Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
synopsis. your family said he'd ruin your future, that he was a bad influence, so they separated you from him 'for your own good.' years later, you see him again at college, and he's ... different in ways you don't know how to name.
pairing. r. sukuna x f!reader
content. light angst (i think), fluff, SOFT SUKUNA, sukuna's a bit mean at first tho, reader's family is shit, sukuna has a healthy family (wow), mutual pining, childhood best friends, college au, family pressure ( ÂŽâłïœ), eventual romance. wc 2.7k (shorter than i thought)
⯠this is my first time writing a long oneshot pls dont jump me. i dont really like how i executed it but oohh welll it's already done ( ÂŽâ`) enjoy!! art by 679sora!
The first time you meet Sukuna, he is sitting alone at the playground, knees pulled up to his chest as he plucks at the grass like he has nothing better to do.
You watch him from the swings, letting yourself drift back and forth. The chain creaks soflty in a slow rhythm.
Everything feels quieter today.
Sukuna is still plucking at the grass, piling them on top of his shoes. He doesn't look bored, if anything, he's deeply focused on what he's doing.
Curious, you hop off the swings and start walking toward him.
Up close, you spot bruises on his face and arms. He looks like he's been fighting a lot. He's actually bigger than he seemed from far away, shoulders tight like a coiled spring.
He notices your shadow before he even looks up.
His hands still mid-pluck. Slowly, his eyes lift to your face.
They're red and sharp. "What?" he asks flatly, voice rough for a kid.
You shift your weight, scuffing your shoe against the dirt. "Nothing."
He squints, unconvinced.
"Then why are you here?"
"You looked lonely," the words escape before you can even decide if they're a good idea.
He lifts one eyebrow. "I'm not," he mutters. "Mind your own business."
You snort. "You're sitting in the middle of the playground. That kind of makes it everyone's business."
His head snaps up, eyes narrowing. "Then go away."
"You go away."
"I was here first."
"So?"
"So it's my spot."
Instead of talking back, you plop down across him, close enough to mess up his gathered pile of grass.
"It's our spot now." you declare, satisfied with the incredulous look on Sukuna's face.
He just stares, considering getting up and leave. But then he sighs. "You're annoying," he says.
You grin. "Thanks, i get that a lot."
He frowns, that was not the reaction he expected. But he just shrugs and goes back to plucking at the grass.
"What's your name?" you ask suddenly.
He doesn't answer right away. You start to think he's going to ignore you completely because he hasn't answered for a whole minute.
"For what?" he looks at you skeptically.
You blink. "So i know what to call you, duh."
He snorts softly, like that's a stupid reason. But he tells you anyway. "Sukuna," he mutters.
"Sukuna," you repeat it under your breath, testing the sound of it. Then you tell him your name.
He nods, repeating your name quietly. "That's a good name," he says.
After that, neither of you speaks again.
He stops plucking at the grass and just stares at the small pile for a while. Then he lifts his head, staring at you, who are leaning back on your hands, eyes looking up the sky.
Finally, he speaks up. "You're here alone?"
You shake your head, still looking up the sky. "No, i'm with my mom."
"Cool."
"Not cool," you sigh. "She's always mad about something."
"Huh," he mutters. "Why?"
You just shrug, as if it's normal. "Dunno. It's fine though, i'm used to it."
He frowns, crossing his arms. "Used to it? No one should be used to that."
You can't help a small laugh. "You sound mad."
"'m not," he admits quietly. "Its just weird."
"Don't think much about it, 'kuna. you'll get gray hairs!"
He lifts an eyebrow at the nickname, but he doesn't say anything about it. Just as he opens his mouth, someone yells your name.
You turn your head abruptly, narrowing your eyes as you see your mom striding toward you. Her jaw set so tight you're afraid it might snap.
"There you are!" She shouts.
Your mom's hands clamped onto your shoulders like a vice. She looks at Sukuna with a judgemental squint.
"I told you not to wander off," she hisses, her fingers locking around your upper arm. "And not to play with someone who doesn't know basic mannersâlook at you, you got your clothes dirty!"
She doesn't wait for you to answer. She pulls you upward, forcing you to stand. You look back at Sukuna as your mom drags you away. He looks genuinely baffled, still crouching with his pile of grass on his shoes.
The distance grows quickly, your mom's shadow looming over you. You glance back one more time and yell out. "I'll see you tomorrow, 'kuna!"
Sukuna blinks in surprise, staring at you for a moment. Then he nods slowly, like it's a promise.
You stumble forward, the force of your mom's grip makes you wince, but Sukuna's nod lingers in your mind. You're gonna make sure you'll see him tomorrow.
.âïž ĘË
Sukuna's back at home, the memory of you still lingers in his head. He couldn't forget the way you talked, how curious you were about him, and the way your eyes were full of resentment when your mom came.
"Sukuna, are you okay?"
That question snaps him out of his trance. He looks up from his plate, meeting his dad's eyes.
"Uh, yeah," he mutters. "It's just that i met a girl i met at the playground today."
His mom jumps in, excitement in her voice. "Really? What is she like? Is she nice?"
Sukuna stays quiet for a beat, nodding slowly. "She's a curious one, but she's nice. Her mom, however.." He lets the sentence trail off.
He sighs before continuing. "I don't know, maybe she's in a bad mood. She was a bit harsh on her earlier."
His parents share a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. After a pause, his dad speaks softly. "You should be friends with her."
"Why should i?" He frowns slightly.
"She might need friends, 'kuna." his mom adds, gently brushing Sukuna's hair back.
The conversation goes on for a while before Sukuna eventually wanders off to his room. Sunglight pools across his floor as he drops onto his bed.
He tells himself that he doesn't care about you. But the interaction at the playground keeps replaying on his mind.
Meanwhile there's you, sitting on the edge of your bed, hands clenched on your lap.
Voices rise downstairs. Sharp, loud, and angry in a way that they've stopped trying to keep it quiet. Your name slips once, the sound tight and even more angry.
You stare at the floor, heart pounding. You promised yourself that you'd see Sukuna tomorrow. No matter what your parents say.
Downstairs, the argument keeps going.
.âïž ĘË
You go back the next day.
He's already there, sitting in the same spot. Instead of tearing up grass, he brought snacks this time. He glances up when you approach, his guarded expression melting into something softer when he sees you.
After that day, it becomes a routine.
You go there almost every day without your parents knowing. Some days you talk, some days you don't, just enjoying each other's company. Sometimes you argue over nothing, share snacks, or trade small observations about anything around you.
When you ask about his bruises, he tells you they're from sparring at his martial arts class after school. Then he starts showing them off, insisting they're 'cool.'
It feels like your own small world.
Until it isn't.
Your parents finally catch you playing with Sukuna one afternoon, their footsteps cutting across the playground.
Your dad calls your name, sharp enough to make you flinch.
The happiness drains from your face the moment you see them.
Your body goes rigid, fingers tightening in the grass. Without warning, your dad grabs you roughly and pulls you back, making you grimace in pain.
Sukuna's on his feet instantly.
"Heyâ" the word tears out of him. "Let go of her!"
Your mother shoots him a look so cold it could freeze the air.
"Stay away from her," she snaps. "She doesn't need a friend with no manners like you."
"Whaâ"
"Don't act like you don't know," she scoffs. "She comes here without our permission, you probably encouraged it."
Sukuna blinks, stunned by the accusation. "I didn't make her do anything!" his hands shaking from how hard he's clenching it. "She wanted to come."
"Our daughter would never do that if there's no one encouraging her," your mom laughs condescendingly. "You're a bad influence."
The word lands like a slap on the face.
Sukuna just stands there. Not yelling, not fighting, just looking at you, hurt flickering in his eyes.
After a moment, your parents pull you away from him.
You twist in their grip, trying to look back at him. He's standing there with his fist clenching, looking at you like he doesn't understand why you're being taken away from him.
Your dad's hand tightens, forcing you forward.
And just like that, Sukuna sees you for the last time.
The next day, he comes to the playground, but you don't.
Seconds pass, then minutes, then hours. You still don't come. Sukuna doesn't move. The snack beside him sits unopened, already forgotten.
Footsteps crunch on the gravel. He looks up immediately, hoping it was youâbut it's not. It was one of the adults in the neighborhood.
"Hey, kid," they say gently. "You shouldn't wait here."
"Why not?" He frowns.
The adult hesitates, then sigh. "Her parents.. they don't want her coming here anymore."
"They said she won't be playing with you again."
The words doesn't make sense.
"What do you mean?"
"They think you're a bad influence," They add quietly. "they said you're bad for her future, so they're keeping her away. For good."
Sukuna doesn't answer. He just stares at the ground, jaw tight. After a long moment, he grabs the snack beside him and shove it into his bag, movements angry.
"Thanks," he says to the adult quietly.
Then he turns and walks away without looking back.
He doesn't come back the next day, or the day after that. The playground remains the same, the swings creak softy, the grass still flattened where you used to sit together, as if nothing important just ended.
.âïž ĘË
Years slip by, old memories softening into something easier to ignore.
You're in college now, living alone, finally far away from your parents.
The days blur into lectures, assignments, projects, and part-time work. It's not really exciting but at least it's peaceful.
Your last class just finished, and students scramble out of the room. Laughter echoes down the hallway, conversation overlap, you move with the crowd, already thinking going back to your apartment.
But you see a familiar silhouette leaning against a pillar, talking to someone. Tall, broad shoulders, and what's thatâtattoos?
Your steps falter, breath catching in your throat. He turns slightly to your direction, as if sensing weight of your gaze.
For a moment, you only see his profile. Sharper, older, unfamiliar in any ways.
Then he turns fully.
He squints, then his eyes widen just a fraction, your name almost forming on his lips.
He stops before it comes out. He just stares at you, his expression guarded, as if he's putting up a wall.
But then he strides toward you, each steps confident and unmistakeable.
Panic flares in your chest. You look around for some sort of escape, but there's nowhere to go. When you look forward again, he's already in front of you.
"You," he says flatly. "what are you doing here." It doesn't even sound like a question.
"H-huh?" you stutter. "Oh, uh.. i study here."
His eyes narrow, sharp and unblinking, studying you. "Do you even remember me?"
"...Sukuna, right?"
"Right," he snorts. "how long has it been? Ten years?"
You nod, shame flooding your chest. It's been ten whole years you last saw him, and you can't even bring yourself to look at his face after that one day.
"...Let's go somewhere quieter." He takes your hand gently, a stark contrast to everything you've felt these past years.
He leads you to the quiet park behind the campus. The chirping birds and the rustle of leaves do little to soothe the tight knot in your chest.
He let go of your hand and turns around. The air between you is heavy, thick with words that neither of you know how to start with.
"How's your life? Did it get any better without me in it?" he asks bitterly, the question coming out harsher than he intended.
You gulp and let out a shaky exhale. "Noâ"
"Do you still let your mom control everything in your life? Or do they still think i'm a bad influence for you, that i'll ruin your future?"
You squeeze your eyes shut at the train of question, chest tight, every unsaid word for the past ten years pressing down on you. With a trembling breath, you finally look up at him.
"N-no.. not anymore," you say, voice shaky. "I left home last year, and i don't... i don't know what they think about you now. They probably don't remember you.."
Sukuna's eyes soften slightly, the usual sharpness fading into something almost fragile. He leans back slightly, letting out a almost inaudible sigh.
"I still think about you, y'know. All these ten years, i still hoped you'd come back to me."
His admission makes your eyes widen in surprise. You swallow hard, your chest tightening at his words.
"I'm sorryâ"
"Don't," he cuts you off. "don't apologize for something that's not your fault."
You blink, caught off guard by the his firmness in his tone.
"I feel like i should've apolâ"
"It's not your fault," he repeats, looking away in frustration. "you were just following what your parents said, you had no choice."
At that moment, you notice something different about him. He's softer now. He's still a bit harsh like when he was kid, yes, but he's more gentler around the edges.
"I wanted to reach out to you," you say suddenly, making his head snap back at you. "saw my friend's instagram photo, and there you were. I clicked on the tagged account, i even had the courage to message you, but i was... a coward."
Sukuna looks at you, and without thinking, he brushes a strand of your hair back. You can feel heat creeping up your cheek at the contact.
"Coward?"
"Mhm, because of that day," you explain, voice barely a whisper. "i saw the hurt in your eyes when my mom talked badly about you.. and i thought you hated me."
He exhales slowly, a small, almost sad smile tugging on his lips.
"I missed you," he says. "i still buy your favorite snacks, still going to the playground when i have free time, though you won't be there."
"So how could i ever hate you?"
Your heart pounds loudly in your chest. The tension of the past ten years still lingers, but seeing his soft eyes, it feels... warm.
"I missed you too," you finally admit, voice quiet. "we were something, don't you think?"
"Something?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Y'know... we were best friends. But they had to ruin it all."
Sukuna laughs, low and soft, the sound carrying a mixture of relief and fondness. "You're implying we're not best friends anymore?"
"What?! No! i mean.. are we?" You stammer, cheeks heating.
Sukuna tilts his head, a teasing glint in his softened eyes. "Of course we are," he says quietly. "Unless.. you want us to be more than best friends?"
"Huh?!" Your voice suddenly squeaks. "Oh, sorryâ i mean, huh? but we're best friendsâ"
Sukuna smirks, a teasing glint in his eyes. He loves how flustered you are over his words.
"Best friends, yes," he says slowly. "But doesn't mean we can try for more, if you want."
You bite your lip, trying to calm your pounding heart. "I never thought about it," you admit. "I don't know if i'm ready.."
Sukuna leans in a little closer, hands brushing yours before holding it. "Hey," he murmurs. "We can take it slowly, no rush at all."
"We just met after ten years," he smirks faintly. "We'll have to get used to each other again, won't we?"
"Yeah.. i guess we do," you say, glancing at him and meeting his gaze steadily. "It'll take a little time, but i'm glad i get to see you again."
He notices your steady voice, and a satisfied smile spreads on his face
"Good," he chuckles softly. "Just know that we'll get through everything, yeah? No running away again from me."
"I won't," you reply, chuckling despite yourself. "Promise, 'kuna."
The nickname makes him smile even wider. His hand lifts, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and you can't help but lean in to his touch.
"You know," he starts. "I still care for you, and i will.. forever."
synopsis âËàż (hockey AU) ex bf toji finds out naoya is cheating on reader so he beats his ass during their match just for you!
tags || cheating, jealousy, toxicity, swearing, ex back to (maybe) lovers, includes texting screenshot, etc.
authors note: this was an idea i got from @bellursjournal on tiktok and i was pondering if i should release my writing to the world and decided on it đ„č this is my first post/debut on tumblr so i hope this is a good first impression. id love any feedback or comments in general so yeah, sorry about this yap. good reading!!
Naoya hadnât always been the best boyfriend. Not ever, actually. His usual behavior of constantly calling you a âbitch,â leaving without telling you where he was headed, and even talking shit about you to his friends.
The only pro in his long list of cons was the late nights where he finally gave you attention. And, of course, the fact that he played hockey. You couldnât lie, the way he handled himself out on the ice was a turn on.
Not to mention, your dating history with hockey players.
Your previous relationship with Toji was⊠something. You two never really had good moments nor memories of it. They barely lasted. Barely even happened. But when they did, it was so good.
It had been three years though. You have a new boyfriend now. Naoya isnât the best, but at least heâs there.
· · â ·ÊÉ· â · ·
âYou swear we ainât going for drinks after this?â Toji questioned lazily, leaning against the locker roomâs wall. His skates were already on, his hands holding the large helmet on his spread lap.
Satoru, his teammate, let out a laugh. âAll you care about is chicks and drinks. Got no more hobbies.â He replied with his usual smile, lacing up his own skates.
âIâm here for a reason, arenât I?â Toji grumbled, standing up. âYouâre so goddamn slow.â He murmured, walking past the open door and out to the rink to begin practice.
They had a big game against another home team in a few weeks. Since the two teams were both around the same area, the biggest rink would usually be tightly packed with reservations.
Of course, the past two hours had been reserved for the opposing team. Great.
Swaggering to the emptying rink, his eyes had caught a dirty blondeâs head.
âThat bitch doesnât know shit,â Naoya remarked haughtily to someone over the phone. âLong as she shows up looking pretty and keeps her mouth shut, I dont care.â
Naoya? Toji swore that was y/nâs new boyfriend. His body stiffened and steps slowed just to eavesdrop.
âRelax, itâs only been a week and she doesnât know anything.â Naoya grinned at the thought of his other side chick. âSheâs got nothing better to do anyway. You know how females are.â
Tojiâs jaw suddenly clenched. He must be talking about you.
Just hearing your beautiful name slip through Naoyaâs mouth like that made him want to put his fist through his face. He mightâve screwed up before, but heâd never talk about you like that.
God, he needed to walk away before he got caught. He pushed himself to continue moving at normal pace, sliding into the rink with an irritated huff.
That son of a bitch.
Maybe it was his anger. Maybe it was the acknowledgement that deep inside, he still needed you. He just needed a way to release bottled emotions.
Right?
ËáŻœ ĘË· â
Finally, after another long day of stressful practice, Toji slumped against his old, raggedy couch. With a groan, his eyes drifted to the ceiling.
He should text you. Definitely.
Okay, maybe not.
Fuck it, heâs a grown man. Heâs had plenty of exes.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the contacts. There you were. Despite his put-up front, his stomach churned in what could be called anxiety.
Tojiâs lips pulled themselves up into a smirk. He felt relief. Relief that maybe he could have a second chance.
· · â ·ÊÉ· â · ·
Nervousness swam in Tojiâs body as he scanned the masses of people filling the arena. Voices blended into chatter and excitement. It was a game, of course the crowd was going loud.
Still, he couldnât find the one face that always caught his eye.
Sliding into position, Toji tightened his grip around his hockey stick as the countdown began.
Now, his main focus was on that bastardâs face.
One⊠two⊠threeâ
Game.
The whistle cut through the arena like a gunshot. The two players at the face off lunged forward for the puck, the small black disk shooting toward Tojiâs side of the rink.
Toji took off immediately, his skates carving sharply into the ice. A familiar grin slowly tugged at his lips.
This was where he was at his best.
This was his passion, after all.
Over the past few days, the whole situation had brought up so much memories. They stirred up an emotion he hadnât felt in a long time.
Love.
Whether you were somewhere in the crowd tonight or not, Toji had already decided one thing.
He was going to win.
For you.
A pass shot toward him from one of his teammates, and Toji caught it smoothly, guiding the puck under the firm control of his stick as he pushed forward across the ice.
The rest of the game went on like a regular game. Hard and competitive. It was only until the last few minutes and a tie that had increased Tojiâs adrenaline.
Heart pounding, he dodged two opponents in front of him towards the goal. From a short distance, he recognized that figure immediately.
Naoya stood in a defensive position in front of the goalie. His expression could only be described as something of pride.
Toji didnât fall for it, though. The next ten seconds was a blur. Their face off too quick to comprehend at first glance.
Everyone was silent. The two hockey sticks battled for control untilâŠ
âGOAAALLL
Burst through the speakers from the caster.
Toji couldnât express how good it felt seeing Naoyaâs conceited smile drop. And of course, the whole stadium exploded in cheering.
He didnât even have to scan the crowd again.
Your eyes met. It was like he could finally breathe again.
Before he could hold himself back, a satisfied smirk painted his lips.
The cute nerd in your class is obsessed with Digimon. What happens when you 'accidentally' ragebait him?
Tags: MDNI/18+ only, fluff, Nerdjo being a nerd (no way), college au, Nerdjo has piercings, semi-public sex (it's in a classroom), creampie, cum-eating.
Art by aliyartss on X.
Nerdjo always has his headphones on, during lectures, during lunch; hell he even wears them in his bedroom when one of his frat brothersâyes he's in a frat, so what?âbrings over someone and proceeds to pound the poor girl into oblivion the next room over.
Nerdjo knows he's attractive. Which is why it doesn't surprise him when yet another girl awkwardly stands by his desk. Twiddling her thumbs and biting on her cheekâ she's probably waiting for him to remove his headphones, which he does with a sigh.
âYes?â he asks, voice flat.
She jumps a bit at him. âOh! I- uhh,â she stutters, words tripping over themselves. Taking a breath, she continues. âI saw your laptopâsorry that sounds weird, I promise I'm notâ I sit behind you! That's why I saw itââ
Nerdjo slowly raises a brow. That's... not how he expected this to start. âAnyway, I saw your laptop, and like, those are Pokemon or something, right? My friends talk about them from time to tiââ
Nerdjo gasps. Like, full-on volume clutching-his-pearls gasp. She did not just compare Digimon to Pokemon. The volume startles you a bit. Your eyes slowly widening. You clamp your mouth shut. The two of you just staring at each other for a beat. Then you open your mouth again, âSorry, did I say something weird?â
Nerdjo almost hisses the next few words to you. âThese are Digimon. Do not, ever, compare them to Pokemon.â
You tilt your head at him. Then look at his laptopâwhich still has a page open, a list of creatures filling the screen. âThey're not the same?â you whisper hesitantly, almost as if you're afraid of saying something dumb.
Nerdjo has to refrain himself from shouting at you that they're not. Instead, he pulls you into the unoccupied seat next to him. Then starts his rant about Pokemon and Digimon. How they get confused often because they're both about collecting the little 'creatures'âas you called themâand how the creatures can grow stronger in both games (and animeâ but he decides that's a topic for a different conversation another time), but that's about it. He goes into depth about Digimon. How they're digital lifeforms.
âSo there are these Digivicesâlike little handheld devices, I guessâwhere you raise a Digimon by feeding and training it. Oh! And it can also fight other Digimon. So likeââ
You gasp at him, cutting him off with a snap of your finger. âLike those little fuckass eggs from when we were kids. Uhhhh... those, Tama... Toma... Tomaguchi's?â
Nerdjo has to take a deep breath. He's going to explode otherwise. First Pokemon and now Tamagotchi. He wants to rip his hair out of his head. Grab you by your shoulders and shake you.
