the break room whilst it was crowded. unfortunately, on a rare day that he’s forgotten to pick up his coffee from his favourite café, he had to walk into a break room full of a bunch of his coworkers talking about their children’s birthdays. they immediately turn to nanami who was standing in the corner and involved him in the conversation.

“it’s my daughter’s birthday soon. yeah i’m probably getting her one of those dolls and shit—she’s turning 5.” the suited up man takes a sip out of his coffee.

nanami nods apprehensively, wishing to leave the room already. “that’s nice. what are you getting for your wife?” he asks.

“what?” all four of his coworkers turned to look at him, and suddenly it felt like an episode of The Voice.

“…don’t you get your wife a gift when it’s your children’s birthdays??” the only time nanami is ever confused is when he does crossword puzzles. this.. is a whole different level.

his coworkers laugh at the absurd statement, some scoff and one pats nanami on the back.

—

nanami drives back home from work but he was more quiet than usual. he would typically turn the radio on and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. the car however was dead silent.

“who doesn’t give their wife a gift..? tch.”

“do these young men even love their wives anymore? eugh.”

“y/n always seems really happy when i give her gifts on the girls’ birthday.. i can’t imagine not giving her any.”

—

he arrives home and parks in the garage, sighing and cracking his back before bursting through the door.

“i’m h—” before he could finish his sentence, his 3-year-old twin girls came running to hug him.

“daddy! daddy! you’re home!” they giggle and cling onto his legs as nanami leans over to place his hand on your back and kiss your lips. “hello my darlings,” he smiles.

“you’re home early.”

“just missed my girls a lot.”

—

it’s 11pm. the kids are asleep and you’ve done your skincare, the night lamp on as you lay in bed with your husband.

as you snuggle under the sheets, you suddenly feel big arms snake around your torso. you giggle and pull them closer to you before deciding to turn around and face the man beside you. you lay your head on his chest and he immediately caresses your back.

“my love?” nanami speaks up.

“yeeeees?” you sing. he holds you tighter now, before uttering: “you know how i give you a gift for the girls’ birthday?”

you smile softly at the memory—how could you forget? every birthday for three years, he always manages to surprise you with a gift. he treasures the day dearly. it’s your daughters’ birthday but it’s your birth-day.

“i just found out that not every father does that. at least.. my coworkers don’t.” you look up at him now, seeing his scrunched eyebrows and solemn pout—you can already tell it bothers him. “it’s absurd, isn’t it? what do you think?”

you hum, your eyes never leaving his expression. “to be honest, i’ve never witnessed someone do what you do. it’s not exactly common practice,”

nanami sighs, “i guess you’re right. i just love you so much, you know? i’ll keep showing my appreciation on the day that means a lot to me, to us. it’s the day we became a family and i.. i want to make sure you know how important you are, too.” his voice is soft, as though he's been carrying this thought for a while. you blink, the weight of his words settling in your chest. he doesn't say it often, but when he does, it’s clear he means every syllable.

a small laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity. “i know, baby. and i’m thankful for it, for you.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as if he’s trying to hold on to the moment. “me too, darling. more than you’ll ever know.”

͙͘͡★ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws & @cafekitsune 👔

baby daddy!sukuna aesthetic:

readers aesthetic:

coupled up!

you've got a text! looks like you're about to spend your summer on everyone's favorite trashy reality dating show searching for love (...or that cash prize at the end) will a certain pretty (annoying) blue-eyed boy catch your attention? or perhaps his dark-haired best friend? it seems this villa has a few bombshells in store too!

pairings: Gojo x Reader, Geto x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Choso x Reader

content: MDNI, fluff and smut and light angst, making out, piv sex, handjobs, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), threesome, silly summer fun, references to reality tv tropes ofc, lots of games/challenges inspired by love island, secondhand embarrassment, jealousy, evil TV show producers (cough gege cough), misc random jjk pairings as background couples, lots of teasing and tension, friends-to-lovers, exes-to-lovers, you name it, it's probably here lol

episode guide

one | two | three | four | five | six

seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve

thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen | eighteen

nineteen | twenty | twenty-one | twenty-two | twenty-three | twenty-four

audience participation required!

polls will go up to determine who goes on dates and challenges with our reader - it's up to you to decide who gets sent home or who gets saved at the end of certain episodes! first poll posted here, future polls will all be tagged with #re: coupled up! <3

creds: gorgeous art by @baobei-bu and divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hair— a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but it’s hard not to, it’s a rare hair color. it’s not until the baby’s mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

notes: im very excited to announce this upcoming one-shot as a part of @indiewritesxoxo friday night flicks event! the release date is still tba and im limiting the tag list to 50, but i’ll definitely be giving updates throughout the writing process ❤️

"i told you not to lie down on the floor with them." you watched as your husband struggled to get little tsumiki to let go of his hair, while megumi decides on climbing his father's back.

