Jumpinglillies - Hopi

Hello! Can I request a fic where Carlos and reader are in the early stages of their relationship, and he finds out that reader has a cat? (Since we all know how he feels about cats)

CLAWS | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (she/her/Sarah)

Warnings: None

Author’s note: This was such a cute request! Thank you! I hope you like it. I kind of realised while writing this that I’m more of a dog person, but I loved this and now I want a cat. Sorry, this ended up being a bit on the short side.

Masterlist

Carlos hadn't been on a date in what felt like years. The string of awkward silences and forced conversations had left him jaded. So when his friends, bless their persistent souls, convinced him to meet their friend for a blind date, he went in with the enthusiasm of a slug crossing a salt flat.

The tiny Italian restaurant buzzed with conversation, the air thick with the aroma of garlic and basil. Carlos fidgeted in his chair, replaying every embarrassing first-date anecdote in his head. Then, she walked in, a whirlwind of laughter and sunshine in a yellow sundress.

The conversation started easily, like a worn path they'd both walked before. They discovered a shared love of terrible puns and a mutual disdain for reality TV. Before he knew it,  hours had melted away, the clinking of plates replaced by their easy laughter. As Carlos walked her to her car, a warm, unfamiliar feeling bloomed in his chest.  He was surprised, not just by the connection, but by how quickly he let his guard down.  Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't another bad date after all.

Butterflies danced a frantic jig in Carlos's stomach as he pulled into the parking spot behind her car. Three dates, weeks of stolen glances and playful texts, and there he was, parked outside her apartment building. It wasn't a fancy high-rise, but a well-maintained brick building with overflowing window boxes and fairy lights strung across the balconies. A hint of jasmine, maybe from the blooming climbers by the entrance, tickled his nose. He wasn't sure if “coffee” was the only thing brewing tonight, and the uncertainty sent a thrill through him. He took a deep breath, the air thick with anticipation, and stepped out, ready to see what awaited him behind that unassuming door.

Carlos found her waiting by the building's entrance, a curious smile playing on her lips. Together, they navigated the slightly creaky elevator to the fifth floor, the silence comfortable as their hands brushed, sending a spark through him.

Reaching her door, she fumbled slightly with her keys before unlocking it with a laugh. Inside, the warm glow of fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a whimsical light on the room. Carlos's eyes adjusted, taking in the cosy space adorned with mismatched furniture and bookshelves overflowing with novels. Yet, an unexpected detail snagged his attention. Nestled by the doorway sat two small, vibrantly coloured food and water bowls, a splash of lavender against the wooden floor.

Carlos froze, momentarily thrown. Weeks of flirting hadn't prepared him for the realisation that dawned on him slowly. He hadn't considered the possibility of her having a pet, and the bowls, clearly meant for something much smaller than a dog, left him confused. His gaze darted around, searching for a furry companion, but the apartment remained curiously devoid of chewed toys or the telltale signs of a playful canine.  A blush crept up his neck as the truth, both hilarious and slightly embarrassing, began to settle in. These weren't dog bowls – they were for a cat.

Reaching up, she retrieved a kettle from a shelf and filled it with water.  With a practised flick of her wrist, she pulled open a cupboard and retrieved a small, foil pouch adorned with a cartoon cat. With a satisfied smile, she ripped the top open, a pungent aroma of tuna wafting out.  Unaware of the revelation dawning on Carlos, she began meticulously scooping the wet food onto a dish by the door – the very one that had thrown him into a moment of confusion. A strangled laugh escaped Carlos's lips. 

“So, you have a cat?” he asked, the question laced with a hint of amusement that both surprised and relieved him. Sarah's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“I do,” she confirmed, “though she's mastered the art of invisibility apparently.”

“What's, uh, she called?” Carlos continued to probe, his gaze scanning the room for any sign of movement.  He was starting to feel a little foolish for his initial confusion over the bowls.

“You're going to laugh,” she chuckled, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Please tell me it isn't like Carlita, or something like that,” Carlos retorted, trying to regain some composure. He secretly hoped for a normal, elegant cat name.

“When I rescued her, she was so small, we didn't know what her sex was, so I just named her Bean,” she explained, a warm smile gracing her lips.

“Bean?” Carlos asked, almost cackling as he watched her in amazement. The name did not quite match the image he'd conjured. Just then, almost on cue, a tiny, pitch-black cat emerged from under the couch. It wasn't your average house cat – its sleek form and patterned coat were more reminiscent of a miniature leopard. The little feline brushed against Carlos's leg, startling him with a soft purr. Bean, it seemed, was anything but ordinary.

“There she is,” she commented with a delighted giggle as Bean continued to weave her tiny body around Carlos's ankles, purring like a tiny motor. “And, I think she likes you.”

“Mmmh,” Carlos mumbled, his initial surprise morphing into a hesitant amusement. He glanced down at the cat, who tilted her head up at him with wide, emerald eyes. The little panther-like creature paused mid-rub, seemingly evaluating him in return.