âTamagotchis,â he starts slowly, voice almost a growl. âare virtual pets. But that's about it. There's no fighting, no evolution. Zero plot or narrative. You just fed the damn thing!â He's got his hands on his head now, leaning forward. âThey're glorified little electronic babysitters, not actual creatures. Honestly, it's like calling a rock a pet.â Before he can continue, he gets cut off. The professorâprofessor Yagaâstands with his hands on his hips. Like a stone wall that's unwilling to move.
âNice of you two to join us today. Anything you want to share with the class?â he grumbles in that deep tone of his.
Nerdjo only shakes his head. He can see your face burn up from his peripheral. The rest of the class is staring at the two of you; some are whispering and snickering at each other. The rest of the lecture is spent in silence. No more Digimon, Pokemon, Tamagotchi â or whatever else you could come up with to compare Digimon with.
Nerdjo doesn't see you in any of his other classes. His heart somehow feeling heavy. Stupid thing. Just because someone showed genuine interest in his 'nerdy hobby' doesn't mean the two of you are friends or something. Plus you make his blood pressure spike through the roof. All the ridiculous comparisons you made, but then again, you didn't seem like you knew better.
Nerdjo who is somehow excited when he sees you two days later. You're scribbling something in your notebook. He sits down next to you like this is normal. He sees you side-eye him, then turn back to your work. Only for you to do a double take a second later.
âOh! Gojo. Whatâre you doing here?â
He leans his cheek onto his fist. ââThought we should continue our conversation from last time,â he explains. You close your notebook, attention fully on him. And so he begins, this time about the anime. Gesturing wildly, he pulls a few laughs out of you.
It becomes a small little ritual. Just before the lecture begins he tells you about Digimon. You always ask him thingsâmost of which he already explained, more than once, but would happily explain again. You always lean in close, close enough for him to catch a whiff of your vanilla scented perfume. He also notes the way your top practically leaves nothing to the imagination when you sit like thatâbut he doesnât let his eyes linger too long, instead he continues talking about Digimon. (Fucking nerd.)
Nerdjo brought his Digivice today. He wants to actually show you. Properly. No more fleeting conversations before the lecture starts. No, showing you would be much easier. And maybe you'll finally remember something. Seriously, the amount of times he's had to re-explain things is starting to get ridiculous. One more weird comparison to something else and he's going to lose it. He'll... He'll... Uuuuhhh... Yeah he isn't sure what he's going to do just yet, but he'll do something.
Nerdjo hears you approachâfamiliar footsteps approaching his deskâand snaps his head up. A small smile graces his face when he sees you. You smile back at him, and just when you're about to flop into your seat next to himâbag hitting the ground with a thudâyou point at his Digivice.
âOh, you're playing with your little creature! Taking him for a walk. God you're such a good monster dad,â you coo at him.
That's it. He's done.
Nerdjo stands up abruptly, his chair clattering to the ground. It makes you jumpâeyes wide, mouth slightly parted. You're about to say something, probably ask him if he's okay, when he grabs you by the wrist and drags you out of the lecture.
Nerdjo has his lips pressed in a thin line. Weeks of explaining Digimon to you. Weeks of you forgetting a lot of the things he's told you. Weeks of you leaning in close to himâyour vanilla perfume filling his senses and your tits nearly spilling out of that low-cut topâwhile you listened so earnestly to him.
Opening the door to an empty classroom, he shoves you inside before closing the door behind him with a click!
Nerdjo doesn't say anything when you ask him what this is about. Doesn't say anything when he closes in on youâwho keeps backing up until your legs hit the desk behind you. Your hands planted on the desk. He walks until his feet touch yours and slowly leans over you. Both hands on the desk, caging you in.
âA good monster dad, huh? How many more times do I have to explain things to you until your pretty little head finally gets it?â he asks, voice cold.
You gulp at him, legs pressing together.
Nerdjo notices. Of course he does. Eyes flitting down to them before slowly looking up at you again. There's a rosy hue to your cheeks now. You're very deliberately not looking at him.
âOh?â he murmurs, voice borderline cruel. âYou're getting off on this?â
When you don't answer him, he turns you around. Chest shoved to the desk. You gasp out at the sudden movement.
Nerdjo feels himself get hard. One of his fingers trails down your leg while he leans his broad chest over your back. His lips trail against the shell of your ear. âAnswer me,â he murmurs, breath ghosting your ear.
âYes,â you squeak out.
Nerdjo tuts at you. All condescending. âYes, what?â âYes, I'm getting off on this.â He rewards you by finally letting his finger ghost over your panties, and fuck you're soaked. You weren't lying that you were getting off on this. He presses his finger down on your clit, the fabric between giving you some extra friction. You yelp out at the sensation, hands clawing at the desk.
Nerdjo flips over your skirt next. A groan rips from his throat. You're wearing blue panties. His cock stirs in his slacks. Fuck. âThis for me?â he asks.
âMhmmm,â you nod in confirmation.
Nerdjo slams into you from behind not even five minutes later. His fingers barely a warm-up for the way his thick cock stretches you out. He's not doing this to reward you, after all. His hips pummel into yours with harsh thrusts, fat tip hitting your cervix repeatedly. The desk wobbles, the force of his thrusts making it screech in protest.
Your hand comes down to your clit before he grabs it and forces it behind your back.
âWho said you could touch yourself?â he grunts. Your walls clamping down on him deliciously.
You whine out, tears gathered in your eyes. âJus' wanna cum,â you sob.
âJus' wanna cum,â he mocks. Speeding up, he presses his chest to your backâyour arm wedged between. âYou'll cum when I want you to.â
Nerdjo bullies your G-spot. You clamp down on him when he hits it for the first time. âF-fuck baby, just like that. Wanna milk me dry, huh? See how good of a dad I really am? Thaaat's it. Dirty lil' slut wants to be full of my cum,â he bottoms out, abs flexing, eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Thick seed painting your walls. You whine when he pulls out.
Nerdjo sinks to his knees. Prying open your swollen lips with both thumbs, he watches the way his cum bubbles out of your abused little hole.
âS'toru what're youââ you gasp out when he leans forward and slurps the mixture of the two of you righttt out of you. His lip ring cold against you. He licks one broad stripe from yourâstill leakingâhole to your twitching, swollen little bud. You claw at the desk because you feel something cold right against your clitâ where Gojo is making out with your cunt right now.
âY-you haveânnghhâa tongue piercing?â You turn your head to look behind you.
Nerdjo grins at you, lips and chin slick. He sticks his tongue out. A shiny, little barbell resting in the middle of it. Returning to your cunt, he kisses it once before swirling his tongue on your little clit. More cum oozes out of you.
Nerdjo feasts on your cunt. He's completely lost in the way the two of you taste together. Tongue-fucking you, he thumbs your clit. Without so much as a warning, you come â squirting right on his face. It splashes against his glasses. Hips bucking wildly against the desk.
Nerdjo massages your thighs while you come down from your high. Pressing a few kisses up them, he slowly stands again. You push yourself upright, fix your panties and skirt, and look up at him. âTook you long enough,â you murmur.
Nerdjo smiles softly down at you. Wait, what? A look of confusion slowly takes over his features. âYou wanted this to happen?â he asks. You start laughing at him then, legs still wobbling slightly. âI might've done some research on Digimon before walking up to you that first time.â
Nerdjo gapes at you. âYou asked all those questions to, what, get a rise out of me?â You put your hair behind your ear. âMhmmm, though I thought you would've caught on earlier, to be honest.â You slowly walk to the door. Turning around, you walk backwards. âWell, c'mon. I'll buy you that Porcupamon plush you've been raving about.â
Nerdjo who can't believe he got ragebaited into fucking you. You're a fucking minx. With a shake of his head, he jogs up to you. Well, at least he got something out of it.
a/n: and that, ladies n gents, is how you ragebait a nerd into fucking you. Like always, constructive criticism is welcome.
You've been through a very, very bad accident that left you in a six month coma from which you just woke up. You're alive, you're back! Except you have no memory of anything. Your parents are elder and live in another state, the nurses inform you, and the only person able to take you in is none other than your husband. You're married, by the way. Now you're going through the process of learning, once again, how to be you while trying not to lose this version of yourself.
A word. A smell. The way your hand reaches for the light switch with the back of your knuckles because you once smudged something with your palm and hated the streak.
You write jobs in a note on your phone â nursery helper? shelving, organizing? temp front-desk? â and the list sits there like a polite guest.
Your last office is a door you wonât reopen.
Your chest loosens a fraction just admitting that.
The rest will happen later.
Some afternoons you open the door nobody uses and stand in the threshold until your ribs stop trying to climb your spine. The room is clean by intent, not denial.
A low hook by the entrance
A faint pale stripe on the wall where a poster used to be.
Boxes stacked in a line like an agreement.
You pick one, slide it down to the floor, kneel.
Top layer â a paper crown, bent once and fixed with tape.
A shirt with seven puffy letters ironed crooked.
A drawing of three figures with long arms and sharp teeth â he looks like himself that way â and stick crowns floating above heads.
A handful of glitter stars that fuse to your finger pads even after months in a box.
A tiny sneaker with a chewed lace.
You press the crown to your hair out of instinct.
It wants to stay.
You let it.
Sometimes nothing comes.
Sometimes a flash strikes, clean and quick â you at the sink counting to ten because she demanded proof that pain gets bored, her voice reciting the wrong lyrics with pride, him bending all the way down to hear a whisper at knee height and pretending he canât understand until she repeats it four times and stomps.
These are seconds only â they land and leave.
You put everything back where you found it and close the box with your palms flat like youâre smoothing a map.
You load the videos because still pictures lie by omission and moving ones make more honest noise.
The folder is tidy. Dated. You pick a birthday and, without meaning to, sit close to the TV the way a child sits to read the light out of the pixels.
Your legs fold under you. Your knees kiss the cabinet. You anchor your hands to the rug.
The room on screen is bright in the cheap way phone cameras make things too clean.
A banner that says PARTY with the R backward.
Seven short candles in a lump in the middle of a cake that leans like it decided on an opinion mid-bake.
You hear yourself before you manage to believe it â your voice, lower than you expect, joking like youâre telling on someone you like.
âStop eating frosting,â you say from behind the lens, amused, and it prints itself onto the floor of your skull like a stamp.
Heâs there with sleeves shoved up, tying a balloon that slips and flies low and sputters, and a high voice laughs like a lit fuse.
He fakes shock.
He hunts the balloon under a chair like it can escape him.
You smile without permission because the sound buys its way in even if the picture is still asking.
You donât hear him come from the kitchen, heâs learned how to move quiet on purpose.
He pauses in the doorway just long enough to look at the line of your spine, the angle of your head, the way your feet press the edge of the rug.
Then he crosses the room, lowers himself behind you, and becomes a frame you can lean on â warm chest at your back, long legs bracketing your hips, knees on either side like a safe pen.
His arms slide around and hook low, forearms crossing at your belly like the answer to a question youâve been asking all day. His chin touches your crown a second and lifts so his breath goes along your hairline, not into it.
You feel the decision, make room, donât smother, be here.
âPlay it,â he says into the top of you, quiet.
You already are.
âMake a wish,â your voice says on screen.
She squeezes her eyes and blows â One candle surrenders, the rest hold.
He leans and takes the last three with a ridiculous performance, then points at the smoke as if he caused a solar event.
She tells on him with her entire upper body.
You shake the camera.
Somewhere the owner of the little restaurant cackles out of frame.
The cake gets cut too big.
Plates change hands.
You say âRyoumeanâ with a grin you feel in your molars and you both want to go back in time and stand under that moment with your hands out.
âGood day,â he says in your hair.
No flourish.
Just the pin stuck into the map.
âTell me something I donât see,â you say.
It comes out a little breathless.
You keep your eyes on the screen like removing them might make the file dissolve.
âIt rained at three and quit at three-oh-nine,â he says. âThe lights blinked and she decided it was dramatic, so we had to sing louder in case the house was listening. You measured frosting like it was a chemistry lab and still swore at it at the last swirl. I iced because you said frosting hates you. She ate two strawberries and declared it fruit salad and therefore medicine.â
His breath shifts against your temple, heavier on a word â you think itâs âmedicineâ â and you understand in your body why he let you have this seat first.
If he had to sit closer, heâd drown.
On screen, a small hand covered in marker ink slaps frosting onto a paper plate.
He tries to sneak a bite off your slice, smirks when he gets caught, stands accused with a fork in his mouth, guilty on purpose.
You feel your face heat a second for a person who doesnât exist anymore and very much does, both at once.
Your eyes wet.
He doesnât move to wipe them.
His arms tighten by the width of a finger and stay.
Candle smoke curls.
People you recognize with your ears shout badly in song.
He sets her on the counter and spends far too long admiring the number seven on her pocket because she taped it there herself, upside down, very proud.
Your laugh from behind the camera makes present-you want to stand, to pace, to push the sound deeper in so it canât evaporate.
You stay still instead because movement would rip the thread.
âAgain.â you say at the end of the clip, hand hovering and not pressing, conned by dread into indecision.
He doesnât take the remote.
He guides your wrist down, a slow press along your forearm, joint over joint.
You print the action into muscle.
Play.
The second time you notice different things.
The way he checks the room without looking like heâs checking â window, stove, door.
The sticker on the headrest she argued protected against dreams with teeth.
Your ring appearing at the edge of the frame and the soft clink it makes on the counter like a domestic bell.
The smell arrives with no picture attached â sugar, a line of burnt match, the waxy tang of cheap candle.
You put a palm to the rug because you need the cold of it and he follows with his hand, palm over yours, weight steady as a paperweight so the second doesnât blow off the table.
âSmell,â you say, surprised and relieved like that counts as a win on its own. âI can smell it.â
âThatâs good,â he says, mouth near, careful with the word good so it doesnât sound like a test you passed.
You scroll laterally.
Find a clip with the camera propped against a sugar jar so you get the view from the flourâs perspective.
He sits cross-legged on the floor, her perched on his thigh like a parrot, both of them building a tower out of box lids that keeps collapsing for physics and glee.
Your blood warms at the sight of his expression when he fails on purpose.
You recognize that look from the kitchen this morning when he pretended he couldnât find the salt until your hand brushed the right cabinet and you liked the small power of it.
Your mouth goes soft and stays like that even as your eyes flood and empty again.
âTell me a hard day,â you say. âNot a sweet one. I want the shape of both.â
He doesnât answer immediately because heâs picking a version that wonât slam you.
He chooses clean.
âBalcony,â he says. âShe ran. No shoes. Knee on tile. Skin off. You went white and quiet.â
You know your own quiet when it arrives. Itâs a bad sign dressed like control. He continues.
âYou got the kit. I did jokes. Bad ones. She said laughter wasnât science. You cleaned slow and told her pain gets bored and leaves at some point. She repeated it like gospel. It worked faster than it had a right to. You put the bloody towel in a bucket to soak because you hate stains. I sliced grapes tiny and pretended they were for me. She ate them and made me cut more. You rolled your eyes and hid your smile in the cabinet door.â
A flash lands so fast it steals your breath â your fingers stiff in a gauze pad, a face trying not to cry because red means wrong, his voice in the doorway making the word brave feel useful instead of preposterous, the way you watched your own hands do the job like they belonged to someone else and trusted them anyway.
You let it pass without grabbing.
It leaves a mark you donât hate.
The file advances to a park
Swings.
She yells âhigherâ and you hear his answer as a yes and a boundary at once.
Your throat makes a sound it didnât ask for.
He says nothing, but he slides a little closer behind you and cages you tighter so nothing inside slides away.
When you can breathe without counting, you reach for the stack of flattened crowns at your knee and pass him one without looking back.
He touches the paper.
He clears his throat.
âShe made basil wear that,â he says. âDeclared it queen. We had to bow.â
Your mouth actually smiles this time.
Your brain offers an image you didnât dig for â a plant with a mess of tape and a crown on its leaves.
You arenât in the picture.
You donât need to be.
The idea is enough.
You can hear him scoffing and submitting.
You look down at your hands, theyâre shaking less.
âWe can stop,â he says.
Itâs always on the table. It never feels like failure.
âOne more,â you choose.
You find a file labeled SUNDAY.
The car view.
The cup with two spoons.
His voice pitched fake-criminal.
Your voice dry,
âWeâre terrible at secrets.â
A laugh from the back seat.
The camera catches half his jaw and the way it moves when he pretends to say something outrageous.
It catches your thumb on his neck as you turn him at a light so he faces you for a second.
It catches a soft âmy turn,â then plastic scraping as a spoon trades hands.
Your chest tightens in a way that isnât panic â it is want with nowhere to go and nowhere it needs to.
You pause.
The room exhales.
He nuzzles the back of your head once like he canât not.
It doesnât aim at sex or distraction.
Itâs identification, you, here, this.
âThank you,â you say, because the words belong.
âFor?â
âFor watching with me,â you say.
For sitting behind you like a rampart without cutting you off from the field.
For keeping your hands steady.
For letting the tears belong to both of you without turning them into something that needs to be fixed.
âAlways.â he says.
The word is plain.
He has stopped dressing it up.
You like it this way.
Later, kitchen.
You lean on the island and let the leftover emotion sit in the space like a piece of furniture. He fills a glass and puts it in your hand. He makes tea you will actually drink. He doesnât start the next conversation for you.
You say, eventually,
âI canât go back to what I was doing.â
âI know,â he says. âYou donât have to decide whatâs next today.â
âIâm good at making rooms easier to live in,â you say, half-thinking. âI could be paid for that.â
âYou do it for free already,â he says. âIâd pay twice.â
âBias,â you accuse, and the corner of his mouth lifts like the first inch of a sunrise.
Back in the empty room, you put the paper crown on a shelf like an exhibit.
You leave the glitter stars on the box lid because bright spots matter in corners.
He stands in the doorway and lets you set the angle of the door.
You close it until the latch almost catches and leave it hovering open â your choice.
The second night you try again.
Not the birthday this time.
A quiet evening where the camera sits on a dresser at an angle and has the audacity to catch love doing the small work.
He lies on the bed in socks, boots kicked under, reading a book he pretends to hate, she drapes over him, heavy and sticky from a day of everything, you enter with water, a frown hiding a laugh.
He takes the glass,you wag a finger that means drink it, he obeys, she pulls the book down, demands âregular voice.â
He gives it, and you watch the end of the day happen the only way it can â body to body, story to story, the soft landing before sleep.
Your eyes sting again.
This time it isnât only grief.
It is relief that your body recognizes the rhythm of night with him and does not fight it.
He feels you go loose and rounds you with his arms like a question he knows the answer to.
His hands find the old anchors, one catches your wrist and sets it against his stomach like a promise, the other cups your hipbone through cotton and waits for you to tell it where next.
You leave it. It warms.
âEnough?â he asks when your breath gets shallow and even.
âFor today,â you say. âTomorrow, more.â
You sleep with the crown on the dresser and the videos paused at a face that no longer hurts to see.
When dreams come, they skip the crash and its corridor of sirens and go backward to an afternoon where everything smelled like vanilla and candle smoke and you counted down breathlessly with someone you loved, then counted up to seven with someone else you loved, then laughed because he blew three candles out like a thief and got away with it.
You wake at five, stand under the hall light you insist sits at an angle, and write a new line on the board â watched â breathed â ate â slept and add a star sticker you find somehow at the bottom of your pocket.
He pads in, hair smashed on one side, squints at your handwriting, sets a heavy palm between your shoulders like a stamp, and adds under your words in block letters â proud of you.
You donât fix his capitals. You let the letters stay oversized and certain. You kiss the corner of his mouth and he kisses you back and drags you to bed without you protesting so he can cuddle you in his arms and secure your dreams.
The day feels possible.
You cut toast, you open the balcony and tell basil youâre trying, he appears at the doorway, follows the music you set to a low volume, lets you pull him in, and you dance like the hour belongs to you.
It does.
At noon, you will open the empty room for a minute, pull one thing out, let it live in your hands, then put it back.
At three, you will go sit too close to a screen and go through another ten minutes of a life that still belongs to you.
At night, you will fit your back to his chest and ask for a story about a day that wasnât perfect and learn again how you kept each other upright.
This is what progress looks like now â a crown on a shelf, a pause button wearing a greasy fingerprint, his legs on either side of you while you teach your heart how to watch without shattering, your body remembering cake smoke and the sound a plastic spoon makes tapping a paper plate, his voice in your hair saying the smallest word in the right way â here â until your breath follows it in and out without running.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Saturdays are always hectic, especially when youâre the only one working. The bell over the door never stops ringing, the espresso machine hisses like itâs alive, and youâve barely had a sip of water since morning. You donât even have time to anticipate his arrival.
And then, suddenly, heâs there, slipping quietly through the door, scanning the packed line in front of your counter. His eyes land on you, just for a second. You barely manage a breath before he moves, setting his bag down at his usual table⊠only to grab it again and stride straight toward the back.
You blink, half convinced youâre hallucinating, before mumbling an apology to the customer in front of you and darting into the back.
Heâs already got his hoodie hanging neatly on a hook, his sleeves rolled up, washing his hands at the sink.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask, your voice half exasperation, half disbelief, eyes flicking nervously toward the doorway and the impatient customers beyond.
âYou lookâŠâ He pauses, meeting your gaze for a heartbeat. âFrazzled. Let me help.â
You should say no. You really should. But your legs are burning and your brainâs already a few orders behind.
âOkayâ you sigh. âJustâŠhelp me package the orders and clean up a little.â
He nods once, face set with quiet determination. Together, you step back out into the chaos.