"don't ya scold me, woman. i didn't ask for this."

"you definitely were when you decided to get me pregnant."

he doesn't reply, only glaring at you while still trying to get tsumiki to let go.

"pa... pa-paaa..." his little girl babbles, letting go of his hair only to grasp his shirt, putting it in her mouth and starting to chew on it.

he smiles in adoration, rubbing tsumiki's back with his large hand and reaching behind to prevent megumi from falling. he looks up at you, admiring you while you rub your swollen belly.

"y'so pretty, mama." he spoke, and the baby in his arms latches away from his shirt, looking up at her father and at you with her big round eyes.

toji looks down at his baby girl with a small smile, "mama's pretty, ain't she, baby? hm?"

"ma-ma..." tsumiki coos, flashing you a gummy smile.

"aww, my baby!" you sniffled, trying to get up to hug your baby and stop your tears.

"ah, ah. no. don't even." toji stops you, sighing in relief when megumi finally decides to get off his back, only to run towards you.

"mama!" megumi exclaims, resting his head on your belly. you smiled, ruffling his hair.

oh, how you cherished moments like these with your little family.

can someone help me find this one fic😭 it was a nanami fic and he was readers’ neighbor. I remember the readers ac broke so she went for a swim at nanamis house????

cannibalism. gojo satoru

fluff ‐ parents au. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerers au, slice of life, mom!reader, unnamed 2yo son (no eldest nor baby gojo cameo). inspired by that tiktok >⩊<

little sunshines au

"i think it's time."

your husband's tone has you placing your book down on your lap at the concerning amount of seriousness seeping from it. it's unusual to hear him (or see him) this humorless, so your heart sinks a little in panic.

"wha–"

the words die down in your mouth when he pushes your youngest son forward.

"repeat what you said."

your son's blue eyes glance at his dad, doubtful, before switching to you.

"what's mochi?"

satoru lets out a disappointed sigh, rubbing his temples as he seems to need a moment to collect himself. but all you can seem to convey is confusion, your toddler looking back and forth between you and your husband, not understanding what's going on.

"explain to me how a child of mine does not know what mochi is." satoru walks in circles around the living room before stopping abruptly with an accusatory finger pointed at you. "this is–"

"satoru gojo, don't point your finger at me."

"yes. sorry, honey." he immediately drops his arm and pouts. "when he thought his name was mochi, I thought it was hilarious. it was cute! but this?"

ignoring the weird rant from your husband, you pull your son closer and offer the explanation he's waiting for.

"it's a sweet treat." you say softly, his little mouth parting in understanding. "but papa and I call you and your siblings 'mochi' because we think it's cute."

"swee-tree!" he claps enthusiastically, a happy grin on his face.

he knows what a sweet treat is. he makes sure to pout extra extra hard to get his dad to give him an extra cookie for snack time.

craddling your son in your arms, you head to the kitchen and get the mochi from the freezer, leaving a sulking satoru behind.

"this... is mochi."

the powdery ball of rice sits on the palm of your hand like an offering to your toddler, his gaze curious before breaking into a cheeky grin.

"me!"

he leans forward, and you watch his baby teeth sink into the soft exterior, the mochi melting around his parted lips. the taste quickly hits his taste buds, and the reaction is immediate: an expression full of awe that you've never seen before on him—you can even see his pupils dilating.

"woah..." a mere whisper, but it's heavy with the innocence of child-like wonder.

"is it good?"

"yummy!" he bites again, his little face brightening up with each bite. "mochi loves mochi, mama."

your heart grows warm at his silly words, wondering how come you never thought of this before. your eldest tried it years ago, before your toddler was born, so it must've slipped your mind.

fed up with being left behind, satoru joins you in the kitchen and butts in, staring at the box of mochi with stars in his eyes as he reaches for one.