Internally, Carlos was waging a battle. Part of him wanted to melt into a puddle at the feline's apparent affection. Cats, especially aloof ones, were notoriously difficult to impress, and here was Bean, practically begging for his attention. The other, more cautious part, was screaming at him to gently shoo the creature away. He wasn't particularly fond of cats –  childhood memories of getting scratched by his neighbour's tomcat were still vivid. Why hadn't Sarah mentioned she had a cat? Not that it was a dealbreaker, but the whole situation felt...unexpected.

Sarah noticed the almost pained expression flicker across Carlos's face.

“I take it you're more of a dog person, huh?” she wondered, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity. Carlos winced internally. He hated to disappoint her, but honesty seemed to be the best policy.

“Yeah,” he finally admitted, offering a sheepish smile. “Cats… not usually my go-to pet.”

A flicker of something akin to disappointment crossed Sarah's features, but it was quickly masked by a determined smile. Was this going to influence their relationship at all? She really liked Carlos, but if her having a cat deterred him so much, perhaps he wasn't the guy for her.  She excused herself to the restroom, needing a moment to take a deep breath. Surely her choice of pet shouldn't be an issue, but a knot of uncertainty tightened in her stomach.

Her brief absence stretched a little longer than expected, leaving Carlos in a peculiar situation. Bean, the tiny panther in disguise, continued her mission of feline affection. With a soft purr that rumbled in his chest, she hopped onto the couch, her gaze fixed on him. Carlos, still wrestling with his internal conflict, sighed helplessly. This wasn't how he envisioned the evening going. Cats, in his experience, were furry bundles of chaos – all claws, hisses, and disdainful glances. Yet, here was Bean, a picture of feline tranquillity, nuzzling his leg and gazing at him with those emerald eyes that seemed to hold a surprising depth.

He hesitantly reached out a hand, prepared for the inevitable withdrawal or worse, a swipe. But to his surprise, Bean leaned into his touch, her tiny body vibrating with contentment as he stroked her soft fur. It was surprisingly pleasant, the gentle rasp against his palm a far cry from the sandpapery texture he remembered from childhood encounters. A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Maybe, just maybe, cats weren't so bad after all.  This Bean, this miniature panther with a heart of gold, was slowly chipping away at his preconceived notions.

A surprised chuckle escaped her lips as she peeked around the corner and saw Carlos, the self-proclaimed dog person, cradling Bean contentedly on his lap. The tiny panther, usually a whirlwind of energy, was nestled against his chest, a rhythmic purr rumbling through her small body. His hand, the one that had hovered hesitantly just moments ago, now stroked her back with a gentleness that surprised even Sarah.

“You're not so bad, Bean,” he whispered to the cat, his voice barely a murmur. “You think your Mom would mind if I called you Chili Bean?”

The question hung in the air for a beat, and then Bean, as if on cue, let out a contented chirp and nuzzled further into Carlos's embrace. A genuine smile bloomed on his face as he continued to stroke her, the warmth of her tiny body radiating against him. Sarah couldn't help but grin. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a dealbreaker after all. In fact, it seemed like Bean had a new favourite human. Sarah's surprise melted into pure delight as she witnessed the unlikely pair cuddled on the couch.

“Look at you two,” she gushed, a wide smile gracing her features. It was astonishing how quickly Carlos and Bean had become comfortable with each other.

“She's the loveliest cat I've ever met,” Carlos admitted, his voice laced with a newfound affection. He stroked Bean's soft fur with his fingertips, his earlier apprehension replaced by a genuine fondness.

“Told you she liked you,” she teased playfully, already heading towards the kitchen to make coffee.  The tension from earlier had dissipated, replaced by a comfortable ease.

“Does her Mom like me too?” Carlos countered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.  He was starting to enjoy this dynamic.

“Her Mom most certainly does,” she confessed with a sheepish grin as she grabbed mugs, "”especially after seeing you with her like that.”

Carlos chuckled, basking in the warmth of the moment. 

“Good, because I've kind of already, sort of, dubbed her Chili Bean and I want to take her home with me,” he blurted out in a rush, causing her to erupt in laughter.

"Problem is, we're a package deal," she countered, her eyes twinkling as she moved to take a seat beside him on the couch.

“That's fine, you can come too,” Carlos retorted with a playful smile. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, the air humming with unspoken possibilities. They settled back onto the couch, content to watch Bean sleep, a tiny ball of fur nestled between them. The evening, which began with an unspoken misunderstanding, had taken an unexpected turn, blooming into something far more promising.

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 😔

Nicole Piastri strikes again

baby daddy!sukuna aesthetic:

readers aesthetic:

"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.

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

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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."

tfw ur wife turns into a cat 🐈 (based on this cute fic by @pseudowho )

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