Itâs messy, loud, and fast-paced, but somehow, you fall into a comfortable rhythm. He moves around you like he already knows your pattern, grabbing napkins and sliding trays without bumping into you once. You shout orders, he catches them. You laugh at a customerâs joke, he flashes them soft smiles, smiles that nearly send the poor girls waiting at the counter fainting.
He doesnât even realise what he does to people, and that somehow makes it worse.
By the time the rush dies down, the two of you collapse into the chairs at his usual table, breathless but laughing. The smell of coffee clings to both of you.
âIâm sorryâ you manage between breaths, leaning back in your seat. âI donât imagine this is what you had in mind when you said you wanted to come see me.â
âItâs okay.â His eyes crinkle shut as he smiles, that gentle kind of smile that makes you melt.
Youâre a goner.
âLet me get you a coffeeâ you offer, standing up and heading for the machine.
He follows.
âIâve always wanted to learn how to use one of theseâ he mutters, stepping closer, curious eyes fixed on the buttons and levers.
You donât realise how close heâs gotten until you turn and find yourself almost flush against his chest.
Your breath catches. For a moment, neither of you move. The hum of the coffee machine fills the silence, warm and steady, like itâs keeping the rhythm your heartâs suddenly forgotten.
You glance up, heâs already looking down. His eyes, those soft violets, flicker over your face. You swear your pulse skips when his gaze lingers on your lips, before darting guiltily back up to your eyes.
âOkay, um, so, first you get a shot of coffee.â You lift the espresso handle, slotting it under the dispenser. The machine whirs to life, releasing a neat pile of fragrant grounds into the portafilter. âThen you level itâ you say, tapping it gently against the counter. âAnd tamp it, like this.â You press the tamper down until the surface is flat and firm.
Heâs standing so close now, the heat of him brushing against your shoulder. You shift to the espresso machine, trying not to think about how his breath feels against your neck. âThen you lock it in hereâŠâ You try to twist the handle into place, but itâs stiff, it always is.
Before you can try again, his hand covers yours. Warm, steady and effortless. He gives a small tug and it slides into position with a soft click.
Your heart somersaults. âThen you press this button, and voilĂ , coffeeâ you say quickly, your voice a little too bright. The machine hums, rich amber espresso pouring smoothly into the cup below.
âNow, latte artâ you announce, trying to focus on the task instead of your racing pulse.
He laughs softly, the sound like velvet. âOkay, okay, thatâs a little advanced for me.â
âŠÂ
He comes to the shop again on Sunday.
Lucky for you, itâs quiet, the usual morning rush long gone, the soft hum of machinery and clinking dishes the only sounds left. You finally get to sit with him, chatting about everything and nothing, time slipping by unnoticed.
âDid that hurt?â you ask suddenly, leaning forward to gently tap the black ring in his gauged ear.
He turns his head toward you slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. âNot reallyâ he murmurs. âThrobs a little when you size up, but it goes away after a while.â
âWhat about this one?â You ask, reaching up to touch the conch piercing glinting in the light.
That earns you a small, genuine laugh, quiet, but warm. âThat one? Yeah, that one hurt.â
You grimace instinctively, scrunching your nose. âUgh, I can imagine.â
He smiles at the face you pull. âIâm used to it, thoughâ he says softly.
You nod thoughtfully, your gaze dipping lower, to the snakebite piercings gleaming against his bottom lip. He notices, laughing again, deep and easy.
âYes, those hurt a bit tooâ he says, answering before you can even ask. Then his expression shifts, suddenly unsure. âDo you⊠not like piercings?â
âI like themâ you admit quickly, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. âIâm just scared of needles.â You glance up through your lashes, smiling sheepishly. âThey look really good on you though.â
His reaction is immediate. His ears go pink, the colour creeping down his neck as he turns away to stare out the window.
You bite back a grin, pressing your lips together to hide it, feeling that familiar fluttering in your chest.
âŠ
âSo, how come you keep to yourself so much?â you ask softly.
He glances at you, swallowing the bite of cake in his mouth before answering.
âWell⊠when I was in high school, I got..â he pauses, frowning faintly, searching for the right word. âill..."
Your breath catches. You lean forward, worry tightening in your chest. He notices, gives you a small, almost reassuring smile.
âI got depressionâ he says finally. âSevere depression.â
The words hang heavy between you. You nod slowly, your throat tight, encouraging him to go on.
âIt got really badâ he murmurs, eyes dropping to the half-eaten cake. âFinally, I went to the doctor, and they gave me medicationâŠâ
He trails off again, pushing crumbs around with his fork. You donât speak, you just wait.
âSome of my friends found the pills in my bag one dayâ he continues quietly. His voice cracks just slightly. âThey laughed. Called me a weirdo. Said I was crazy for needing them.â
Something in your chest aches at that. âSuguruâŠâ you whisper.
Without thinking, you reach out and lay your hand over his. His fingers twitch beneath yours, his gaze turning glassy. It still doesnât feel like enough.
You stand and move to his side, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing his face gently into your chest. He startles, his back goes rigid, then, slowly, he exhales and his arms come up around your waist.
âThose peopleâŠâ you murmur into his hair, voice trembling, âthey were cruel. What you did was brave, so brave. You asked for help when you needed it. That takes strength, Suguru.â
He nods against you, shoulders trembling slightly.
âIâm so proud of youâ you whisper.
---
âYou know youâre staring, right?â Utahime whispers, leaning close enough that you feel her breath against your ear.
You blink, realising only now that your gaze has been locked across the room far too long. You whip your head away, cheeks burning. âI wasnâtâŠâÂ
âYou totally were.â Her grin is sly. âWhy donât you just go sit with him?â
âI donât knowâŠâ you murmur, twisting a strand of hair between your fingers. âI feel like Iâd be invading his quiet space or something. And with Gojo around, I think heâd terrify him.â
Even as you speak, your eyes flick back to where Getoâs sitting. His head lifts, like he felt the weight of your stare, and your heart stutters when amethyst eyes meet yours. You offer a small, shy smile. For a second he looks confused, glancing around like heâs not sure youâre really smiling at him, and then, softly, he smiles back.
âWowâ Utahime breathes, following your line of sight. âHeâs actually kinda cute.â
Your head snaps toward her so fast she flinches. âDonât even think about itâ you hiss.
She covers her mouth, laughing into her hand. âRelax, I was just sayingââ
âHeâs not her typeâ comes a voice right beside your ear.
You shriek, Utahime shrieks, and the entire room turns to stare, including Geto. Gojoâs standing there, looking far too pleased with himself.
âHeâs going to kill meâ Utahime groans, collapsing forward on the table, clutching her chest.
âIâm more her typeâ Gojo says proudly, striking a ridiculous pose.
âNo, you are not!â Utahime shouts back.
âI so am!â
Their voices blur into the background, bickering like children, as your focus drifts back to Geto. Heâs still looking your way, expression unreadable, a flicker of confusion, maybe curiosity. You wish you were over there, sitting across from him, close enough to see the way his eyes soften when he smiles.
Your chest feels too full, your pulse thundering beneath your skin. The warmth blooming in your chest isnât something small anymore, itâs bigger, heavier, something that fills every corner of you until you can barely breathe.
You love him.
The thought hits like a spark to kindling, bright and undeniable. The idea of seeing him every day, hearing his voice, being the reason he smiles... it makes your heart ache.
You. love. him.
For some reason, that realisation turns you into a stuttering school girl.Â
âŠÂ
âAm I doing this right?â he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder.
Heâs holding the metal milk jug beneath the steaming wand, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. Steam curls between you, rising like mist.
You nod without quite meeting his eyes, your throat feeling inexplicably tight. âYeah, youâre fineâ you mumble, chewing at the inside of your cheek.
He tilts the jug, uncertain âI feel like Iâm getting this wrong.â
You sigh softly and step toward him, reaching out to take the jug from his hands, careful not to brush his fingers. âItâs like thisâ you murmur, lowering your gaze to the milk as you submerge the wand and begin to move the jug up and down in smooth, practiced motions. âIf you wrap your hand around the metal, you can feel the temperature. Too hot and it scalds, itâll taste awful.â
He hums softly, curious, and before you can step back he moves in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth of his chest at your back. His hand slides over yours, holding the jug. The contact sends a jolt through you so strong you nearly drop it.
âLike this?â he asks, voice soft, right beside your ear.
Your breath catches. You pull away too quickly. The jug slips, clattering against the counter with a deafening metallic clang as warm milk splashes across both of you.
âOh my godâŠâ You fumble to turn off the steam, heart pounding.
âIâm sorryâ you gasp, though youâre not even sure what youâre apologising for, the mess, or the fact that you panicked. Most of the milk is splattered across your shirt, but some has caught his hand.
âItâs okay,â he says quietly, though his voice sounds uncertain. He grabs a nearby cloth and, without thinking, begins gently dabbing at the milk on your shirt. His brows are knit, focused, like heâs trying to fix something he doesnât understand.
For a moment you can only stare at him, the tenderness of the gesture, the closeness, the confusion in his eyes. Your heart skips painfully in your chest.
âI can do thatâ you blurt, stepping back and pushing his hand away a little too fast.
His expression flickers, confusion, then something that looks almost like hurt. But you canât face it.
You turn, wiping at your shirt with shaking hands, your cheeks burning. âIâll⊠Iâll clean this up.â
âŠ
âDo you want me to help clean up?â he asks softly.
Heâs standing a few feet away, shoulders slightly hunched, wringing his hands like heâs afraid to take up space. His eyes search yours, uncertain and worried.
The sight makes your chest ache. You hate that youâre the reason he looks like that, nervous, hesitant, but your pulse wonât slow. Itâs as if your heartâs forgotten how to function properly whenever heâs near.
Where his presence used to feel warm and grounding, now it makes your breath catch and your thoughts scatter. Youâre terrified heâll see straight through you, that every glance, every flushed cheek and fumbled word will betray just how much you like him.
âNo, you can goâ you manage, voice thinner than you intend. You canât bring yourself to meet his gaze.
He nods once, slow and careful, like heâs afraid any sudden movement might make things worse. Gathering his coat, he lingers by the door for a heartbeat too long.
âGoodbye, Y/Nâ he says gently.
You force a quick smile, a weak dip of your head, but no words come out. The bell above the door chimes softly as he leaves, the click of the latch echoing far too loudly in the quiet that follows.
You sag against the counter, eyes squeezed shut. âYou stupid idiotâ you groan, dragging your palms down your face. âIf you keep this up, youâll drive him away.â
The thought makes your stomach twist. But what can you do? You canât control the way your breath catches when he says your name, or the way your heart stumbles when he smiles. You canât control any of it.
He can still feel the ghost of your hand under his, warm, small, trembling. He hadnât meant to make you uncomfortable. He just wanted to help.
Now, walking home through the cool evening air, he keeps his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his thoughts running wild. Maybe heâd crossed a line. Maybe heâd imagined everything, the smiles, the laughter, the easy comfort that once filled the space between you.
He remembers the way youâd hugged him that day, the way youâd held him when heâd told you about his depression, so fiercely, like you wanted to protect him from the world. He remembers your voice, warm and steady against his hair, Iâm so proud of you.
So what changed?
He stops walking, staring down at his shoes. The idea strikes like a sudden chill, maybe youâre just being kind. Maybe you were always just being kind.
To him, kindness had started to feel like affection. A mistake.
He swallows hard, forcing a breath. âStupidâ he whispers, trying to convince himself it doesnât hurt.
But it does.
Still, he tells himself heâll stop coming by. Give you space. If he really made you uncomfortable, the last thing he wants is to make it worse.
You thought having him around made you nervous, but not having him around felt worse. The hours drag by, each one slower than the last. Every time the bell over the door rings, your head snaps up instinctively, hope flaring in your chest, only to sink again when itâs not him.
You even pull out your phone at one point, thumb hovering over the screen. You could text him, if you had his number. The realisation stings more than you expect. You know where he sits, how he takes his drink, the exact sound of his laugh, but you donât even have his number.
By closing time, the weight of disappointment sits heavy in your chest. Youâre tired, but not from work, from hoping. You almost want to cry.
Then you see him.
Through the glass, a tall figure walking down the street, hood up, hands buried deep in his pockets. Suguru.
Your heart jumps so violently it hurts. You canât help it, you smile, wide and unguarded, warmth flooding your chest. You spin around, flicking on the warmer for the hot chocolate, reaching for the heart-shaped strawberry shortcake youâd hidden away just for him.
But when you look up againâŠ
Heâs still walking. Right past the window. He doesnât look up. Doesnât even look at you.
You freeze. The plate in your hand feels heavy all of a sudden. Behind you, the hot chocolate begins to hiss softly, forgotten.
He walked right past.
You set the plate down, staring blankly at the spot where heâd been. The smile slips from your face, your brows drawing together as your throat tightens painfully.
Had he figured it out?
Had you made him uncomfortable?
You press a trembling hand over your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but the only thing you can think, the only thing that hurts, is how easily he walked away.
By the time you arrive, youâre a bundle of nerves, your stomach twisting with anxiety. The classroom feels impossibly bright, the chatter around you blending into white noise. And then you see him.
Suguru Geto. Sitting at his usual spot in the back, hood up, book in hand. Just like every other day. Only today⊠he doesnât look up.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus on your notes, your hands shaking slightly as you flip through your textbook.
Your chest tightens.
Had you done something wrong? Did he⊠not want to see you anymore? Your mind races through every interaction, every smile, every laugh. Were you too forward? Too cheerful? Did he notice how much youâd been staring at him?
âHey, Y/N?â Utahimeâs whisper jolts you slightly, pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts. You glance at her, eyes wide. âYou okay?âÂ
You bite your lip, shaking your head. âI⊠I donât think he wants to talk to me anymore â you murmur, voice small.
Utahime glances back at him, then at you, her expression softening. âAre you kidding me? Look at him. Heâs⊠heâs just quiet. Thatâs all. Heâs not avoiding you.â
But her words donât reach you. You canât shake the feeling that somethingâs changed, that heâs seen too much of your heart already, and now heâs retreating.
You glance again at the back of the room, hood shadowing his face, book open, fingers lightly tracing the pages. He hasnât even noticed your gaze.
And in that moment, you realise, you miss him. You miss his soft smile, gentle voice, and the comforting pressure of his presence.Â
And yet, today, heâs distant. Heâs different.
Your chest tightens further. You bury your face in your hands for a moment, forcing yourself to focus on something else, anything else, while the quiet, lonely ache of longing settles heavily in your chest.
You move slowly instead, each motion weighed down by the knot in your chest. Your friendsâ laughter barely registers, their voices feel distant, muffled, as though youâre underwater. You smile when they look at you, but it doesnât reach your eyes.
By the time you gather your things, your hands are trembling. The walk feels endless, every step heavier than the last. The closer you get, the louder your heartbeat grows, until itâs all you can hear.
Your breath catches. Then your heart surges so suddenly you almost stumble.
Heâs here. He came back.
You nearly break into a run, terrified that if you take too long, heâll leave before you can reach him.
âSuguru!â you call out, voice breathless.
He looks up.
When you stop in front of him, neither of you speaks. The air between you hums with nerves and unsaid things. You canât quite meet his eyes, not yet.
âI just wanted to apologiseâŠâ he starts, voice soft, gaze fixed somewhere near your shoes. âI didnât mean to make you uncomfortable. Telling you aboutâŠâ He trails off, swallowing hard.
âWhat?â you whisper, confusion flooding your voice.
He shakes his head. âI wonât bother you anymoreâ he murmurs, pushing off the wall and turning to go.
The words hit like a gut punch.
âNo!â You gasp, grabbing his sleeve before he can take another step. âYou donât make me uncomfortable.â
He stops, turns slightly, eyes flickering with confusion and hurt. âYouâve been avoiding meâ he says quietly. âYou wouldnât even look at me the last time I was here.â
Your fingers tighten around his sleeve. You tug him gently back toward you until heâs standing close, so close you can smell the faint scent of soap on him.
Your throat feels tight. The words tremble in your chest, threatening to choke you, but you force them out anyway.
âYou donât make me uncomfortableâ you whisper, screwing your eyes shut. âYou make me nervous.â
A shaky breath leaves you. âI like you⊠a lot.â
Thereâs silence. Then, a soft, incredulous sound â a gasp.
âYou⊠like me?â he breathes.
You open your eyes, your heart hammering painfully against your ribs. You shake your head weakly.
âNoâ you whisper. Then, with a trembling voice and tears burning your eyes. âI love you.â
âŠ
For a moment, he doesnât move. The words hang in the air. Then his eyes widen, the amethyst depths staring straight into yours, and a slow, incredulous smile spreads across his face.
âYou⊠love me?â His voice is barely above a whisper, full of disbelief and awe. He steps closer, closing the last bit of space between you.
Your stomach twists, nerves wrangling, but you stand your ground. âYesâ you murmur, voice trembling. âI canât⊠I canât hide it anymore.â
He swallows, blinking rapidly, and for a heartbeat, he looks almost vulnerable. Then, carefully, like heâs testing if this is real, he reaches out. His fingers brush against yours, warm and sure, and your heart jumps.
âI⊠Iâve liked you for so longâ he confesses, voice low but steady. âI just didnât think⊠I didnât think youâd feel the same.â
You canât stop the laugh that escapes you, a mixture of relief and joy, tears pricking at your eyes. âI was scaredâ you admit softly. âI didnât want to scare you offâŠâ
He shakes his head, pressing his hand into yours. âScare me off? No. Youâre⊠perfect.â You feel tears slip down your cheeks.
âI love you,â he repeats, this time with more certainty, his other hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, careful not to break the fragile atmosphere.
âI love you tooâ you whisper, voice breaking with happiness. âSo much.â
When he finally kisses you, itâs slow, careful, and utterly consuming. You melt into it, letting go of all the fear, all the hesitation, all the nervous energy thatâs been coiled in your chest for weeks. His hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you there gently, like heâs afraid to let go, just for a moment.
When you finally pull back, your breath catches. His smile mirrors your own, eyes bright, lips still trembling from the kiss.
âYouâre mine nowâ he murmurs, voice soft, playful, but carrying a quiet certainty that makes your heart flutter.
âOkayâ you giggle, slipping your head beneath his chin, resting your cheek against his chest as your arms circle his waist. The steady thunder of his heart thrums against your ear. âOnly if youâre mine as well.â
You feel him nod, his breath ghosting over the top of your head before his arms tighten around you, holding you close.Â
âI amâ He whispers, his voice rumbling through his chest. âAlwaysâ.Â
The End!
Wrote this so long ago, can't believe I almost forgot to post it. Sorry for my dumbass!
PAIRING. gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji x fem! reader
WARNINGS. angst to fluff.
NOTE. i just got a new keyboard set and i'm not used typing on it yet, so pleaseeee bear with me. if you see any typos, i guarantee you that one of my fat finger pressed on the same key at the same time. i'm considering on putting my requests on open actually right now.
đđđđ đđđđđđ
It had been an extremely long day for Satoru, considering the fact that he's had been on a mission 9 to 5. He wouldn't say it was a particularly hard mission to do, it was just a long time of waiting and it made him a bit cranky â all he wanted to do know was just to go back, get a hot shower, and lay down.
Like a good girlfriend, once he came home, you made a full blown home-cooked meal for him to eat when he came home. Satoru came home overwhelmed, all he wanted to do right now was to punch something, and when he saw you come to him. He greets you with a small wave, "Hey..."
"How was the mission?"
"Bad, everyone was pissing me offâ"
"Wanna talk about it?" it was something you both established in this relationship, talk about feelings. Communicate.
"No, I just wanna go to bed. 'm beat."
You nodded, understanding his circumstances completely. "Okay, made some food. I can reheat it if you want to eat after a shower maybe," he grunts, nodding his head as he stripped his top off â you ushered him to the shower.
For the next twenty minutes, you spent reheating the food for him. You sat on the dinner table, waiting for him to come out of the shower, and when he does, Satoru appeared shirtless. He's always done this so you weren't really fazed anymore, "Do you want more rice? Or I can make you some tea to relax your muscleâ"
"Can you just be quiet?" He asked you.
He didn't yell, he didn't look at you. Hell, he was just staring at the bowl of rice sitting in front of him, but still, his words lingered in the air. And the aftermath of it was just pure tension, "...Okay, sorry."
You understand that he's tired, but was that really necessary at all? He ate quietly while you sat there watching him eat. Satoru would usually have a big appetite, especially after missions. But, today particularly, he ate half of his rice and barely touched any of the side dishes you made for him.
He set the chopsticks down and began walking away, "Hey, wait, are you done eating..?" You quietly questioned, please say no.
"Yeah. Don't have much of an appetite right now."
No apologies, no help removing the dishes, he just walked back into your shared bedroom and doesn't come out â sleeping, presumeably. To be quite frank, you would love to hold him back and talk about his attitude, but he doesn't seem to be in any mood to talk at all right now.
So, you let him be.
You let him linger in his space right now and seek the night on the couch. Thank goodness you had left a big quill right on it for movie nights, in case it gets cold.
Satoru awoken himself at three AM, he reaches out to touch your figure âlike he always does whenever he doesn't feel your presenceâ however, much to his dismay, you weren't there. Initially, he had thought that you had awoken as well and was outside, with a hoarse voice, he calls out, "(Name)?"
No answer.
Satoru rolls off the bed, stumbling over his foot slightly as he opens the door to the bedroom and walked out. His ears caught the distinct noises from the television, were you still up this late?
He walks to the living room, rubbing his eyes. He had parted his lips to give you a light scolding â but you were asleep? On the couch and not the bed? With a swift press to the remote, he turned off the television and squats down in front of you. For a while, he just stayed in that position, watching your features.
Then memories of earlier came flooding in, and the guilt began settling down on his stomach. Had you decided to sleep outside because he got angry at you? Were you scared of him? Why did you sleep outside?