"can I try?" the question is clearly rethoricall since he takes the bite-sized mochi in his mouth without waiting for a reply.

but your little one squeals in horror, his chubby little hands closing around the fabric of your shirt and looking shaken to the core.

"nooooooo!" he's overcome with despair, dramatically letting his small body fall against your chest as if he just got wounded. he turns to look at you pleadingly, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "papa eat me! papa eat mochi!"

"bwaby–"

satoru is devastated for the rest of the day, your son giving him a nasty side-eye whenever he gets too close to his liking.

your husband tries to reach out to him, wide-eyed and with a mouthful of mochi, only to have your son recoil away from his open arms.

an amused snort escapes you. "yeah... i don't think that's a good idea."

toji fushiguro is not a man of structure.

he sleeps when he’s tired, eats when he’s hungry, and doesn’t bother with trivial things like routines or household organization. his apartment is livable, sure, but it’s clear he doesn’t put much thought into it—clothes draped over furniture, dishes left in the sink, mail stacked haphazardly on the counter. he knows where everything is (more or less), but it’s not exactly functional.

then you move in.

and suddenly, there are little signs of change.

the first time he notices, it’s in the kitchen—his mismatched, barely-there collection of plates and cups has doubled. your things now sit alongside his, an extra coffee mug on the counter, a set of utensils that actually match.

then, in the bathroom—your toothbrush next to his, your skincare products cluttering the sink. it should annoy him, but it doesn’t. if anything, he finds himself lingering there a little longer, just to see the proof that you’re here.

his bed, once a mess of tangled sheets he never bothered to fix, is suddenly made in the mornings. not neatly, not perfectly, but enough that it looks intentional. toji never cared before, but when you crawl into bed at night and sigh, all content and cozy, he thinks… maybe it’s nice.

it’s a slow shift, but he adjusts—without realizing it, without meaning to.

and then one day, you notice.

you’re standing in the entryway, slipping your shoes on, when something catches your eye. a small wooden tray by the door, something you’re sure wasn’t there before.

and sitting inside it—your keys, alongside his.

your breath catches.

toji, already halfway out the door, glances back. “you comin’?”

you don’t answer right away, just staring at the little tray.

“…did you put this here?” your voice is quiet.

he shrugs. “you always lose your damn keys. figured this’d help.”

your eyes burn.

toji sighs. “don’t start crying over a tray.”

but it’s not just the tray. it’s everything—the way he started putting his laundry in the hamper because you do, the way he doesn’t leave dishes in the sink anymore because he knows you’ll wash them if he does. the way he bought an extra blanket because you always get cold, the way he waits to eat if you’re not home yet.

you sniffle. “you changed for me.”

he steps closer, tilting your chin up. “didn’t change, baby. just—” his thumb brushes your cheek. “—made space.”

your lip wobbles. “for me.”

he smirks. “who else?”

and when you throw yourself at him, arms wrapped tight around his waist, toji just chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

ino is hopeless.

nanami knows it. anyone with half a brain could see it—except for ino himself, apparently.

it starts subtly. little things that nanami catches because he’s perceptive, because it’s in his nature to notice details others overlook. at first, it’s harmless: ino’s eyes lingering on you for a beat too long when you speak, the way he straightens up whenever you enter a room, how he suddenly remembers the most trivial of errands whenever you’re around—just so he has an excuse to stay a little longer.

nanami finds it mildly amusing. he’s well aware of how attractive you are, how effortlessly charming, even without trying. it’s only natural that someone like ino, young and overeager, would fall for you.

but then, it escalates.

one evening, you drop by jujutsu high, bringing nanami a homemade meal because you know he’s been too busy to eat properly. you show up in casual clothes—just a simple, fitted sweater and jeans—but the way ino reacts, you’d think you walked in wearing a red carpet gown.

he visibly stiffens when you greet him, gives you a stammered “hey” that’s painfully awkward. nanami, who’s been flipping through reports at his desk, glances up just in time to see the way ino’s gaze flickers down your body before he forces himself to look away.

ah. so that’s where this is going.

ino is crushing, sure, but there’s something else now—something more desperate, more embarrassing. nanami recognizes it instantly, and this time, he does smirk. just a little.

ino, poor fool that he is, doesn’t realize nanami has noticed.