He shook you awake gently, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, "Baby, wake up."
Satoru has always known that you're a deep sleeper, and he's not surprised that it took him at least six other shakes to finally get your eyes to flutter open, "Mm, what time is it? Should I cook breakfast?"
It broke his heart that you thought he woke you up for breakfast, "Why are you sleeping here? Not at the bed?" He murmurs out softly, holding your hand in his.
"I thought you needed space, I didn't want to bother youâ"
"God, no. I was an asshole, (Name). If I ever act like that again, please smack some senses into me, I don't care. Just because I'm tired, doesn't give me the excuse to be a dick to my girlfriend, you understand me?" He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as he began carrying you back to bed, the quill dropped to the couch.
"It's alrigâ"
"It's not alright. I'm sorry for what I said to you at the dinner table, and for not eating, that's a dick move. I'd like to eat the leftoversâ"
"I threw that away, I thought you wouldn't want toâ"
"Then, I'm cooking for us. You rest," he mumbled out, setting you down on the bed gently, tucking you under the covers.
Satoru wasted no time pressing his chest to your back, his chin compressed to the top of your head gently like it belonged there, "Slap me the next time I act like that, you have full permission from me, and don't ever let me treat you like that. You're my woman, you deserve the best."
"You're so cheesy."
"You like cheesy," he retorts.
"I like cheese."
đđđđđđ đđđđđ
God helps a man who overworks himself 24/7. Nanami works a lot, more than you thought a body could withstand. But, then again, his stamina is out of your league â so, it wasn't as surprising anymore if he live to work. At the same time, you did understand that he's doing this for the both of you.
Sometimes, you wish he would have been more... present. Every time you brought that topic up, he'd avoid it like plague, saying that he was doing this to provide for the both of you. You once told him that you worked too, but he told you that you deserved more than just a this â he wanted to give you the world.
But, would it mean anything if he was your world. All you needed was him, not his money.
Yet again, he had came home later than usual. You knew his office dismisses workers at 5.30 sharp, and it must have meant that Nanami had decided to work overtime. Again.
"Can you stop coming home late? I understand you said that you work for us, but I work too, I get money to provide for us too," he spared you a brief glance before quietly feeding himself a couple of bites. You could clearly tell he was uncomfortable with the said topic, "Are you going to keep avoiding this topic like it's nothing?"
He sighs out softly, "You understand that I'm doing this forâ"
"Us. Yes, I work too, have some faith in me. You telling me to quit my job is like you telling me to break up with you," Nanami was visibly confused by what you're saying â because, how is that apple to apple.
"That makes no sense. I make money enough for the both of usâ"
You cut him off. "And I make money enough for us too, I don't need you working overtime. Why can't you work a normal nine to five like I do, and we collect money and use it together, and we can spend time. Think about it, we barely see each other, we see each other during dinner... like now, then you go to bed because you're too tired to have a proper conversation with me."
He snaps back, "I give you everythiâ"
"All I want is to spend time with you," you replied back.
Nanami stood up and walked to the bedroom. No words, no gestures, nothing. He ditched you and seeks comfort in the bedroom â even when you came inside the bedroom to check, he was already tucked in. Fuck, that was upsetting you.
You know what, he and his work could go screw themselves.
You grabbed your pillow and went to the couch. Thank God, t was spacious on the couch (minus the fact that it's a bit uncomfy, you'd prefer the bed over this anytime). It took a bit of thrashing and turning before slumber finally dawned on you.
Nanami found himself unable to sleep. He was aware of your presence when you entered the room earlier, but he was only then made aware of your lack of presence beside him when he reached over to touch you. His body shot up in surprise, tired eyes peering at the clock perched o the nightstand.
02.34 AM
Has he been sleeping without you?
Nanami wastes no time putting his slippers on, walking out in a rush. It was dark, and he could still smell the aftermath of dinner from the hallway â his eyes immediately lands on your sleeping figure, arms hanging by the edge of the couch, lips parted slightly, and he could see you twitch a couple of times.
He walks over to you, he didn't even wake you up, he just carefully slithered an arm under the back of your neck and the crook of your knees, pulling you up into his arms. Nanami walks you back into the bedroom and tucked you by his side, holding you the entire night. Hell, he didn't even sleep until at least an hour later.
When you woke up, you were met with his eyes, "Hey."
He nods at you, "Hi."
"What time is it?"
"Ten."
"Workâ" you shot up, but he pulls you back.
"I called you in sick," he murmured out softly, brushing a strand of hair on your face, "and me too."
"Really?"
He hummed, "I apologize for what I did last night, it wasn't right of me to leave the conversation like that. I know you meant well," his words comes out raw and genuine, Nanami brought your hand to his lips, pressing it on your skin.
"Can you stop overworking and work a normal time? Can we not worry about money right now, all I want is just you by my side," he nods his head, kissing your knuckles briefly.
Nanami murmured against your skin, "I'll stop. I trust your decisions, which... sounds better than mine anyways. Would you like to go out with me today?"
You were already plotting to sleep on the couch the second Fushiguro Toji stepped inside the house smeared with blood, leaving traces of blood on his foot and on the floor. He had promised that once the two of you got together â he'd stop doing this job of his, and you thought he did. Until, today of course.
"Is that blood?"
And from then on, the full blown argument started. You yelled, and he yelled back. You argued, he argued even more. And none of you were willing to tone yourself down, "Jesus, you promised not to do this anymore. You said you stopped!"
"Where else am I going to get money?" He retorts back.
"A normal fucking job, that's what! We talked about this, you told me you stopped completely, just how many times have you done this without me finding out, huh?" You argued back, pointing to the blood on the floor of the house.
"Fuck. Get off my fucking ass, (Name)." He groans out loudly, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. That has got to be the last strike for you â because the very next second, that shirt was hanging off his head as you had strewn it to him, "What the fuck is your problem?"
"Can you try to see it from my point of view? This job is dangerous to you and me, and you can't be here to protect me every single time, Toji. I could be dead tomorrow!" You tell him almost desperately, trying to explain how this was going to affect the both of your futures.
His jaw hardens, "Don't fuck with that. You won't fucking die just because I kill people for a living."
"I just might when they find out you got me," he rolled his eyes.
"Get off my ass, don't talk to me." And so, the argument ended. It was a cold ending, you didn't talk to him and nor did he talked to you all night â you slept on the couch while he got the bed (maybe because your pride stopped you from sleeping on the same bed as he is).
However, Toji was not the man he usually is. That brooding, cold-hearted man. Maybe still, but to you? He's a whole different person. Sure, he was mad. But, he couldn't be angry at you forever. Not to you.
He stood over your sleeping figure. He was already upset at the argument you both had â but now, e's even more upset that you've decided to sleep on the couch alone and not right by him.
His shadow was enough to wake your fight or flight senses, shooting up with both your hands up to fight. That was enough to make him snort, "Why aren't you sleepin' inside?"
"I'm angry at you."
"Be angry and sleep with me then," he retorts back.
"Go away if you aren't going to talk nicely," you shoo-ed him away, and Toji wouldn't be Toji if he listened to you â he throws you over his shoulder like a sack.
No matter how hard you tried to smack his back or kick your legs (not at him), he wouldn't let go of you. Until, the bed. He throws you onto the bed, before laying all his body weight onto you. Does he think he weigh a feather or something?
"You're suffocating me."
"Don't care."
"Don't you have anything to say to me?" You asked, lightly pushing him to ease the suffocating, "like an apology would be nice."
He turned his head to your stomach, muffling out a soft, "Sorry."
"What was that?"
Toji pulls his head up, "I said, I'm sorry. I know I promised you on stopping â but I can't land myself a normal fucking job, and I don't feel comfortable doing normal people job," he mutters out, his chin digging into your stomach, "I don't know how to do this... normal people thing, I love you and all, but I... I don't know how to stop."
"I'll help, I can literally provide for uâ"
"No. And can we just sleep? 'M tired. I'll stop killin' people and get a real job."
synopsis: pt 1. youâre dead, now the love they always poured to you has no where else to go and they have no choice but to learn how to grieve and live with your loss.
â§.* warnings: implied death, grief, reader's dead obviously so its all angst. the character's relationships to reader's death can indicate a romantic relationship or a platonic relationship- it isn't exactly specified and can be up to interpretation to however you like. This is a part 1, grieving, however part 2 will indicate that they get revenge for reader once they realize that reader's death was by somebody else killing them. some characters may be ooc because i haven't written them before !!
â§.* notes: i had fun with this one :p this isnt proofread so be aware that i may accidentally use she/her with reader without realizing and some grammar mistakes and yadadada
image credit: unknown; found on pinterest by user: sad_rat
#THEY SURPRESS IT
They push your death to the furthest corner of their mind, locking it behind layers of distraction and obligation. Maybe itâs because they truly donât have the time to grieveâ missions and the constant killing of curses/demons kept them busy down to a meticulous schedule, merciless to any relief or privacy. Or maybe itâs because acknowledging it would make it real, and theyâre not ready for that, they want to drag out the realization that you're gone for as long as possible if it meant that maybe some part of them can pretend that you're still alive. Or maybe grief hit them so hard that their reaction is almost delayed and they truly don't realize that anything is wrong.. yet (they acknowledge that youâre gone deep in their mind but they havenât realized fully yet). So they keep moving, pretending theyâre fine, crack a few jokes but don't mention your name, a ringing filling their eardrums when your name is mentioned, almost as if to block it out, pretending that they donât hear the murmur of your voice in the quiet moments, pretending that they donât look for you in crowded rooms even when their friends/colleagues stare at them worriedly because they know that look too well. But grief is patient. It waits. It's a ball of love that has no where else to go, especially when the person that receives it most is gone.
And then one dayâ maybe a random Wednesday, maybe while theyâre doing something mundane like folding laundry or cooking food and.. it hits. Maybe it was a scent that reminded them of you, maybe a song that you loved, maybe they found your belongings in a pocket of theirs, maybe they reach to the bottom of the basket and see your clothes waiting at the bottom for youâ squished and flattened from the weight of the previous clothes piling up on them, waiting to be washed and be worn again on another sunny day as if everything was normal again, or maybe if they're cooking they perhaps had subconsciously cooked your favorite meal without realizing. And suddenly, theyâre on the floor, their kneecaps digging into the wood as if the ache in their knees could distract the heaviness deep inside their heart. And suddenly, they canât breathe, their heartbeat hammering into their ear drums. The reality crashes in: you're gone. And with it, something inside them collapses too. The idea of death that was once feared and distant, or maybe hard mixed feelings of wanting it or avoiding it, doesnât seem so terrifying anymoreâ or lonely, because maybe it's less terrifying to know when the person you love most is waiting for you on the other side, and that's what makes it hurts less.
Satoru Gojo, Yuta Okkotsu, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Aoi Todo, Mahito, Shoko Ieiri, Miwa (jujutsu kaisen) Tengen Uzui, Muichiro Tokito, Kokushibo, Shinobu Kocho, Aoi Kanzaki (kimetsu no yaiba)
#THEY USE IT AS A RESOLVE
Your death forged something in them.. something sharp, something quiet, something unbreakable. They've grieved before and allowed it to hurt them to the deepest parts of them, but they've changed, they've grown, and they learned from it. The mourning was real and deep, yes, but it didn't last in the way others might expect. Instead, it hardened themâ it turned the warmth in their chest to steel, like sharp barbed wires surrounding their heart, the sharpened spikes that was supposed to protect their own heart presses into their own heart too, and it hurts them just as much as it would hurt somebody else that attempts to get insideâ but as long as it prevents others from reaching their heart the same way that you once did.. then maybe it's not so bad to feel the way that they feel.
They donât flinch when they talk about you. Theyâve learned how to speak of you in past tense without their voice shaking, they learned how to lock all that previous warmth in their voice when they say your name away. But their eyes... their eyes have never been the same, so dull and devoid of the brightness and affection they previously held for you and only for you. They've stopped letting people in (if they had even let anybody else in in the first place anyway), stopped letting themselves feel too much, too deeply. Love? That was yours. Only yours. Thereâs no room in their chest for anyone else, not now. Not ever. They focus on missions, on goals, on staying in motion, they go back to their previous mindset of fighting til they break instead of following the mundane one they once imagined with you (the idea of settling down with you is thrown into the deepest parts of their mind, if you weren't in it then they won't even bother to try to imagine anybody else in your place) because stillness only invites memory. They wear their grief like armorâ heavy, silent, cold, and defensive. A part of them died with you, and no matter how many years pass, that part will never return.
They learn how to live without you, but if death presents itself in front of them while they're on the brink of death? then maybe, just maybe.. they stop struggling all together.
They donât try to hide it. They canât hide it. The tears come easily, sometimes without warning, like it replaced the routine that included you to be reduced to tears during the hours that you would usually be around. Their friends have heard the same stories of you a thousand timesâ but they listen anyway, they don't have the heart to get them to stop, not when they're mourning too. Their pain is loud and raw and endless, seemingly as if the tears never stopped day and night. Speaking of nightsâ nights are the worst. When everyone else has gone to bed, and thereâs no one left to distract them? The silence is louder than their breathing, and they cry until sleep takes pity on them and allow some type of rest even if they're sniffling and soaking their own tears into the plush of their pillow. Their heart aches in a way that makes the world feel dimmer, slower, wrong. The grief doesnât come in waves where it's easier on one day and harder on the nextâ itâs just there, constant like a finished heartbeat. Time doesnât heal, not really. It just teaches them how to live around the absence.
But one day they'll learn how to smile again someday, even laugh, the pain never leaves but its easier to breathe. It sits beside them like a ghost. Then their pain shifts from a constant weight and a finished heartbeat to waves, some days are easier and some days are harder, days are shorter but sometimes they're longer, they stop crying about the reader during those lonely nights that much.. in comparison to before. Their friends help them along the way, like having a hand on their back constantly rubbing there softly and reassure that maybe they'll learn how to live without you. But they look for you in their dreams, or maybe they look in stars tooâ to see them glimmer and sparkle like you once did, or maybe in the flicker of candlelight for a sign from you. They beg the universe for a signâjust one. Maybe for you to show up in their dreams, maybe for you to whisper a sweet murmur in their ear when they're alone, maybe to feel the cold feeling of your cold hands holding them againâ a far mimic from your once warm hands, anything. Just to know that you're doing okay now at where you're at. They just want to know that you're happy now at least. No longer in pain, no longer carrying the weight of others, whatever it was.. they hoped that you're given the same happiness that you gave to them. Because they will never, ever, forget the happiness they felt when they were with you. And one day, they'll learn how to live without you once again.
(based on chemically bonded!) 18+ || fluff, suggestive! art creds: @/winterrbluess
when the relationship is still fresh
frat!sukuna is very self conscious about just how big he really is, after all, he dwarfs pretty much everybody he meets. he overthinks how he might come off as too intimidating to you. too scary despite the amount of time you'd spent together.
frat!sukuna double-checks everything the first time he picks you up for a real, planned out date. shirt ironed, cologne potent, hands washed twice because he remembers you hate sticky textures. he knocks softer than usual, standing back from your door so he doesnât look like heâs about to break it down. when you open it, he forgets every word he rehearsed and just mutters, âyou lookâŠshit, so pretty...â voice low and careful, as if saying it too loud might scare you off.
frat!sukuna walks half a step behind you when youâre together, not because heâs distracted, but because he doesnât want to crowd you. even his hand on your lower back hovers instead of presses. you eventually grab it yourself and lace your fingers through his, and he stares at your joined hands for a second before whispering, âguess i can stop holdinâ my breath now.â
frat!sukuna at the movies, he doesnât stretch his arm across the back of your seat like he usually does with anyone else. he waits until halfway through, when you shiver a little from the air-con, and then slowly slides it behind you, touching nothing but air until you lean into him first. he exhales quietly, the tension melting from his shoulders.
frat!sukuna lowers his voice around you, but most of all, his laugh is quieter. not the usual loud, rough bark he gives his friends. itâs softer, more contained, like heâs scared of startling you. when you tell him you like his real laugh, he blinks in surprise before chuckling the way he always does, deep, from his chest, and your grin makes him do it again just to hear you giggle back.
frat!sukuna apologizes wayyyy too much.
âsorryâdidnât mean to block the light,â
âsorry if iâm too loud,â
âsorry, i walk pretty fast.â
you finally tell him to stop being so careful, that heâs allowed to take up space next to you. he freezes, then grins shyly, the kind of smile that tugs at one corner first.
âyou sure? i got a lotta space to take.â
frat!sukuna on your third date, when he walks you home, stops at your gate and rocks on his heels like a kid. âwanna make sure iâm doinâ this right,â he says, hand half-raised to your face but never touching. you have to step closer yourself, pressing your palm to his chest so he knows itâs okay. the kiss that follows is slow, steady, all nerves turned to warmth.
frat!sukuna is always hyperaware of his strength. when you hug him, his arms hesitate, hands hovering at your back. âyou can squeeze, yâknow,â you whisper into his shirt. he laughs softly, finally pulling you in fully. you can feel the relief in the way his chest relaxesâheâs been dying to hold you properly since day one.
frat!sukuna starts to relax around you after a month, he comes to terms with the fact that he wont hurt you if he breathes too hard, and he finds himself growing closer and closer to you, emotionally and physically.
frat!sukuna canât stop touching you when youâre in his room. your waist, your hair, your jaw. always grounding himself with a hand somewhere on you. sometimes he just holds your face, thumb brushing your pretty lips before kissing you slow, like heâs savoring every second. afterward, when you pull away to breathe, he whispers, âyeah, we're definitely chemically bonded.â
frat!sukuna loves when you get all serious and nerdy about chemistry, talking with your hands and forgetting heâs there. heâll nod along, pretending to follow, eyes fixed on your mouth. âkuna, youâre not even listening!â you say, narrowing your eyes. ânah, i am,â he grins. âjust distracted by how hot my genius girlfriend looks explaininâ equilibrium or whatever the fuck.â you shove his muscular arm, heâs still smiling.
frat!sukuna gets real quiet when other guys talk to you. he doesnât blow up, doesnât make a scene, just slides an arm around your waist, lips brushing your temple like a warning as he pulls you close to him. âyou good, baby?â he says loud enough for everyone to hear. the guy always backs off. later, in the comfort of your apartment heâll grumpily mutter, âi donât like sharinâ your attention,â against your neck.
frat!sukuna always wakes up before you, no matter how late he stayed up. heâll just lie there for a while, propped on his elbow, watching you breathe against his big chest. he traces the outline of your shoulder with one finger, slow and careful, like heâs taking note of every inch of your soft skin. sometimes heâll press a kiss to the crown of your head, whisper something like, âso fuckin' adorable, its unfair,â heâll get up quietly, make coffee thatâs way too strong, then come back just to sit on the edge of the bed and watch you stretch. you always catch him staring, and he never denies it.
frat!sukuna always keeps your things in his hoodie pocket. says itâs because youâre âalways losinâ your shit,â but you know it's just because he likes to keep pieces of you close to himself. he'll randomly pull out one of your favourite glosses and take your jaw into his hand, unscrewing the lid with his teeth and free hand before carefully swiping it across your lips for you.
"there you go, baby. your lips were chapped."
"when did you even take that?"
"don't worry bout' it."
frat!sukuna grumbles every time you steal his clothes, but his smirk always gives him away. heâll say something like, âthatâs my favorite hoodie, you little shit,â while tugging the hem just to see how it fits on you. the sleeves swallow your hands, and he canât look away. itâs half possessive, half soft. heâll act like heâs irritated but if you try to give it back, he just shakes his head. âno, keep it. looks better on you anyway.â
frat!sukuna always finds an excuse to touch you when youâre studying together, knee against yours under the table, fingers brushing the back of your hand when he steals your pen. you roll your eyes when he asks questions he already knows the answer to, pretending to explain the chemistry problem just so youâll lean in closer. when you catch him staring, he doesnât look away. âfocus, ryo,â you tease, and he grins. âoh, i am,â he says, voice low. later, when you finally finish the assignment, heâll close your laptop and pull you into his lap, murmuring, âyou know i only study âcause you make it look hot.â
frat!sukuna starts calling you âmy girlâ more often than your actual name. it slips out casually at first, in front of friends, during late-night calls, when he texts you goodnight. but the way he says it carries weight, like a promise. âmy girlâs got a big test tomorrow,â heâll brag to toji, pride softening his voice. when you call him out, teasing, âwhat, you get bored of my name?â he just smirks, leaning close until his breath ghosts over your ear. âi can't help it. been mine since that first day in chem, sweetheart. you just didnât know it yet.â and when you blush, he grins like heâs just won the lottery.
frat!sukuna loves cooking with you even though he canât cook for shit. you try to teach him, but he keeps sneaking behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. heâll whisper something stupid like, âwhy cook when i can just eat you instead?â before you elbow him and tell him to stop teasing. still, he watches every move you make. by the time the foodâs done, itâs cold because heâs too busy hoisting you up into the counter and kissing you deeply. âworth the wait,â he murmurs between gasps, lips tasting like spice and warmth.
frat!sukuna gets weirdly gentle after a fight. youâll be pacing, still mad, and he just stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes following you. when you finally snap, âarenât you gonna say something?â he sighs and pulls you close before you can protest. âi hate when we fight, baby,â he says, voice soft in a way that breaks you down instantly. he wonât apologize with words, heâll do it with his hands, with the way he presses his forehead against yours and whispers, âyou drive me fuckinâ crazy, but i canât sleep without you next to me.â itâs messy, but itâs sweet.
frat!sukuna texts you random shit all day, even when heâs with the guys.
âmiss you,â
âyouâd look cute in this shirt,â
âcome over, the houseâs too quiet.â
you tease him about being clingy, but he never denies it. if you donât reply fast enough, he sends an over the top reaction pic captioned: guess iâll just shoot myself in the throat, then. but when you finally show up at the frat, heâs leaning against the door like he wasnât waiting patiently. âjeez, took you long enough,â he says, smirk slipping the second he pulls you in by the waist. his texts are playful, but the way he kisses you isnât.
frat!sukuna always keeps something of yours in his room. maybe your scrunchie, a necklace, your perfume bottle half-empty on his shelf. he says itâs accidental, but you catch him holding your hair tie once, twirling it around his fingers like a nervous habit. âsmells like you,â he mumbles, eyes distant. when you tease him, he shrugs. âreminds me why i put up with you.â but when youâre gone for a few days, thatâs the first thing he grabs, the small trace of you that keeps his chest from feeling too empty. heâd never say it, but those little pieces are his comfort.
frat!sukuna is addicted to your laugh. heâll make the dumbest jokes just to hear it, smirking every time you try to hold it in. âdonât hide your laugh,â he says, voice low. âitâs adorable.â sometimes he tickles you until youâre crying with laughter, his grin wide and boyish. ânever seen you this happy,â he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. then, quieter, âwanna be the reason for it every day.â itâs moments like that when his walls drop, when you see the softness under all the tattoos and sharp grins. he looks at you like youâre the first good thing heâs ever known.
frat!sukuna likes when you wear his shirts to bed, thin fabric slipping off your shoulder, nothing underneath but skin. heâll pull you closer, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. âfuck, i want you, so badly,â he whispers against your ear before kissing that spot on your neck that makes you melt. "you look so fuckable in my clothes, you're so adorable." his shirt ends up forgotten somewhere on the floor after a few minutes.
frat!sukuna pretends heâs focused on the movie, but his hand keeps wandering. first your knee, then higher, higher, until he's got one of his fingers pressing down on your clothes clit, you gasp his name. he smirks without looking away from the screen. âyou're so tempting,â he says, voice low, âbe a good girl and let me take care of you.â the credits roll before you realize you havenât seen a single frame.
frat!sukuna gets off on seeing you flustered. loves leaning in close when he talks, just to watch your breath hitch. âwhatâs wrong, sweetheart?â he murmurs, eyes dark. âcanât handle me this close?â when you push him away, he only grins wider, whispering, âyou're so easy to tease. y' sure you don't want me closer?â knowing damn well you do.
frat!sukuna always ends up behind you when youâre brushing your teeth at his sink. bare chest against your back, arms sliding around your waist. heâll kiss your shoulder between words, muffled by toothpaste. âyou look so pretty in the mornings, love.â he murmurs, âso adorable, even with bed head.â you roll your eyes, but his reflection in the mirror is smiling.
frat!sukuna has a thing for hearing you say his name. not âsukuna,â but the quiet, breathy way you say it when youâre half-asleep or half-undone under his relentless hands. heâll push your hair back and whisper, âsay it again,â like itâs the only word he wants to remember. you notice the way his eyes blow out with that feral look each time you let the word slip, his pace always shuddering with desperation as the syllables fall out of your mouth.
frat!sukuna makes you sit in his lap during parties. says itâs âso no one else gets ideas,â but his fingers trace circles on your thigh the whole time, his breath hot against your ear. you try to focus on what the people around you are trying to talk to you about, but all you can feel is him murmuring, âgood girl, stay right here.â and you always do, feeling him grow harder and harder underneath you as you squirm in embarrassment.
frat!sukuna likes when you steal his rings. heâll catch your hand midair, smirk tugging at his mouth. âyou tryinâ to claim me or somethinâ?â he teases, sliding one onto your finger himself. âfine. but now everyoneâs gonna know who you belong to.â you pretend to protest, but the way his eyes linger says you love it too.
frat!sukuna has a habit of whispering filthy things between soft ones. âyouâre beautiful,â he says, lips brushing your neck. âyou drive me fucking insane.â then lower, rougherââcan't wait til' we're alone... m' gonna ruin your pretty little body, make you forget everything but me.â his tone shifts so easily it leaves your head spinning. and afterward, when youâre tangled in sheets, heâs still whispering, âall mine,â like it's gospel.
frat!sukuna takes his time with you. he never rushes sex. heâll kiss you like heâs got nowhere else to be, fingers pushing into you slowly with careful attention, his voice a low rasp: âfuck, you're so tight for me, baby. taking me sooo well.â when you finish and you're a mess of breathless gasps, he grins. âtold you i could make you forget everything, didnât i?â
frat!sukuna is constantly staring at you. in the library, in class, even across crowded rooms. he doesnât look away when you notice â just smiles big and dopey, like he got caught stealing something he already owns. âwhattt?â you ask. ânothinâ,â he says, eyes lingering on your lips. âjust canât believe youâre real sometimes.â you never stop blushing after that.
frat!sukuna only really trusts you around a handful of people â nanami, choso, maybe gojo on a really good day. everyone else? he keeps a hand on your back, eyes scanning the room like heâs ready to start something. âdonât need the guys talkinâ to you too much, fillin' your head with their bullshit ideas,â he mutters. âcan't have them corrupting your pretty little mind.â you just smile, because sukuna's possessive side was the cutest thing you'd ever witnessed.
frat!sukuna loves buying you little things for no reason â hair clips, pens shaped like beakers, plushies he pretends are for âdecoration.â when you ask why, he shrugs. âsaw it, thought of you.â but the truth is, he likes knowing that everywhere you look, thereâs something that reminds you of him. every trinket a quiet, wordless kind of love note.
frat!sukuna lays across your stomach while you study, head turned toward the pages like heâs pretending to read. really, heâs just listening to your heartbeat. you complain that heâs heavy, but he hums, tracing circles on your side. âhelps me focus,â he lies. you know heâs just trying to anchor himself in your calm, his chaos finally quiet.
frat!sukuna gets obsessed with the way you concentrate. the way your brows furrow, your lips move when you read under your breath. heâll be across the room, supposed to be doing something else, and heâll just stand there, watching. âwhat?â you ask without looking up. he grins. âjust admirinâ my favorite nerd.â you roll your eyes, he smiles like an idiot.
frat!sukuna gets territorial in tiny, stupid ways. wipes your lipstick from his cheek but leaves it on his throat. lets people see the marks you leave but glares if anyone stares too long. when you scold him, he just smirks. âyou started it, sweetheart.â the next day, his jawâs bruised from your teeth, and heâs never looked prouder.
frat!sukuna keeps showing up at your dorm with snacks, claiming itâs for âstudy fuel.â half the time he just watches you eat, chin in his hand, smiling like heâs got everything heâs ever wanted right there. âyouâre so cute when you chew,â he teases, dodging your pen when you throw it at him. he laughs. âmy favorite nerd.â
frat!sukuna was being mysterious. you got a text from your man at some random hour of the afternoon, it simply read, "i'm coming over, baby." you hearted the message and sent a cute sticker in return, just assuming he was coming over to chill.
you open the door to see his big, brooding stature, dressed in a casual black beater and loose sweatpants.
"hey, sweetheart. missed you." he gave you a peck on the cheek before walking past you into your apartment like second nature. you smiled and let him drag you to the couch, falling down onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist and peppered your face in feather light kisses.
"i'm gonna show you something, but you promise you can't freak, hmm?"
you looked at him skeptically, but smiled anyway, nodding your head as he grabbed the hem of his shirt. without warning, he lifted it up and off, revealing his tatted upper body, one you'd seen countless times. only, there seemed to be a new addition...
resting softly against his left pec, was a tattoo of your name in a pretty, classy font. your eyes go wide as you cover your mouth with your hand.
"are you... are you deadass?"
"i'm so deadass." he replied, smiling down at you as your fingers trailed over the slightly red mark. he laughed at your expression, one of pure shock and enthralment.
summary ~ satoru gojo, frat boy fuck up and shameless heartbreaker, has his whole world flipped when he notices the prettiest girl in his social studies class. suddenly ditching his hookups and wild ways, he devotes himself entirely to her, proving, loudly, obnoxiously, and wholeheartedly, that even an untouchable asshole can fall in love. (fluff)
gojo was an asshole.
you probably knew his name before you even set foot on campus. everyone did.
satoru gojo was the kind of guy you heard about in whispers before you ever saw him in person, like a myth given a six foot four body, tussled white hair and a poisonous grin.
he was the kinda frat boy everyone warned you about, the walking red flag who still somehow had half the university drooling at his feet.
people lost their minds gossiping about him, while guys wanted to be him and girls wanted to be with him, he had everyone either drooling or plotting his demise.
with all that attention comes a wicked ego, and satoru was not one to shy away from admitting he thought he was the best thing to ever happen to this university. he was an intensive, arrogant, entitled dick in every sense of the meaning.
his reputation was built off of hot, messy nights and really shitty decisions. the kind where heâd stumble out of one girlâs dorm room at 2.a.m only to crash a sorority mixer at 3.
the kind where heâd hook up with someoneâs best friend on friday, then text that same girlâs roommate on saturday. he didnât discriminate either. freshmen, seniors, sorority girls, athletes, even a teaching assistant once, if the rumors were true.
he had a type, sure, but it was less about looks and more about who was available and willing to let him flash that cocky grin in their direction.
and when he wasnât fucking half the campus population? he was talking shit, running his mouth. satoru lived to mind fuck anyone who crossed his path.
heâd clap back at professors mid-lecture, throw casual digging insults at his teammates during practice, or lean out of the frat house windows yelling down at passersby just to get a rise out of them. he thrived on being the insufferable asshole everyone loved to hate.
gojo wasn't one to settle, he was loud, fast paced, and too full of himself to really slow down and appreciate anything.
so it was no surprise that when he strutted into your social studies lecture, ten minutes late with sunglasses on and a protein shake in hand, no one batted an eye. it was just gojo being gojo.
you, though, you were new to the spectacle.
you had slipped into the back row that day, notebook neatly open, pen poised in your hand. you werenât the kind of person who drew attention. you came to class, you took notes, you went home. simple. your world was quiet, orderly, filled with the kind of softness that most people overlooked.
gojo didnât notice you at first. why would he? he was too busy propping his feet up on the desk in front of him, whispering some crude joke to the guy next to him, grinning when the professor sighed like she wanted to strangle him.
but then, halfway through the lecture, he caught something out of the corner of his eye.
you.
and he swore to god, he almost choked on his spit.
you were leaning prettily over your notebook, hair falling in your face as you scribbled cliff notes like the lecture actually mattered. your pen tapped lightly against the page when you paused to think. and then, you looked up. only for a second. but your eyes lifted toward the projector screen, the light catching your face just right.
and gojoâs brain short-circuited.
what the fuck.
how had he never seen you before? he knew everyone, or at least knew of them. but you? you looked like you belonged in another world entirely. drop dead gorgeous, so soft, too perfect, too out of place in a boring lecture hall where he usually dozed off.
you werenât looking at him. you didnât laugh when he cracked a piss funny joke under his breath. you didnât whisper to the girl next to you about whatever scandal he got himself into recently. you didnât even glance his way.
that was new.
for the first time in maybe forever, gojo felt... thrown off.
he kept sneaking glances the rest of the lecture, his sunglasses sliding down his nose so he could actually see you better. every time you tucked your hair behind your ear or chewed on your pen cap, his chest tightened with something he couldnât name.
he leaned over to whisper something to nanami who sat next to him, "nanamin, that girl... oh my god, she is the prettiest person i've ever fucking seen, what the fuck?"
nanami glanced up at who he was talking about and was clearly a little taken aback as well, but agreed promptly nonetheless.
you werenât loud, you werenât dressed to turn heads, you werenât doing anything at all to stand out. and yet, he couldnât make himself stop staring even if he tried.
the second class ended, you packed up quickly and slipped out before he could catch you. but that didnât matter.
because now he was head over heels obsessed with a girl he didn't even know the name of.
later that night, while the frat house was pulsing with music and sweaty bodies crushed together on the dance floor, gojo sat sprawled across the couch with a beer in hand.
girls passed by, some throwing him flirty smiles, one even trying to perch herself in his lap. normally, that would have been the highlight of his night. but instead, his mind kept circling back to the image of you in that back row seat.
who the hell were you? some perfect slice of heaven he couldn't stop dreaming about.
by midnight, he was leaning over to sukuna, half-drunk and half-crazed, muttering, âbro, i saw the prettiest girl in lecture today. like, actually insane. i think iâm in love with her.â
sukuna laughed in his face, obviously. told him he was full of shit.
but gojo wasnât joking.
and for once, it wasnât about a conquest. it wasnât about proving he could get you or wrecking another heart. it was just⊠you. the way you looked so unbothered by him, so wrapped up in your own little world, so untouchably kind without even saying a word.
gojo was absolutely star struck.
and for the first time in his ridiculous life, he finally took a deeper look at himself and saw a problem with his overall personality.
he wanted more than just a night with you. he wanted you to actually see him for what he was. which, to anyone's standard, wasn't anything worth wanting. he figured if he just stuck by you long enough, made a good first impression, the rumours wouldn't catch up to you, and he could rebuild his own image in your eyes.
~
the next time he knew he would see you, he didnât waste a second.
gojo showed up to lecture early, which was unheard of. that day he was already in the room when you walked in, slouched casually in the back row like he hadnât been waiting there for fifteen minutes just to see you again.
you slid into the same seat, pulling out your notebook like always. and before you could even click your pen, there he was, leaning one long arm across the desk between you.
âhey, pretty girl.â he drawled, voice lazy but eyes sharp on your face. âiâm satoru.â
you blinked at him, surprised heâd even spoken to you. âhi.â
âhi?â his grin widened. âthatâs it? no âoh my god, youâre the satoru gojo?'â as soon as it left his mouth he internally strangled himself.
'yikes... i'm embarrassing.'
you raised an eyebrow, a little confused. "is that... not a normal reaction?â
he laughed, loud enough to draw looks from a few rows ahead. you turned back to your notebook, a slight blush of embarrassment brushing your cheeks as you fiddled with your pen.
he felt his throat close up at a lack of words to say to you, like you'd struck him so hard with your allure he couldn't bark out an insensitive comment if he tried. and just like that, he knew he was screwed.
because you werenât impressed. not in the way everyone else was. you werenât leaning toward him, batting your lashes, asking for his number before he even offered it. you were polite, a little cautious, maybe even amused, but not smitten.
gojo lived for attention. but yours? yours he had to earn. and for the first time, he wanted to.
after that, he stuck to you like glue.
if you were in class, he was next to you, pretending to take notes while actually doodling dumb cartoons in the margins and sliding them your way.
if you lingered in the hallway after lecture, he was suddenly at your side, cracking jokes and asking what you were doing later, and if he could tag along.
if you went to the library, somehow he was there too, sprawling across from you and loudly declaring he was there to âstudyâ while actually distracting you until you gave in and laughed.
he followed you like a lost puppy, and everyone noticed.
the girls he used to text at 1.a.m stopped hearing from him. his name faded from gossip about who hooked up with who last weekend. even his frat brothers were suspicious, watching as the guy who used to thrive on chaos suddenly spent his time orbiting one person.
âyouâre whipped,â choso muttered one night, exhaling smoke as he leaned back on the couch. the party raged around them, bass shaking the walls, but gojo wasnât on the dance floor. he was sprawled beside choso, drink untouched, talking about you.
ânot whipped,â gojo argued, though his grin betrayed him. âjust⊠invested.â
âbro, you havenât gotten laid in like a month.â
âso? i donât need to. sheâs different.â
âdifferent,â choso echoed flatly, passing him the joint.
gojo didnât even smoke it. just twirled it between his fingers, staring into the crowd like he could manifest you appearing there even though he knew youâd never set foot in a place like this.
because that was the thing, he learned quickly you werenât a party girl. youâd wrinkle your nose when he invited you to a rager, politely decline with a smile that never felt judgmental, just firm. you told him you preferred nights in, maybe a movie or book before bed.
at first, it drove him insane. he wanted you here, pressed into his side on the couch while the music pulsed and the drinks flowed.
he wanted to show you off, parade you through the crowd like proof heâd actually caught something precious. but he also didnât want to push you.
so instead, he stayed sober at parties, sinking into the couch with choso or nanami and rambling about you.
how your laugh had slipped out in class that day when he whispered something dumb under his breath.
how your handwriting was neat enough to frame.
how you always brought an extra granola bar and offered it to him without thinking, like kindness was your default setting.
âi wish she liked this shit,â he admitted one night, watching the door like maybe youâd magically walk through it. âlike, imagine her sitting here with us. iâd never leave the couch.â
âyou already never leave the couch,â choso pointed out.
âyeah, but if she was here, itâd be romantic.â
nanami groaned. âyouâre insufferable.â
but none of them had ever seen gojo like this. he wasnât chasing anyone else, wasnât flashing his usual cocky smirk at every girl who crossed his path.
his phone, once a graveyard of unanswered texts from hookups, was now filled with half-written drafts to you. memes he wanted to send, dumb thoughts he thought might make you laugh, questions about class he didnât actually need answers to.
and you, well, you thought he was just being friendly.
when he plopped down next to you in the cafeteria, stealing fries off your tray and launching into some dramatic story about how his friend yuji nearly set the kitchen on fire, you laughed and rolled your eyes. when he followed you to the bookstore, carrying your bag without asking and tossing commentary at every shelf you paused at, you shook your head but didnât push him away.
"ooo, romance huh? spicy." he teased, ruffling your hair from his much taller stature.
you'd just smile in response and elbow him in the ribs before moving onto the next shelf.
when he texted you at 1.a.m with a picture of his half-finished essay and a caption like âthis is actually so fucking bad. please help me?â you sent back a sleepy laughing emoji and told him you'd help him tommorow after class.
to you, he was becoming a friend. an annoying, persistent, weirdly charming friend, but a friend all the same.
to him, though, you were everything. he'd carefully made sure not to let any sort of mean comment slip, no display of rude and selfish gojo around you, that's for sure. he'd rather cut his hand off then be anything but kind to you.
two months slipped by like that. two months of him ignoring every girl who still tried to flirt with him, brushing them off with a distracted smile. two months of him waiting outside your classes just to walk you home. two months of him sitting at frat parties with choso, whining about how badly he wanted you to see him the way he saw you.
every day he grew more certain. every night he grew more restless.
because this wasnât a fling. not anymore.
he wanted you. not for a night, not for a quick win, but for real.
and gojo satoru, the campus asshole, the frat boy slut, the guy who never before cared about someone quite as much as you, was willing to wait as long as it took for you to realize it. he was in love with you.
~
by the time the second month bled into the third, everyone around him was sick of hearing your name.
âbro, you literally said her name four times in the last five minutes,â itadori groaned, dropping his controller when gojo steamrolled him in mario kart for the fifth time straight. âi get it, she has cute handwriting. shut up.â
âyou donât understand,â gojo fired back, grinning like an idiot. âitâs not just cute, itâs like⊠aesthetically pleasing. symmetrical. satisfying.â
megumi sighed from the other end of the couch. âyou sound insane.â
âiâm in love,â gojo corrected, then flopped backwards so his head hung off the couch, hair brushing the floor. âand none of you support me. fake friends.â
he was unbearable. everyone knew it. his frat brothers started taking bets on when heâd crack and either confess to you or combust from sheer pining. even sukuna, who usually wanted nothing to do with other peopleâs lives, snapped one night when gojo showed up at his door for the fifth time in a week, ranting about how youâd smiled at him in class.
âjesus christ,â sukuna growled, tossing a pillow at his face. âjust ask her out already before i sew your mouth shut.â
but asking you out wasnât that simple.
gojo had never been nervous about that kind of thing before. usually, if he wanted someone, he got them. he didnât even have to try. one smile, one joke, and girls were climbing into his lap at parties. rejection wasnât in his vocabulary.
but you werenât like them.
you were careful. he noticed it in the way you took your time answering him sometimes, like you were weighing his words for hidden meaning. in the way you tilted your head when he told a story, like you were trying to figure out what was true and what was exaggeration. in the way you politely ignored the flirty comments he sometimes let slip, as if you didnât want to encourage him.
you didnât trust him. not fully. and why would you?
his reputation clung to him like smoke. youâd probably heard the stories, everyone had. how he slept around, how he treated people like toys, how he broke hearts without blinking. and maybe you thought youâd just be another notch in his bedpost if you gave him a chance.
the thing was, you werenât wrong. if this had been a year ago, maybe even a few months ago, that wouldâve been exactly what he wanted. but now? now he wanted something real. something terrifying for him.
he wanted you.
so for weeks, he stalled. he walked you to your cute little apartment every single day without fail, made you laugh until you covered your mouth to hide your smile, never let you carry anything, bought you coffee. he turned down girls left right and center, letting their numbers rot unread in his phone. yet he lingered on your texts, typing and deleting responses just to make sure they came out right.
but still, the words âwill you go out with meâ stuck like cement in his throat.
until one friday afternoon.
the two of you had stayed late in the library, your notes spread across the table while he pretended to study but really just doodled little caricatures of you on his paper. the sun dipped low through the windows, painting everything gold. you pushed your books into your bag and stretched, your sweater slipping just enough to reveal your collarbone, and gojo nearly lost his mind.
he had to do it. he couldnât drag this out anymore.
âhey,â he blurted, voice sharper than he meant. you glanced at him, eyebrows raised, and he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncharacteristically awkward. âso, uh⊠iâve been thinking.â
âhmm, that's dangerous,â you teased, zipping up your bag.
âha ha. real funny. no, seriously.â he leaned forward, trying to mask how fast his heart was beating. âi really like you, y/n.â
you froze. your hands stilled on your bag, and your eyes flicked up to his. cautious. guarded.