“kento,” you sigh, walking past ino like he isn’t even there. you set the bento box on nanami’s desk, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his temple. “you really need to stop skipping meals.”

nanami catches the way ino’s mouth parts slightly, like the air’s been knocked out of him.

“thank you,” nanami says, calmly, like he hasn’t just witnessed his protégé mentally combust.

“it’s nothing,” you hum, straightening up. “besides, if you keep working late, i’ll just have to start showing up every night.”

ino makes a strangled noise. nanami takes a sip of his coffee, unbothered.

—

later, nanami watches as ino struggles to focus during a sparring session.

it’s bad. the kid’s already a mess under normal circumstances, but today, he’s downright sloppy. his stance is off, his movements sluggish, his strikes lacking any real force. nanami doesn’t have to guess why.

he sees it in the way ino flinches when you walk past the training hall, his shoulders tensing like he’s physically holding himself back from looking. but his restraint only lasts a second—his gaze flickers toward you anyway, like a moth drawn to a flame.

it’s pathetic.

nanami doesn’t even need to move much to dodge the sloppy punch ino throws next, sidestepping effortlessly. ino tries to recover, shifting his weight, but nanami can already tell he’s not putting his full strength into it. he’s distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“you’re unfocused,” nanami states plainly, effortlessly blocking another weak attempt at a strike.

ino exhales sharply, shaking out his arms like that’ll somehow fix his obvious lack of composure. “just—just tired, that’s all,” he says, forcing a weak chuckle.

nanami stares at him, unimpressed.

“tired,” he repeats, tone dry.

ino nods, a little too eagerly. “yeah. long night.”

nanami doesn’t comment. he doesn’t need to. he’s known ino long enough to recognize his poor attempts at deflection. besides, nanami doesn’t have to say anything—not when ino completely exposes himself a second later.

because just as nanami steps forward to counter, you laugh at something in the hallway.

it’s not even loud. just a soft, amused sound, barely audible over the rhythmic thuds of sparring in the dojo. but ino hears it. worse, he reacts to it.

his body goes stiff, his focus snapping completely. nanami sees the exact moment his mind short-circuits—his fists unclenching, his stance faltering, his attention slipping from the fight entirely.

and so, nanami does what any good mentor would do.

he knocks ino flat on his ass.

“fuck,” ino groans, wheezing as he stares up at the ceiling.

nanami looms over him, arms crossed.

“if a simple distraction is enough to take you down, you won’t last long in the field,” nanami remarks coolly.

ino groans again, rubbing his face. “that wasn’t—i didn’t—”

nanami tilts his head. “if you’re tired, you should be able to focus through it,” he continues, watching as ino freezes. “unless, of course, something else is affecting your concentration.”

there it is. the telltale flicker of panic in ino’s eyes.

instead of pressing the issue further, he simply offers a hand. ino stares at it like he expects a follow-up attack, before reluctantly grasping it and letting nanami pull him to his feet.

“let’s go again.” nanami says, adjusting his sleeves.

ino exhales heavily. he nods, but nanami doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker toward the door one last time.

instead of stopping him, nanami lets him suffer through his own turmoil.

—

by the time ino realizes he never had a chance, it’s almost pathetic.

you show up one evening, like always, but this time, you don’t just drape yourself over nanami’s shoulders—you practically melt into him, sighing contentedly as he rests a hand on your hip.

ino looks like he’s about five seconds away from passing out.

it’s honestly impressive—nanami has seen the kid go up against curses twice his level, take hits that should’ve knocked him out cold, but nothing has shaken him quite like this.

the moment you walk in, all warmth and ease as you slide into nanami’s space, ino tenses. nanami doesn’t miss the way his gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his shoulder, fingers curling against the fabric of his suit.

“kento,” you murmur, leaning down just enough that your breath brushes against his ear. “let’s go home.”

nanami hums, his grip on your waist firm as he turns his head slightly, his nose grazing yours before he kisses you—slow and deliberate.

you sigh into it, and nanami uses the moment to deepen the kiss, letting his hand drift lower, just enough to make a point.

when he finally pulls away, he opens his eyes and—ah, there it is.

ino looks wrecked. eyes wide, mouth slightly open, standing there like a man who’s just watched his last shred of hope crumble to dust.

nanami meets his gaze, calm as ever, but there’s something sharp in his expression—something that makes ino straighten up like a scolded dog.

it’s not a threat. not really. nanami doesn’t need to threaten him.

it’s just a simple fact.

you’re his.

and ino? well, ino never had a chance.