âsatoruâŠâ
âno, wait, donât give me that voice,â he rushed, holding up a hand. âthe one thatâs like âyouâre full of shit, satoru.â iâm not. i really really mean it.â
you sighed, and for a moment, he thought you might laugh in his face. âyou have a pretty bad reputation with girls, you know.â
âyeah... i know.â his grin faltered, replaced by something rawer. âbut, y/n, i swear, you're not like those stupid flings, okay? genuinely i really like you.â
you pause again, searching his eyes for any hint of deceit. "i dunno toru..."
âlook... i know i was abit of, well... a whore. but please believe me. ever since i met you, y/n... i've stopped all of that shit.â
he leaned closer, voice low, almost pleading. âi havenât touched anyone else since i met you. i donât even look at anyone else. i think about you when i wake up, when i go to bed, every dumb second in between. iâm not good at this whole⊠sincerity thing, but iâm trying, because youâre worth it.â
your lips parted, surprise flickering across your face.
âplease,â he added, softer now. âjust one date. if iâm still the asshole everyone thinks i am, you can walk away. but give me the chance to prove iâm not.â
silence stretched between you. his palms were sweaty against the table, heart hammering so hard he swore you could hear it.
finally, you exhaled. âokay, satoru.â
his head snapped up. âwait- really?"
âyes you big dummy,â you joked, standing and slinging your bag over your shoulder.
gojo shot to his feet so fast his chair screeched against the floor. âyou wonât regret this. i swear, you wonât. best date of your life, promise.â
you shook your head, but there was the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.
and just like that, he was soaring.
he walked you home that evening practically buzzing out of his skin. every step felt too small for how big the moment was. he wanted to shout it off rooftops, text everyone in his contacts, run a victory lap around campus.
instead, he saved it until he got back to the frat house.
the second he walked in, he threw his arms up like heâd just won a championship. âboys!â he bellowed, voice carrying over the tv. âshe said yes!â
heads turned. groans and cheers erupted in equal measure. itadori nearly spit out his drink, megumi buried his face in his hands, and choso just muttered, âthank godâ under his breath.
but gojo wasnât done.
he bounded up the stairs two at a time and slammed open sukunaâs door. âshe said yes!â
sukuna scowled from his desk, mid-study. âget out.â
âno, listen, she actually said yes! first date, itâs happening, iâm a taken man now, kiss bachelor gojo goodbye!â
a pillow hit him square in the face. âi donât care.â
âyou care a little,â gojo sang, ducking out before sukuna could throw something heavier.
then he bolted to the kitchen, where nanami was quietly making tea. he skidded in, nearly crashing into the counter, and declared, ânanamin, she said yes.â
nanami didnât even look up. âplease stop yelling.â
âyou donât get it,â gojo insisted, grabbing him by the shoulders. âthis is life-changing. history in the making. iâm officially off the market.â
âcongratulations,â nanami deadpanned, prying his hands off. ânow leave me alone.â
but nothing could dull his grin. not the groans, not the insults, not the pillows thrown at his face. because for the first time in his ridiculous, chaotic life, satoru gojo had something real to hold onto.
and it was you.
~
the night of your first date, gojo treated it like he was gearing up for war.
not the usual frat boy âspray on half a can of cologne and call it a dayâ kind of prep. no, he actually cared this time. he spent a full hour in front of the mirror, changing shirts three times, arguing with himself about whether a button-up was too try-hard or if a hoodie was too lazy. nanami, who had the misfortune of walking past his room, stopped dead in the doorway and just stared.
âwhat are you doing,â nanami asked flatly.
âbro, i have a date, obviously."
ânever seen you this stressed about getting ready for a dumb date.â
âno, you donât get it. itâs the date. first date with y/n.â
nanami sighed so hard it sounded painful. âoh yeah. god help that poor girl.â
but underneath the jokes and chaos, gojoâs chest was tight with nerves. his hands actually shook when he tied his sneakers. when had that ever happened before? heâd walked into hookups without a single thought, breezed through flings like they were nothing. but you werenât a fling. you were the one person he couldnât afford to screw this up with.
he showed up right on time, knocking on your door with his heart hammering against his ribs. when you opened it, dressed prettily and glowing in a way that made him lose his breath, he forgot every dumb speech heâd rehearsed in the mirror.
âyou lookâŠâ he swallowed, his usual smooth confidence tripping over itself. âholy shit. you look amazing.â
you flushed, ducking your head. âthanks, toru. you too.â
he grinned, wide and unrestrained, and offered his arm like he was escorting you to a ball instead of just dinner.
the date wasnât extravagant. gojo debated booking some over-the-top spot, something flashy to prove he was serious. but then he remembered what youâd told him, you liked cozy, simple things. so he picked a quiet ramen place off campus, one with dim lights and big portions, where you could actually talk.
and talk you did.
at first, you were slightly guarded despite talking to him everyday for the past three months, shoulders tense, answers a tad clipped. but gojo didnât push. he asked about your home life, your favorite everything, whether you liked digimon?
he told you dumb stories about his frat, exaggerated his way through a tale about sukuna accidentally breaking a chair with one punch, and laughed at his own jokes just to see if it would make you laugh too.
slowly, you relaxed. your smiles came easier, your laughter softer but genuine. and every time you looked at him, really looked, he felt like he was being seen in a way no one else had ever bothered to. not as campus legend, not as the asshole frat boy, just as satoru.
by the time dinner ended, you werenât thinking about his reputation anymore. you were thinking about how he held the door for you, how he listened when you spoke, how he didnât make a single flirty comment that felt like a game.
you were thinking maybe, just maybe, he meant it.
afterwards, he walked you home. the night air was cool, the campus quiet except for distant laughter and the hum of streetlamps. he shoved his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to reach for yours.
âso,â he said, tilting his head toward you. âbe honest. was that the worst date of your life, or just bottom three?â
you laughed, shaking your head. âyeah, it was good.â
âgood?â he gasped, feigning offense. âjust good? i poured my heart and soul into that top tier date.â
âfinee. it was really good, satoru.â
his grin softened, and he hummed sweetly. âbetter.â
you stopped outside your apartment, turning to face him. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the world felt smaller, quieter, the air between you charged.
âthanks for tonight, it was really fun... i really enjoyed it, toru,â you said.
âno no, thanks for saying yes.â his voice dropped, sincerity seeping through. âseriously. i know you didnât have to. i know what people say about me. but⊠iâm glad you gave me a chance.â
you hesitated, then smiled. âme too.â
gojoâs heart soared. "so... how about a second date?" he asked with a shy blush, fiddling with his fingers behind his back.
you smiled softly, and let your eyes fall to the floor before responding with a bashful laugh. "of course, i'd love that."
he wanted to kiss you, wanted it so bad his chest ached with it. but he didnât push. instead, he stepped back with a lopsided grin. "thank god. i'll make the second one even better, y/n, promise."
for once in his life he wasn't following someone inside after a date to get what he wanted, he was taking things slow, at your pace.
âsleep well, sweetheart.â
you disappeared inside, and the second the door shut behind you, he nearly exploded.
he jogged back to the frat house like he had rockets strapped to his shoes, grinning so hard his face hurt. the second he burst through the front door, he shouted at the top of his lungs.
âshe had fun! she actually had fun! i didnât blow it!â
the guys groaned from the living room.
âwe get it!â itadori yelled.
but gojo was unstoppable. he sprinted upstairs to sukunaâs room, threw the door open without knocking, and declared, âshe likes me!â
âget the fuck out,â sukuna growled.
âshe likes me,â gojo repeated, ignoring the death glare. âi told you i wasnât full of shit!â
âif you donât leave in five seconds, you wonât live to see a second date.â
gojo ducked out, laughing like a madman, and bolted straight to the kitchen. nanami was, once again, making tea.
ânanamin!â gojo sang, sliding across the tile like a kid. âshe laughed at my jokes. she smiled with me. she actually said she had fun.â
âyouâre very loud,â nanami muttered, not looking up.
âiâm very in love,â gojo shot back, leaning against the counter with a dreamy sigh.
nanami rolled his eyes but didnât argue.
for the rest of the night, gojo couldnât stop. he told anyone who would listen, hell, even people who didnât want to, that heâd taken you out, that it went well, that youâd agreed to a second date. he paced the halls at 2.a.m, still riding the high, muttering to himself about what heâd plan next time.
and for once, the frat didnât tease him too hard. because they all saw it.
the way he lit up at the mention of you. the way his grin softened when he said your name. the way the infamous campus asshole had gone three whole months without a single hookup, without a single scandal, because he only wanted one girl.
satoru gojo, the untouchable, the heartbreaker, the menace, was finally caught.
and the truth was, he didnât want to be anywhere else.
"hmm... maybe a cat cafe next."
awe i love writing frat gojo đ€
happy kinktober guys, i might push some work out but i need some ideas for the kinks you wanna see!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
been thinking about shy cheerleader reader and fratboy football player satoru recently...
ShyCheerleader!Reader who is just a quiet, smart student, spending her afternoons cooped up in the library or reading shoujo manga in her room, with the occasional cheerleading, of course. But no one really notices her because she's always in her own world and is always pushed to the sidelines during cheer team positioning :(
ShyCheerleader!Reader who does not even know how to cheer that well. Her best friend made her join so that she could get out of her comfort zone and show that adorable smile of hers to everyone on campus :3
ShyCheerleader!Reader who cheers for her first game, and is literally just rigid, her movements so stiff it's insane. Her eyes are wide like a scared mouse, and god she just wishes she could run back home and binge watch cat videos on youtube to get over the embarrassment.
FratJock!Satoru can't help but notice during halftime that she's the only cheerleader still practicing, instead of resting with the rest of the cheer squad. Most people don't bat an eye at her, but after he finishes discussing game strategy with his team, he walks up to her and creates small talk.
"You're nervous,â he states, more like a fact than an observation.
ââŠNo?â you respond back, your voice monotone yet betraying your true nervousness. Also, because youâve never talked to the most popular guy on campus, and donât want him to think that everyone falls in love with him immediately.
Because obviously, all popular guys think that way.
âYou sure?â he asks, masking his sarcasm with a question. You try to ignore him, to go back to your practice, before he fishes something out of his pocket.
âTake this," he throws a tiny packet towards you. You catch it, slightly startled and out of balance. For a second, you think he just gave you a drug, but then you open your palm to see ginger electrolyte powder.
âHelps me before big games,â he states simply, before looking at you. His hands are in his pockets, and he begins jogging back to his team.
âTry it out, itâs gonna help!â
FratJock!Satoru who is just a chill guy and always unserious. He's okay when it's just a college game. But when it's a high-stakes game, there's nothing that can distract him. On the field, he's a completely different guy altogether. His head is in the game, and he already strategises ten different ways to gain victory. There's a reason he's the best player on the team.
FratJock!Satoru is only serious about football. He's a ladies' man, literally for all age groups. Girls on campus flock around him, old grannies ruffle his hair and give him candy like he's some seven-year-old. Even the little girls he meets when he's playing football with the young school boys in his hometown give him innocent little love letters from time to time, which he obviously just gives back to them with a sigh and an apologetic smile, telling them that they can't (and shouldn't) marry a guy an entire decade older than them.
FratJock!Satoru plays football in the morning, parties until sunrise, and somehow still passes all his classes. He's always hooking up with a different girl every week, absolutely no strings attached, and when they do get attached, he just ignores them. Not because he wants them to stop following him around, but because he can't, for the life of him, let himself get attached. And most of the time he doesn't, because he's never met a girl who wants him for anything other than his pretty face and body.
FratJock!Satoru who starts noticing ShyCheerleader!Reader a bit more after the first interaction he had with her. He's never seen a quiet girl like her on the cheer team, because most of them are usually in popular friend groups. So obviously, he's intrigued and approaches her. He asks her if his ginger powder electrolyte worked, and from then on, he's talking to her like she's his friend.
ShyCheerleader!Reader always comes to cheer practice with her big sling bag full of books, her iPad, and cheerleading pom poms. FratJock!Satoru is always looking, because he swears he saw you and your friend play digimon together in the cafeteria one day, and he cannot help the nerd inside of him from getting overexcited.
ShyCheerleader!Reader tries to ignore him, gives him short and curt replies, because popular jocks who hook up with every pretty girl on campus and are also part of the fraternity? She hates them. They are the same kind of people who would have bullied her when she was a little girl, the same kind of guys who would always pick her pretty friends over her.
FratJock!Satoru is just confused. He just wants to nerd out with her because no one else on campus has ever even heard about Digimon :(
FratJock!Satoru notices her reluctance to talk to him about nerdy stuff, her fearing she may be too much of a loser for him, and that he'd probably talk shit about her to his friends. She thinks he's the typical douche bag popular guy she finds everywhere. However, all of that is flown out the window when she finds a cold bottle of Pocari Sweat next to her bag during cheer practice, with a note attached to it saying:
"I somehow found a huge stash of that manga you said you like in the library. Meet me after practice? ;P"
FratJock!Satoru and she meet up. They start talking, getting closer, and most importantly, getting comfortable with each other. He realises that this is the most entertaining conversation he's had in a very long time. He doesn't feel the need to be fake or superficial; he's genuinely interested.
ShyCheerleader!Reader does not know much about Digimon, and suddenly FratJock!Satoru tunes into his inner nerd, going on and on about digimon, giving her knowledge from the depths of the digimon dungeons. And somehow, she finds it adorable, because this was the first time she was seeing another side of him.
ShyCheerleader!Reader eventually realises she's talking to FratJock!Satoru more, almost craving conversations with him. Because maybe not all jocks are mean. Especially one who is always so nice to her, talks to her with interest, stands up for her, appreciates her talents, and eases her nerves before cheerleading. He's sweet, pretty, and⊠biceps.
FratJock!Satoru and she meet up more often and get to know each other more. He's there during her cheer practice, coincidentally, most of the time, patching up another bruised knee or forehead every single time she falls right onto her butt.
FratJock!Satoru reassures her that she'll get better with time and makes sure she doesn't cry from sheer embarrassment. He's immediately giving a death stare to anyone who laughs at her. He thinks she's cute; he's always thought she's cute. But it's the first time he notices just how pretty she is.
ShyCheerleader!Reader however, is always on edge, trying her best not to mess up, especially when FratJock!Satoru is there. He can't help but catch her eyes wandering towards him every time, maybe when he's stretching or when he's drinking water with the rest of the cheer team also surrounding him. He almost wishes she was also one of the girls in the crowd surrounding him, although he doubts whether he'd be able to keep his eyes off of her without making it too obvious.
ShyCheerleader!Reader doesn't want to stand out or come off as different. She's just always on edge, especially when FratJock!Satoru is around. And she is also starting to notice how his mere presence makes her heart speed up
FratJock!Satoru starts to skip parties, instead preferring to go to ShyCheerleader!Reader place, chill and play some video games for the night, maybe teach her more about digimon while watching her make instant ramen. It's the calmest he's felt around someone, and with how sweet she is to him, he doesn't feel ashamed to be his real self.
FratJock!Satoru realises he likes ShyCheerleader!Reader. Like, a lot. How could he not? She's sweet, refreshing, absolutely adorable, and so goddamn witty it almost drives him insane sometimes. She's shy, but she knows how to stand up for herself, even though it scares her. And he loves it, he loves the way she tries, despite knowing she's not a good cheerleader. He pretty much loves everything about her, and he doesn't mind skipping nights full of alcohol and unnecessary hookups if instead he gets to be with her in her room, patching her bruises up while telling her about his day. She might not be a good cheerleader, but he'll still cheer her on even when she's tripping again and pissing her entire team off. He knows nothing's gonna happen when he's watching. No one disses his girl.
"Got hurt again?" He murmured with a soft sigh, dabbing the cotton bud lightly onto the plush of your bruised cheek.
"...Yeah." You fiddled with the box of cotton buds, your gaze downcast. It's so embarrassing always having him patch you up like this.
He didn't say anything, his expression nothing but concentration and concern, his touch gentle yet clearly unskilled.
"Well... did you at least make any improvements today?"
A beat of silence, while you tried to think of a way you didn't mess up during practice.
"I, uhm... didn't drop the pom poms this time...?"
Your voice was shaky, unsure. But despite your uncertainty, his expression gave way to a satisfied grin.
"Yeah?"
You nod. And he hums back, his voice soft and fond.
"That's my girl."
divider by @cafekitsune
a/n: whew⊠now lets see if I ever get the motivation to turn this into a full blown series!! (sweatdrops)
wc: 17k || art creds: @/winterrbluess @/su2kuna || 18+
frat!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader
A/N lowk this fic is much more toned down compared to what i usually post but fuck it we ball it's cute
summary ! sukuna doesn't give a shit about chemistry, that is until the big red 8% on his last test threatens to get him kicked out of his frat. desperate, he turns to the only person who can save him: you, the adorable, shy girl who aces every quiz. you agree to help, but only if he helps you get the attention of your hallway crush, his best friend, toji. what starts as a deal between you slowly turns into a spiral of love and jealousy. (18+, fluff, slight toji x reader (?), no angst for once omg go me)
the big red number stares back at him from the top of the paper like a brand burned into his pride. 8%.
sukuna exhales through his nose, the sound rough, annoyed. the paper crumples in his hand before he tosses it onto the desk. he leans back in his chair, the metal legs creaking under his weight as his jaw works.
normally, he wouldnât give a damn about a grade. itâs not like chemistry was ever something he cared about. but this time, itâs different. one more fail and heâs out. the frat has rules, grades too low and youâre done. and he knows exactly whatâll happen if that happens.
tojis smug laugh. satoruâs endless teasing. the guys calling him âbrain-deadâ for weeks. no more parties. no more sorority hoes. no more lazy afternoons drinking on the porch with his friends.
he runs a hand down his face, dragging his fingers over the faint scar under his eye and the sharp tatted lines on his cut face. he canât let that happen.
at the front of the room, their professor is rambling about averages and assessment weightings, something about the next major project. sukuna tunes back in when he hears the words âsixty percentâ and âpartner work.â that catches his attention.
the next gruelling assessment is a two-month long research investigation worth sixty percent of their final grade.
he was on the verge of strangling himself to death or jumping out of the top story window when he realised.
thatâs it.
thatâs his way out. he just needs a smart partner who can carry his hopeless ass.
sukunaâs eyes sweep across the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they know what the hell theyâre doing. most of the people he usually talks to in class are as useless as he is, too busy flirting or sleeping through lectures.
but then his gaze catches on someone sitting right up the front.
you.
the quiet girl with the tidy notes and the neat handwriting, the one who always answers when the professor asks a question no one else dares to.
youâre sitting there now, head slightly tilted as you jot something down, your pen gliding across the page with that easy confidence of someone who actually understands this shit.
youâve always sat alone, tucked near the window. you never talk during lectures unless you have to, and even then your voice is small, hesitant. you wear oversized sweaters, keep your hair pinned up, and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks remotely like they belong to his world.
still, heâs noticed you before. everyone has. itâs hard not to. youâre the kind of girl that seems untouchable, not because youâre trying to be, but because youâre so far removed from everything he knows. soft, focused, real sweet.
and right now, you look like salvation.
he pushes up from his seat, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates as he moves down the aisle. his tall frame blocks the light for a second when he stops beside your desk. you glance up, startled, your pen pausing mid-sentence.
"yo, my names sukuna. and you?"
"uh, hi? it's y/n." he smirks at your shy response, but continues.
âyouâre like, a chem genius, right?â his tone is low, rough with disinterest, though his eyes linger on you a little too long.
you blink up at him, hesitant. âoh, um⊠i guess? why?â
âi need a partner, like, real bad,â he says, dropping the failed exam onto your desk with a dull slap. the red ink almost glows. âi'm gonna be honest, i completely fucked myself with this last exam. i canât afford to fail again.â
you stare at the paper, then at him. up close, heâs intimidating. messy pink hair, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, tattoos trailing up his arms, his face, and peeking out from under his shirt collar.
he looks nothing like someone whoâd ever ask for help, especially from you, and the fact that heâs doing it now makes your mind reel.
âiâlook, don't take this the wrong way, but... theres a lot of people in this class,â you manage softly. âwhy pick me?â
he shrugs, leaning one hand on the desk beside your notes. âbecause you actually know what youâre doing. and iâm not looking to get stuck with some idiot whoâll drag me down, i'm already so fucking cooked."
you hesitate, glancing away. youâve never really talked to him before. actually, youâve barely even noticed him beyond the times youâve seen him walking across campus with toji. thatâs usually when your stomach does that stupid fluttering thing. watching toji laugh, his arm slung lazily around sukunaâs shoulders, both of them looking like they own the place.
itâs strange seeing one of them standing here now, asking you for help.
you fidget with your pen. âthat's fine, sure. but⊠if weâre partners, wed have to split the workload.â
"yeah,â he says. âi can pull my weight, don't stress it, sweetheart. mostly just need someone to keep me from bombing it.â
itâs almost funny. heâs trying to sound casual, but something about the way heâs watching you feels uncharacteristically careful. like heâs actually waiting for your answer rather than being the overbearing dick he usually is.
maybe itâs because youâre cute. or maybe itâs because he knows you hold his fate in your small, nervous hands.
you chew your lip for a moment, then nod. âyeah, okay. iâll help you out.â
his mouth tilts in a grin thatâs half smug, half genuine relief. âgood. 'preciate it, babe.â
you look down instantly, pretending to organize your papers so he doesnât see the way your face warms. you weren't used to such casual name calling.
he drags a chair over from the next row and drops into it beside you, leaning back like heâs been sitting there all semester.
the professorâs voice fades into the background again as you stare straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that sukuna ryomen, the most notorious guy in beta tau, is now your project partner.
a few minutes pass in silence. the lecture drags on, your notes filling another page. but your mindâs racing the whole time. sukuna, meanwhile, canât stop sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.
he hadnât expected you to actually agree. and he definitely hadnât expected to find himself curious about you. youâre so⊠different. not the kind of girl who shows up to parties. not someone who flirts back when he smirks at her. just quiet and sweet, head buried in your work, the type that shouldnât even be in his orbit.
and yet here you are.
when the professor dismisses the class, people start packing up. you hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to him.
âhey⊠sukuna?â
he hums, eyes flicking toward you lazily. âyeah?â
you look nervous, the words almost tripping over themselves before they leave your mouth. cute. âiâll help you pass. but⊠can you help me out with something too?â
his brow arches. âhmm. depends what it is.â
you take a quiet breath. âitâs about your friend. uhâ toji.â
that gets his attention. his posture stiffens a little. âwhat about him?â
you look down at your notebook, like itâs safer than looking at him. âi just⊠i think heâs really attractive. and he looks nice. i know itâs kind of stupid but i was wondering if maybe... you could help me get him to notice me.â
for a second, sukuna just stares at you.
out of all the things he expected you to say, that wasnât it.
you, the shy little thing sitting up front, blushing and tripping over her own words, want toji fushiguro. one of the biggest assholes on campus. his best friend, sure, but a guy who barely remembers girlsâ names after he sleeps with them.
he leans back slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. âyouâre serious?â
you nod, eyes still fixed on your notebook.
he studies you for a long moment. youâre fidgeting again, twisting your pen between your fingers, your voice so soft he almost misses it. âyou donât have to if itâs weird, i just thought⊠you two are close, so maybeâŠâ
sukuna exhales through his nose. part of him wants to tell you itâs a bad idea. that toji doesnât deserve someone like you. that youâd get hurt trying to chase a guy like that.
but he doesnât.
instead, he tilts his head and says, âyeah, fine. iâll help you out.â
your head snaps up, eyes wide. âhuhâ really?â
âyeah. but only because youâre saving my ass with this project,â he says, smirking a little. âguess weâll call it even.â
you smileâsmall, bright, genuineâand something tightens in his chest. you're so cute.
âthank you,â you say quietly.
he grins again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. âdonât mention it, honey.â
and as you pack up your notes, he watches you go, already trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.
he tells himself itâs just a deal. a trade. nothing more.
but as you disappear out the door, he canât shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, heâs gotten himself into more trouble than he realizes.
~
music blasts through the frat, heavy bass shaking the walls, bodies moving in rhythm across the living room floor. someoneâs yelling over the noise, someone else is laughing too loud.
the air smells like bad beer, smoke, and sweat, the classic friday night cocktail that means beta tau is alive and wild again.
sukuna leans against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, watching a game of beer pong play out in front of him. the noise is deafening, but itâs a familiar kind of chaos. tojiâs across the table, grin sharp as he sinks another ping-pong ball into the last cup.
âhell yeah,â toji shouts, hands raised. âthatâs another win for me, baby!â
someone hands him another drink, and he downs it in one go, slamming the cup down as the room cheers. toji fushiguro lives for this kind of nightâbeer, bets, and easy company. sukunaâs used to it, the routine almost comforting.
he joins the next round, barely losing after a stupid bounce, then lets himself collapse onto the sagging couch beside toji. the musicâs pounding through the walls, but the corner theyâre in feels quieter, almost like the noise fades around them.
toji stretches out, arm slung over the back of the couch, shirt sticking to his skin. âyouâre slipping, man,â he says, smirking at sukuna. âused to be able to hold your own in beer pong.â
âfuck up,â sukuna mutters, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. âthat last shot was rigged.â
ârigged?â toji laughs, deep and unrestrained. âyouâre just rusty.â
sukuna grunts, tossing his empty cup onto the coffee table. his headâs buzzingânot from the alcohol, just from thoughts he canât quite shake.
the image of you, the way you looked earlier in class, keeps floating up uninvited. you sitting at the front of the room, your careful handwriting, the little way youâd fidget with your pen when you were nervous.
he doesnât even realize heâs been quiet until toji elbows him. âyo, whatâs got you zoning out?â
sukuna runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding. screw it. âyou ever heard of someone named y/n?â
toji raises a brow, blinking like he didnât catch that over the noise. âwho?â
ây/n,â sukuna repeats.
toji shakes his head, lips quirking. ânah. that some new chick youâre banging?â
sukuna sputters, choking on air. âwhat? no. iâm notââ he cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. great. smooth start.
tojiâs smirk widens. âcome on, man. donât get shy on me. youâre stuttering like some freshman.â
âshut up,â sukuna mutters, glaring at him. âitâs not like that.â
âthen whatâs it like?â
he hesitates, watching the light flicker off the beer bottles on the table. thereâs no way to explain it without sounding weird. heâs not even sure why heâs bringing you up at all, except that he made a promise, and now heâs gotta start somewhere.
âsheâs just⊠in my chem class,â he finally says. âsmart as hell. the kind that actually knows what sheâs doing, yâknow?â
toji snorts. âso, a nerd.â
âyeah,â sukuna says, ignoring the way toji says it like itâs an insult. âbut, like⊠cute. shy, quiet, nice, i guess.â
tojiâs grin widens. âbro. youâre seriously telling me about a crush right now? what the hell happened to you?â
âitâs not a crush,â sukuna says quickly, though his voice comes out sharper than he means. âsheâs justââ he stops, running a hand through his hair. âsheâs helping me with chem, okay? and i told her iâd help her with something too.â
âwhat, she want free alcs?â toji laughs.
âno.â sukuna exhales through his nose. âshe wants you.â
that earns him a pause. toji tilts his head, eyes narrowing like heâs trying to decide if he misheard. âme?â
âyeah.â
âas in⊠she wants to, what, date me?â
âbasically.â
tojiâs silent for a moment, then he breaks into a bark of laughter so loud it turns a few heads. âyouâre kidding, right? some shy nerdy girl wants me?â he grins, tapping his chest. âguess sheâs got good taste.â
sukuna grits his teeth. âdonât be an ass about it.â
âwhat? iâm not being an ass,â toji says, still smirking. âjust saying, thatâs not really my type, man. i like girls who can actually keep up, yâknow?â
âyeah, i know,â sukuna mutters. âthatâs kinda the problem.â
âproblem?â
sukuna leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. âlook, sheâs⊠sheâs sweet. like, actually sweet. the kind of girl that probably still says âsorryâ even when someone bumps into her first. youâd break her in half.â
toji shrugs, unbothered. âthen maybe she shouldnât be into me.â
âshe doesnât even know you,â sukuna says, frustration creeping into his tone. âshe just saw you around. thinks youâre⊠i donât know. hot and nice.â
âha,â toji barks out a laugh, finishing his drink. âthen sheâs definitely got the wrong idea.â
sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. this was going nowhere.
he tries again, his tone careful. âi just figured maybe you could give her a chance. sheâs not like the other girls you mess with. sheâsâŠâ he hesitates, searching for the right word. âdifferent. the kind youâd actually like if you gave her five minutes.â
toji side-eyes him, clearly amused. âyou trying to sell me a girlfriend or something? whatâs in it for you?â
sukunaâs jaw tightens. ânothing. i told her iâd help her out, thatâs all.â
toji grins, eyes glinting. âyou sure about that? you sound kinda like you wanna keep her for yourself.â
sukunaâs silent for a beat, his pulse ticking faster than it should. âi donât.â
âright. and iâm the pope.â toji laughs, leaning back. âare you high? tellinâ me about how cute and shy she is⊠just fuck her and move on, bro. no need for all this emotional shit.â
sukuna drags a hand down his face, groaning. âi wish i was fucking high. jesus, youâre impossible.â
the music gets louder again, another chant rising from the kitchen as someone calls for shots. toji stands, stretching, grinning down at him. âcome on, man. stop thinking so hard. letâs go get wasted.â
sukuna waves him off. ânah, iâm good. go ahead.â
toji shrugs and disappears into the crowd. sukuna sinks further into the couch, head tipping back, letting the noise drown out the frustration burning in his chest.
this was going to be a nightmare.
.
the next morning, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall feel like punishment. the air smells like stale coffee and paper, and the chatter around the room grates on his nerves. sukuna slouches into his seat, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion clinging to him.
youâre already there, of course. neat stack of papers beside your laptop, pen in hand, posture perfect. you glance up as he approaches, offering a small smile.
âmorning,â you say softly.
âhey,â he mutters, sliding into the seat next to you.
the teacher doesnât waste time, telling everyone to start working on their projects. pairs scatter across the room, some staying behind, others leaving for the library. you glance at sukuna, uncertain.
âshould weâŠ?â
âyeah, library,â he says before you can finish. âless noise.â
you nod quickly, tucking your notes under your arm as you follow him out.
the walkâs quiet. you keep close but not too close, fingers gripping the strap of your bag. sukuna glances at you once or twice as you walk, the sunlight catching the edge of your hair. thereâs something weirdly calming about you, like your presence forces the chaos in his head to settle for a bit.
when you reach the campus library, you pick a small table near the back, away from the groups of whispering students. the morning light filters through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. itâs quiet enough that every turn of a page feels loud.
you sit across from him, pulling your laptop from your bag. âum, before we start, maybe we should exchange contact info?â
he nods, pulling out his phone. âyeah. what's ya' number?â
you rattle it off, and he types it in. his phone pings a second later when you text him, and he adds your contact with a lazy swipe. then you both exchange social media.
you open your instagram to show him, but heâs already found it. your accountâs smallâcozy, soft colors, pictures of coffee cups, notes, and the occasional selfie that looks like you were trying not to take one.
then you look at his. thousands of followers, stories from parties, shirtless gym photos, snapshots of him and toji grinning like idiots with red cups in hand.
you blink, then smile politely. âours are⊠really different.â
he huffs out a quiet laugh. âyeah. just a little.â
he doesnât tell you that he finds it kind of adorable, how small and peaceful your corner of the internet looks compared to his chaos.
you both settle in to start discussing the project, papers spread between you. you talk about ideas, your voice growing steadier as you get into the topic. you explain concepts easily, your hands moving as you describe how you could structure the research, how to divide the work.
he listens. or tries to. mostly, heâs just watching the way you light up when you talk about something you love.
after a while, you pause, glancing at him with a small, hopeful look. âdid you⊠talk to toji?â
he freezes for a fraction of a second, mind flashing back to last nightâthe laughter, the teasing, the absolute disaster of that conversation.
âyeah,â he says after a moment, forcing a smile. âi did.â
your eyes widen, curious. âwhatâd he say?â
he hesitates. youâre looking at him so earnestly, waiting for an answer, and he canât bring himself to tell you that toji laughed it off, that heâd said something crude about just sleeping with you and moving on.
so he lies.
âhe seemed interested,â sukuna says smoothly. âasked who you were. said you sounded cute.â
you go still for a moment, then your cheeks flush, and you duck your head. âreally?â
âyeah,â he says, leaning back in his chair. âtold him you were smart, nice. he said thatâs rare.â
your shy smile makes his chest tighten in a way he doesnât understand.
âthatâs⊠really nice of you, sukuna,â you say softly. âthanks.â
he shrugs, forcing a grin. âtold you iâd help.â
but as you turn back to your notes, still smiling faintly to yourself, he canât look away. he doesnât know whatâs worseâthe way lying to you actually hurts his heart, or the way part of himâs starting to wish that toji never finds out who you are.
because the thought of you smiling like that at anyone else makes his stomach twist.
~
the frat house is quieter than usual when sukuna pushes the door open.
no bass pounding through the walls, no laughter echoing down the hallway, no beer pong table clattering in the kitchen. just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sound of someoneâs tv from another room.
itâs strange. unsettling, almost. heâs gotten used to the constant noise, the never-ending buzz of people that filled the house from dusk till dawn.
he kicks off his shoes at the door, shoulders rolling back as he heads for the stairs. his head still feels heavy from the long day, the faint scent of your shampoo stuck in his memory.
itâs weirdâheâs been around a thousand girls, maybe more. girls who practically threw themselves at him, who laughed too loud at his jokes and leaned in too close.
but somehow, youâsitting across from him with that shy smile and your soft voice explaining inter molecular relationshipâmanage to stick in his head longer than any of them ever have.
his roomâs dark when he steps inside, save for the light bleeding in from the street through the blinds. he tosses his keys onto the desk and falls back onto his bed, exhaling. the ceiling stares back blankly.
he doesnât even mean to grab his phone, but his hand moves before he can think. he unlocks it, thumb hovering over instagram.
just checking something, he tells himself.
his fingers type your username into the search bar without hesitation.
your profile opens instantly.
the same cozy layout he remembered. a few new story highlights. your bioâsomething simple, maybe a quote or a flower emoji. his thumb scrolls down slowly, eyes following the grid of neatly arranged photos. you, a few landscapes, coffee cups, snippets of sunlight through your window, a cat that might not even be yours.
he stops when he sees a picture from about a month ago.
youâre holding a tiny puppy in your arms, your face caught mid-laugh, like someone had said something funny right before snapping the picture. the puppyâs paw rests against your chest, nose tucked near your chin. in your other hand, youâre holding a paper cup of coffee, a little swirl of foam peeking through the lid.
he stares at it for longer than he should.
itâs just a photo, nothing special, but something about it hits him hard . the little detailsâthe way your fingers curl gently under the puppyâs paw, the sunlight catching on the curve of your cheek, the way your smile looks completely unposed.
he catches himself wondering stupid things.
was that your dog? probably not. maybe a friendâs. or some random one you met at a cafe.
was the coffee yours? it looks like something youâd order, something simple. maybe vanilla, maybe something with caramel.
where was that taken? some small corner cafe? a weekend morning somewhere quiet?
he doesnât know. and that bothers him more than it should.
his thumb hovers over the photo for a second before he double-taps it. the little red heart fills in on the corner of the screen.
great. now youâre going to see that he liked a post from a month ago. real smooth.
he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, covering his face with his hands.
âwhat the fuck am i doing,â he mutters.
heâs never been that guy. the one who scrolls through a girlâs profile like heâs studying for an exam. the one who cares enough to wonder what her favorite coffee order is, or if she likes dogs or cats more. he doesnât ask those questions. he doesnât want to ask those questions.
but he canât stop himself.
he scrolls again, back up to your most recent postâanother candid shot, youâre wearing one of those oversized sweaters you always seem to wear to class, sleeves pulled over your wrists.
you look peaceful. and sweet. and so painfully far from the world he lives in.
his throat tightens unexpectedly, he looks deeper, really looks at you.
youâre really fucking pretty.
heâd always known that. heâd noticed, sureâheâs not blind. the first day youâd agreed to work with him, heâd thought you were cute. adorable, even. but now, staring at your pictures, seeing the small glimpses of your life beyond those chemistry notes and shy smiles, he realizes itâs more than that.
youâre beautiful.
and that realization sits heavy in his chest, thick and uncomfortable.
because he knows exactly where this is supposed to go.
he still owes you. he still promised you something.
toji.
the thought of his friendâs name makes him exhale hard through his nose.
he can already picture itâif he brings you up again, toji will laugh the same way he always does. say something crude. maybe shrug and agree to meet you, just for the hell of it. and maybe youâd smile that soft, nervous smile at him, and maybe youâd fall for him harder than you already have.
and that imageâthat thoughtâmakes sukunaâs jaw clench.
he shakes his head, forcing the phone screen off.
âget a grip,â he mutters, rolling onto his side.
but itâs no use. even as he closes his eyes, the image of you laughing with that puppy burns into the back of his mind.
~
two weeks pass withf lectures and late-night text exchanges about project deadlines.
youâve met up three times since that first day at the library. each time, sukunaâs noticed small thingsâhow you seem to relax around him more, how youâve started teasing him lightly when he messes up an equation, how your laugh sounds quiet but genuine when he actually manages to make you smile.
and now, on the fourth meeting, he finds himself heading to the library again, trying to ignore the way his stomach feels weirdly tight.
youâre already there when he walks in.
same table. same corner near the back.
but this time, somethingâs different.
youâre standing by your seat, waving slightly when you see him. and in your hands, youâre holding two cups of coffee.
âhey,â you say, your voice bright and clear in a way that makes him pause.
he blinks, momentarily thrown off by how cheerful you sound. âhey,â he replies, trying to sound as casual as usual.
you hold out one of the cups toward him. âi, um, got this for you. black coffee, right?â
for a second, he just stares.
itâs stupid. itâs a coffee cup. but his mind stutters anyway.
âyeah,â he says, voice quieter than he means it to be. âyeah, thatâs right.â
âi wasnât sure how you take it,â you admit with a small laugh. âyou seem like the kind of person who drinks it straight. no sugar, no milk.â
he huffs out a small laugh, taking the cup from you. âyou got that right.â
âlucky guess.â
you sit down, cheeks faintly pink. he watches you for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat and dropping into the chair across from you.
âthanks,â he says finally, lifting the cup slightly. âfor the coffee.â
you smile, soft and genuine. âyouâve been helping me a lot with this, so i thought it was the least i could do.â
he wants to tell you that youâve got it backwardsâthat youâre the one keeping him afloat, not the other way aroundâbut he bites his tongue.
instead, he takes a sip, the bitter taste grounding him.
âyou didnât have to, y'know.â
âi wanted to,â you say, eyes flicking down to your notes.
and for a brief second, he feels his pulse skip.
you wanted to.
he tries to shake the feeling, pulling out his own notes. âalright, so. whatâs the plan for today?â
you talk about the experiment data, what needs to be written up, the references you still have to gather. he listens, but part of himâs distracted.
itâs the way youâre talking nowâlouder, lighter. youâre not tripping over your words anymore. youâre not afraid to meet his eyes. the shy girl who could barely look at him two weeks ago is now smiling at him between sentences.
and fuck if that doesnât make something twist in his chest.
as the minutes pass, the project talk starts to blur into something else. heâs the one who changes the subject first.
âso,â he says, leaning back slightly. âwhatâs with you and coffee? every time i see you, youâve got one.â
you look up from your laptop, blinking. âi just like it, i guess. i go to this little place near campus almost every morning before class.â
âthe one with the green sign?â
âyeah, that one.â
âfigured.â
you laugh quietly. âyou go there too?â
âsometimes,â he says. âafter workouts. theyâve got good espresso.â
you tilt your head. âyou work out every morning?â
âalmost,â he says, smirking faintly. âgotta keep my sexy frat guy aura in tact.â
âoh, right,â you tease, eyes glinting a little. âwouldnât want to disappoint your fans.â
he blinks, caught off guard. âfans?â
âyour instagram,â you say, trying not to laugh. âyouâve got, like, a thousand girls following you. i saw.â
he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. âdonât remind me.â
âwhy?â
âbecause half of them donât even go to this school,â he says, grinning a little. âthey just⊠show up.â
you laugh, the sound soft but real, and he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.
after that, the conversation drifts. you talk about random thingsâyour classes, your favorite kind of music, the dog from your photo (âthatâs my friendâs puppy,â you explain. âheâs named mochi.â).
sukuna finds himself asking questions, more than heâs ever asked anyone before. not just because he wants to fill the silence, but because he genuinely wants to know.
you tell him about your hobbies, your part-time job at the campus bookstore, how youâre saving up for a trip after graduation.
he listens. really listens.
and for every small thing you share, he feels himself drawn in deeper.
when the session finally ends, the clock showing that two hours have slipped by without either of you noticing, you start packing up your things.
âsame time next week?â you ask, glancing up.
âyeah,â he says. âsame spot.â
you smile again, that soft, shy one that makes his chest ache.
and as you wave goodbye and walk out of the library, sukuna stays seated for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.
he should be thinking about the project. about grades. about keeping his promise to you.
but all he can think about is how the smell of coffee still lingers faintly on his fingersâand how, somehow, thatâs become his favorite part of the day.
~
the frat house always feels heavy on monday mornings. air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, half-empty red cups scattered on tables like small grave markers from the weekend before. sukuna drags himself through the hallway, towel hanging around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower.
tojiâs already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other. he looks up when sukuna walks in, flashing that familiar cocky grin.
âyo, you down to hit the gym?â
sukuna doesnât even hesitate. âfor sure.â
mondays are brutal, but skipping a session isnât an option. not when youâve got someone like toji keeping score. they finish off their drinks, grab their bags, and head out.
the campus is still quiet. early morning sun stretches across the pavement, birds chirping somewhere above. their sneakers hit the concrete in sync.
âbro, did you see the game last night?â toji asks, tossing a smirk his way.
âyeah,â sukuna mutters. âyou owe me twenty.â
toji groans. âbullshit. that last call was garbage.â
âstill counts.â
they go back and forth for a whileâtypical talk. girls, workouts, who pulled who at the last party. tojiâs loud, animated, the kind of guy who fills silence with his own voice. sukuna listens, laughs when he should, but half his mindâs somewhere else.
theyâre cutting across the main quad when he spots you.
youâre walking toward one of the lecture halls, tote bag slung over your shoulder, hair catching the light in a way that makes his breath hitch.
youâre wearing something simpleâa cute shirt and nice jeans, your hands wrapped around a coffee cupâbut somehow it makes you stand out more than anyone else on the path.
you donât see him, too focused on your phone, but his chest tightens anyway.
for a second, itâs like the rest of the campus fades away.
then he remembers whoâs walking beside him.
tojiâs still talking about some girl he hooked up with over the weekend, words fading into the background as sukunaâs jaw tightens. he forces his eyes away, tells himself to stop being weird. this is stupid. youâre just his lab partner.
except heâs not supposed to be thinking about how good you look in the morning light. heâs supposed to be thinking about the deal.
the one with toji.
his throat feels dry as he forces himself to speak.
âhey,â he says suddenly. âyou remember that girl i was talking about the other night?â
toji glances over, raising a brow. âthe chem one?â
âyeah. thatâs her.â
he nods toward you before he can second-guess it.
toji slows immediately, his attention shifting in your direction. youâre still walking across the path, the sunlight brushing over your face as you look up for a moment, squinting.
sukuna watches as toji literally stops in his tracks.