—> part two(nsfw).

he thinks he's gonna eat him

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ it’s a beautiful day to save lives ft, satoru gojo

💌 neurosurgeon!gojo headcanons | smut mdni

neurosurgeon!gojo who you meet in a bar on the night before your first day at your new job. you didn’t intend to get as drunk as you did, and you didn’t intend to kiss this really cute guy at the bar, but you more than definitely didn’t intend to bring him back to your apartment

“oh- fuck.”, you whine as he continues pounding into you, his hand wrapped around your neck with the other roughly grabbing onto the plush of your hips. his brows furrowed as he chases both of your highs with his own faint whimpers, his movements just so perfectly hitting your g-spot as you wrap your legs around his waist and throwing your head back because of pure euphoria he was giving you

neurosurgeon!gojo who wakes up in your bed the next morning after you just shook his peacefully sleeping figure awake

“so yeah, you need to leave.”, was the only thing he managed to clock onto after rambling something about being late for your first day of work while he was still figuring out where he was for a second. he thinks you’re cute, though, he’s never had a girl rush to get him out her bed the morning after.

neurosurgeon!gojo who eventually leaves, thinking that was it and you’d never see this ridiculously attractive stranger again

neurosurgeon!gojo who is described as a genius on your first day at work as a surgical intern, as one of the best surgeons in the country, even going as far to say the world. you were so excited to meet and potentially work with him with your interest in neurosurgery, even hoping to specialise in it

neurosurgeon!gojo who makes some time in his busy schedule to talk to all the new surgical inters as head of neurosurgery and give some insight and advice

neurosurgeon!gojo who sees you as he’s talking, getting caught on his words which go unnoticed by absolutely no one as you shrink down in embarrassment, praying he wouldn’t notice you

“oh my god, do you know the dr. gojo?”, one of your fellow interns ask as you feel your face heat up in embarrassment, shaking your head and pretending like you’ve never seen this man, when the night before he was eight inches deep inside you

neurosurgeon!gojo who pulls you to the side with a cheeky grin on his face as he mentions the night before while you stand there awkwardly, you really hoped this wouldn’t affect your job now

neurosurgeon!gojo who shamelessly asks you out to dinner, only to be met with your furrowed brows and stern voice telling him that it was inappropriate. he was basically your boss, who was several years older than you. not to mention that you’d both literally get fired if anyone was to find out

neurosurgeon!gojo who takes your rejection as a game, flirting with you shamelessly any chance he got despite the eye rolls and heavy sighs you meet him with

neurosurgeon!gojo who chases you for the next month, even letting you assist in his surgeries after finding out how interested in neurosurgery you were

neurosurgeon!gojo who you realise isn’t as bad as you originally thought, his cocky demeanour slipping every so often where you see a genuinely selfless and kind hearted man who simply wants to save lives

neurosurgeon!gojo who asks you out for a drink, one drink, he says, simply to celebrate a successful surgery on a case that had a 20% chance of survival after your assist with him

neurosurgeon!gojo who is so delightfully surprised when you say yes, his 30 days of chasing you finally moving in the direction he wanted, even if it was minimal

neurosurgeon!gojo who ends up buying you both multiple drinks, as you knew would happen, the both of you so giggly as you stumble out the bar together

neurosurgeon!gojo who decides to take his chances, the liquid courage hitting his head, and pulls you in slowly as he places a small and sweet kiss on your lips

neurosurgeon!gojo who apologises profusely once he sees your shocked reaction, thinking he’s just fucked up the good night you both were having together

neurosurgeon!gojo who is shut up by you, pulling him down on your level and roughly kissing him again, the previous worries you had before completely gone and the only thing on your mind was him, and the mind blowing sex he gave you the first night you met

“take me home?”, you ask as gojo catches on by the real meaning behind your words, smiling to himself as he nods with butterflies in his stomach. maybe his hard work flirting with you had finally paid off

© cinnamqnx | do not plagiarise or translate any of my work