âholy shit.â tojiâs grin spreads, sharp and impressed. âyou didnât tell me she was that cute.â
sukuna doesnât respond. he just keeps walking, pretending to be unfazed, but every word toji says feels like itâs digging deeper under his skin.
âseriously, bro,â toji continues, still staring after you even as you disappear into the building. âyou made her sound like some dorky little nerd. i was picturing ugly glasses, messy bun, the whole thing. but sheâsâdamn. sheâs adorable.â
sukunaâs stomach twists. he forces a smirk, because thatâs whatâs expected. âyeah, sheâs not bad.â
ânot bad?â toji laughs, clapping a hand to his shoulder. âsheâs gorgeous. you holding out on me, man?â
ânah,â sukuna says quickly. âjust didnât think youâd be into that type.â
âwhat type?â
âthe smart, quiet type,â he says, voice flat. âthought you liked girls who could âkeep up,â remember?â
toji scoffs. âyeah, well, sheâs too cute to pass up. shit, you should let me tag along next time youâre studying with her. see what sheâs like up close.â
sukuna forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. âyeah, sure. whatever.â
inside, heâs cringing so hard he feels sick.
they head into the gym, the sound of clanging weights filling the space. he tries to focusâon the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his breathingâbut his thoughts wonât shut up. tojiâs words keep echoing. sheâs adorable. sheâs gorgeous. you holding out on me?
this was what he was supposed to do. this was the plan. introduce you to toji, let things fall into place, make good on his end of the deal.
so why does it feel so wrong?
~
the next study session comes faster than he expects.
the dayâs overcast, the library quiet except for the soft hush of the air conditioning. youâre already there when he walks in, sitting in your usual spot by the window, books neatly stacked, pen tapping absently against your notebook.
you look up when you hear his voice.
âhey,â he says, slipping through the aisles toward you.
your face brightens instantly, that small, warm smile tugging at your lips.
âhi,â you say, already starting to greet himâ
then your voice falters.
because right behind him, towering and broad-shouldered, is toji.
your words die halfway out of your throat, eyes going wide. heâs impossible to ignoreâdark hair, sharp grin, that easy confidence that radiates from him like static.
sukuna can see the exact moment you freeze. your fingers grip your pen a little too tightly, your posture going stiff.
âthis is toji,â sukuna says, trying to sound casual. âhe wanted to tag along today.â
âhey,â toji says smoothly, pulling up a chair without asking. ânice to meet you, y/n.â
you nod, cheeks pink. âh-hi.â
itâs awkward from the start. painfully so.
sukuna tries to start things off, opening his notebook and asking about the data you collected last week, but tojiâs already jumping in with his own questionsânone of them relevant.
âso,â toji leans forward, elbows on the table. âyouâre really good at this chem stuff, huh? always been a little nerd?â
you laugh nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them. âi⊠guess so?â
âyeah, i could never,â he says, shaking his head. âi barely passed last year. too many parties, you know how it is.â
you nod politely, but the look on your face says it allâyou have no idea what to say.
sukuna clenches his jaw.
toji keeps going, oblivious. he talks about the last frat party, about the time he benched two hundred in front of half the football team, about some girl who texted him last night. you just sit there, smiling faintly, giving small nods and quiet hums of agreement.
itâs brutal.
every word toji says feels like a slow car crash sukuna canât stop. he knows he shouldâve expected thisâthis was always how toji wasâbut now that itâs happening in front of you, he canât stand it.
youâre sitting there, trying so hard to be polite, cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. and for the first time, sukuna hates how loud the other guy is. hates how heâs filling the space thatâs always felt quiet and easy with you.
after what feels like forever, tojiâs phone buzzes. he glances down, reads the message, and stands up.
âgotta head out,â he says, smirking. âgood luck with your project, sweetheart. maybe iâll swing by next time, yeah?â
before you can respond, he gives you a wink.
you freeze again, murmuring something that barely sounds like a goodbye.
he leaves, whistling under his breath, completely unaware of how painfully awkward that was.
the second heâs out of sight, sukuna exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.
âfuck,â he mutters. âsorry about that.â
your eyes widen a little. âoh, um, itâs fine.â
âno, seriously,â he says, glancing at you. âi shouldâve told you i was bringing him.â
you hesitate, then smile, shy but real. âitâs okay. i was just⊠nervous, i guess.â
he tilts his head. âwhy?â
you look down at your notes. âheâs just⊠kind of intense. i didnât expect that.â
âyeah,â he says quietly. âheâs like that.â
the silence that follows isnât awkward, though. itâs calm. steady.
youâre visibly more relaxed now, shoulders no longer so tight, your voice softer when you start talking again. sukuna listens, his chest loosening with every word.
you donât mention toji again.
and he doesnât either.
for the rest of the session, itâs just the two of you againâback to the easy rhythm he didnât realize heâd missed until it was gone. you explain a reaction mechanism, he teases you about your handwriting, you roll your eyes and laugh.
when itâs time to leave, you pack up your things slowly, almost like you donât want the moment to end.
âsee you next week?â you ask.
âyeah,â he says, smiling faintly. ânext week.â
you give a small wave, and as you walk out, sukuna watches you disappear between the shelves, that same quiet warmth settling in his chest.
he should feel relievedâhe did what he was supposed to. he introduced you to toji. he followed through.
but instead, he just feels like heâs made a mistake.
because the whole walk back to the frat, the only thing running through his head isnât how toji couldnât shut up or how awkward the whole thing was.
itâs how your voice had softened when you told him it was fine. how your eyes met his, even for a second, and he felt that stupid little spark again.
he doesnât know what to call it. doesnât want to.
but deep down, he knows one thing for sure.
the next time you two meet, heâs showing up alone, keeping you to himself.
~
music pounds through sukuna's chest, pulsing out of the open doors of the sorority like a heartbeat on overdrive. laughter spills down the steps, mixed with the sharp scent of alcohol and perfume and that sticky-sweet haze that always clings to these kinds of parties.
banners hang crooked above the door, fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs. the sorority girls really went all out.
itâs a mixer. one of those invite-only things, where every girl in greek row tries to get noticed by the ârightâ house. and sukunaâs fratâtheir houseâwas always the right one. full of grade A hotties like sukuna and toji and successful athletes like gojo and geto.
he spots toji near the entrance, already in his element. white t-shirt, chain glinting at his throat, grin carved sharp enough to cut through the noise. every few seconds, someone calls his name. girls from different sororities, guys from the rugby team, even one of the organizers waving him over.
toji was built for this. sukuna knew it. hell, everyone did.
âabout time, man,â toji says when sukuna steps up beside him. âthought youâd bailed.â
ânah,â sukuna mutters. âjust took my time.â
âyeah, well, tonightâs supposed to be wild. letâs make the most of it.â
they shoulder their way through the crowd, music pounding overhead, the smell of beer and sweat and too much perfume thick in the air. sticking together like usual.
a few girls call out sukunaâs name as they pass, and he just flashes that lazy grin heâs perfectedâthe one that says heâs not interested, but he might be later.
itâs all automatic now. the smirk, the eye contact, the way his shoulders roll when he laughs. itâs all muscle memory.
but tonight, something feels off.
maybe itâs the way every laugh sounds fake. maybe itâs the way the lights flash too bright, painting everyone in the same plastic color.
maybe itâs because all he can think about is you.
they end up in the kitchen, where the musicâs still loud but not deafening. beer pongâs already set up on the long dining table, cups half-filled, ping-pong balls scattered across the sticky surface.
toji grabs a ball and grins. âletâs go. loser does a shot.â
sukuna smirks, rolling up his sleeves. âyouâre on.â
they start playing, drawing a small crowd of girls who cheer and giggle at every throw. tojiâs competitive as always, talking shit between shots, while sukuna plays quiet and steady. the rhythm feels familiarâthe weight of the ball, the sound of it hitting the cup, the way everyone leans in to watch.
after two rounds, theyâre tied. toji wins one, sukuna the other. the girls watching donât seem to care whoâs winningâtheyâre too focused on the way the two of them look, the easy confidence that comes with knowing the room revolves around them.
and then they descend.
a blonde slides up beside toji, pressing herself against his arm. another girl, brunette this time, drapes herself over sukuna, laughter dripping from her lips like honey.
âyou guys are, like, scary good at this,â she says, voice high and flirty.
âpractice,â sukuna says automatically. his smirk looks real enough. it always does.
her nails trace the edge of his sleeve, and she leans closer. âbet youâre real good at other things too.â
normally, this is the part where heâd lean in, let the moment pull him under. he knows how this goesâshots, dancing, slipping upstairs when the music gets too loud. normally he'd do anything for a quick fuck.
but tonight, it doesnât land.
he looks down at her, at the perfect makeup and glitter around her eyes, and all he can think is how different she is from you.
how youâd never lean on someone like this. how youâd never grab at someone you just met. how when you talked, you actually meant what you said.
his jaw tightens.
tojiâs already got two girls around him, laughing loudly, drink in one hand, the other at someoneâs waist. he looks like heâs having the time of his life. and for the first time, sukuna feels nothing but exhaustion watching it.
the brunette keeps talkingâsomething about the psych department, something about a pool party next weekendâbut her words fade into static.
god, he canât stop thinking about you.
he pictures your small smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when youâre nervous. the way your voice lifts just slightly when you talk about something you love. the way your eyes meet his only for a second before darting away again.
then he thinks about how youâd react if you saw this.
if you saw toji right nowâgrinning, drunk, hands everywhere.
youâd look crushed. maybe not outwardly, but he knows youâd feel it. he can see that tiny flicker of hurt in his head, your lips pressing together, pretending not to care.
and for some reason, that thought hits him like a punch.
youâd be heartbroken over a guy like toji. and he hates that. hates it enough that his fake smirk starts to slip.
because tojiâs the one you wanted. and tojiâs right there, laughing with some random girl like you never even existed.
it makes his stomach twist.
the brunette leans in closer, her perfume cloying and too strong. she presses her lips against his neck, and something cold floods through him instead of the usual heat.
he stiffens.
she pulls back, confused, maybe even offended, but he just steps away, shaking his head.
âyou good?â she asks, pouting a little.
âyeah,â he mutters. âjustâneed a smoke.â
he grabs a beer from the counter and makes his way outside.
the airâs cooler out here, cleaner. it hits his lungs in a way that almost feels like relief. he digs into his pocket, finds his pack, and lights up. the first drag burns his throat, grounding him a little. he thinks back to the time you'd seen a flash of the packet in his pocket, the look of concern plastering your cute face.
"you smoke cigarettes? y'know that pretty bad for you, sukuna..."
he sighs and takes another drag, he knew you were right, hell, he even cut down after that little statement.
inside, the partyâs still raging. someone shouts, laughter echoing off the walls. he hears tojiâs voice above the rest, loud and easy and so damn sure of himself.
sukuna exhales a long stream of smoke and stares out at the street.
whyâs he even thinking about you like this?
you're just a girl. just a project partner. you needed his help, he needed yours. thatâs all it was supposed to be.
but then he remembers how you'd smiled when he showed up on time for once, how youâd brought him that stupid cup of coffee just because you thought heâd like it. how careful youâd been, shy but trying.
and now heâs here, surrounded by everything he used to want, feeling nothing but restless.
he thinks about the library tomorrow morning.
youâd be there early. you always are. waiting at the same table, your notebook open, your pen tapping as you concentrate. youâd look up when he walks in, offer that small, quiet smile like youâre genuinely happy to see him.
the thought of showing up hungover makes his stomach knot.
he canât let you see him like that. not reeking of beer, not bleary-eyed and half-dead from a night he didnât even enjoy.
he flicks the ash off his cigarette, curses under his breath.
âwhat the fuck am i doing?â
he looks back toward the house. the windows are glowing with golden light, silhouettes moving inside. laughter spills out again, shrill and wild.
that used to feel like home.
now it just feels loud.
he takes another drag, the ember lighting up in the dark.
this isnât him. at least, itâs not the version of him youâve seen. the one who actually listens, who tries, who stays sober enough to remember what you said about catalysts and reactions. the one youâve somehow turned him into without even knowing.
he huffs out a quiet laugh, bitter and low.
youâd probably never believe it if someone told you sukuna ryomen left a mixer early because of a girl.
but here he is.
he stubs out the cigarette, tosses the butt into the gutter, and pulls his jacket tighter around him.
he steps back inside just long enough to find toji at the beer pong table, a girl perched on his lap now, and rolls his eyes.
âyo,â toji calls over. âwhere the hellâd you go?â
âm' heading out,â sukuna says. âgot shit to do tomorrow.â
toji raises a brow. âitâs friday, man.â
âyeah. i know.â
âwhatever,â toji laughs. âyour loss.â
sukuna just shrugs, already turning toward the door.
the music fades behind him as he walks out again. the night air hits him, cool against his skin. campus is mostly empty now, streetlights flickering.
he lights another cigarette as he walks, the smoke curling up into the cold.
his mind wonât stop racing.
he thinks about you again, about how small you look sitting behind your laptop, about the way you focus so hard you donât notice him staring sometimes. about how quiet the world feels when itâs just the two of you in that corner of the library.
youâd laugh if you saw him now. the guy everyone calls a monster, walking home early from a party just because he wants to look sober in front of some shy chemistry nerd.
but itâs not just that anymore.
he doesnât want to look sober. he wants to look good for you.
he wants you to think heâs better than this. better than what everyone thinks he's like.
he blows out smoke and watches it fade into the dark.
when he gets back to the frat, the house is nearly emptyâmost of the guys are still at the mixer. itâs quiet for once. he climbs the stairs, every step heavy, and stops at his door.
he stares at the handle for a second before going in.
the room smells like cologne and laundry detergent. his deskâs still a mess, papers and dumbbells scattered everywhere. he drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
he should sleep. he should forget tonight.
but all he can see is you.
your smile. your voice. your eyes when they meet his and flick away just a second too fast.
âfuck,â he mutters under his breath.
he ashes the cigarette in the tray, lets his head fall back, and closes his eyes.
the thought of you lingers like smoke in his lungs. intoxicating, slow, impossible to shake.
and for the first time in a long time, the idea of tomorrow doesnât feel like just another day. it feels like something heâs waiting for.
~
the sun crawls through the blinds too early for a saturday.
pale light drags itself across the room, landing on the mess of clothes and empty bottles scattered over the frat floor. everyoneâs still passed out.
bodies everywhere. some sprawled across couches, others snoring in corners, heads tipped back with half-empty beer cans slipping from their hands.
but not sukuna.
heâs awake.
heâs the only one who doesnât feel like he got hit by a truck. no pounding head, no sour stomach. just the faint trace of smoke on his tongue and the quiet buzz in his chest thatâs been there since last night.
he sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and exhales. the air smells like sweat and cheap vodka. he looks around at the disaster that was his frat houseâsticky floors, someoneâs shoe on the counter, a guy in nothing but boxers drooling into the carpetâand shakes his head.
heâs not sticking around for the aftermath.
thereâs something about this morning, something clean, light, strange. he grabs his hoodie, slings his bag over his shoulder, and checks his phone. too early for most people. not too early for you.
he smiles a little at that.
when he walks into the hallway, a few guys groan from the couch.
âyo,â one of them croaks. âwhere the hell are you going? itâs like⊠eight?â
âgot plans,â sukuna says, slipping on his sneakers.
âplans?â another mumbles, half-asleep. âwith who?â
âno one,â sukuna says quickly. âdonât worry about it.â
heâs already halfway out the door before they can start asking more questions. the last thing he needs is tojiâor anyone, reallyâcatching wind of this and deciding to tag along like last time.
the air outside hits him cold and fresh. campus is quiet, only the occasional sound of birds or a bike rolling past. everythingâs washed in soft gold light, the kind that makes the world look cleaner than it really is.
he starts walking.
thereâs a bounce in his step that he tries to ignore. it feels stupid to feel this way. giddy. like heâs got something worth looking forward to. he tells himself itâs just because he didnât drink last night. heâs clear-headed. alert. thatâs all.
he pushes open the door, the little bell chiming. the barista greets him with a sleepy smile. he glances over the glass case, scanning the pastries. croissants, muffins, a few danishes. then he spots the one he remembers you ordering onceâflaky and soft, sugar dusted over the top.
âone of those,â he says, pointing.
the barista wraps it up neatly in paper. sukuna hands over the cash, then hesitates when she asks if he wants a drink.
he almost says yes. almost orders a sweet coffee for you.
but then he remembers.
youâll already have one right now, you always do.
ânah,â he says, shaking his head. âjs' the pastry.â
he walks out with the small paper bag in hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
he feels ridiculous. itâs a fucking pastry. but somehow it feels like more than that. like heâs carrying a confession.
when the library comes into view, he spots you right away.
youâre there, in your usual spot. that back table near the window, the one youâve claimed without ever really saying so. your coffeeâs beside your laptop, steam curling up faintly. youâre biting your lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read through something.
and god, youâre cute.
it slaps him all over again.
the way your hair falls forward, the soft sweater youâre wearing, the tiny crease between your brows. youâre not trying to be anything. youâre just there, focused, quiet, real.
he stands there for a second, just watching.
then he remembers himself and walks over.
âg'morning,â he says.
you look up, startled, then your whole face softens when you see him. âohâhi! youâre early.â
âyeah,â he says, dropping his bag into the chair across from you. âdidn't wanna sleep in today.â
you laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. âfair.â
he pulls the paper bag from his hoodie pocket and slides it across the table.
he holds it out to you. âfor you. figured you might want breakfast.â
you blink, startled. âwait, really?â
âyeah. itâs from that cafe you like.â
your mouth falls open slightly, and your cheeks go pink in that way heâs starting to adore. âyou... remembered that?â
âguess so.â
you take the bag from him carefully, like itâs something fragile. when you peek inside and see what it is, your expression softens even more.
âoh my god,â you whisper, smiling so hard your eyes crinkle at the corners. âthis is my favorite one.â
he watches, almost helpless, as you keep talking, thanking him over and over. your voice stumbles with embarrassment, your fingers fidget with the bag, and the more flustered you get, the more something warm spreads through his chest.
âyou didnât have toâreally, thatâs so sweet of you.â
âitâs nothing,â he says, but his voice is rougher than he means it to be. âjust figured you might be hungry.â
you look down, still smiling. âthank you.â
and it hits him, how long itâs been since a girl said that to him and meant it.
you break the silence first, switching to the assignment, pulling up your notes and explaining something about the next section. he nods along, but heâs not really listening. heâs watching the way you push your hair behind your ear, the way your brows furrow when you focus.
he forces himself to pay attention. still, the moment feels easy.
you talk for a while about the project, comparing notes, trading small jokes. he feels himself relax into the rhythm of it, like itâs become a routine.
and then, without warning, you bring up toji.
you clear your throat first, eyes flicking down to your notes. âso, um... toji.â
he stills, one brow lifting, you were finally gonna talk about him since that awful run in last time. âhmm?â
âheâs⊠veryâŠâ you trail off, searching for the word. âloud.â
he snorts. âthatâs one way to put it.â
âand, um, big. likeâphysically. and personality-wise. very⊠confident.â
he groans, dragging a hand down his face. âyeah. sorry about that. heâs⊠a lot. again, i didnât mean to unleash him on you like that.â he was apologising again, so out of character for him but he couldn't help it. not with you.
âno, no,â you say quickly, shaking your head. âheâs just⊠different than i expected.â
âdifferent how?â
you hesitate, chewing your lip. âi guess i thought heâd be more like you.â
the words hang between you for a second. his pulse stutters.
âlike me, huh?â he says, teasing, leaning back in his chair, spread wide as he looks you up and down. âwhatâs that supposed to mean, hm?â
you go red instantly, trying to drag your eyes away from his man spread legs. âi just meantâyouâre, um, thoughtful. more focused. not overbearing, you're nice...â
he grins. "nice, huh?"
you hide your mouth behind your hand and look off to the side. "nicer than toji, yeah."
he laughs, "that's not a very high bar to clear."
you giggled in response, letting him continue.
âso you like my type better?â
âthatâs not what i said,â you mumble, covering your face with your hand again.
âdidnât have to.â
you peek at him through your fingers, and he has to bite back a laugh. your cheeks are so pink it hurts to look at you.
âyouâre bullying me,â you say, your voice small.
âmaybe.â
you shake your head, still smiling, and reach for your coffee. he watches the way you hold it, the delicate tilt of your wrist, the little sigh you make after a sip.
then, quieter, he asks, âso⊠you still interested in him? toji, i mean.â
you freeze.
âiâuh.â your voice falters. âi guess so? i... i donât know.â
âyou donât sound sure.â
âheâs justânot what i thought heâd be. i thought heâd be a little calmer.â
âheâs not really the type to surprise you in a good way,â sukuna says.
you smile faintly, eyes on your cup. âyeah. maybe not.â
the way you say it, soft, thoughtful, uncertain, it makes his chest ache.
youâre too sweet for this. too genuine. you deserve someone who actually listens, who doesnât treat you like background noise. and for some reason, he hates that the person youâre hung up on is his best friend.
he sighs, rubbing his jaw.
you look up, curious. âwhatâs wrong?â
ânothing,â he says, forcing a smile. âjust tired.â
you nod, and the two of you fall back into quiet work. itâs peaceful again, the only sounds the soft click of your keyboard and the scratching of his pen. time blurs.
when you finally close your laptop, stretching your arms, he realizes two hours have passed.
âwe got a lot done,â you say, smiling.
âyeah,â he says, though he canât remember a thing you just studied.
you start packing your things, tucking the empty pastry bag into your bag. before you can leave, you hesitate. then, shyly, you step closer and wrap one arm around him in a little side hug.
âthank you,â you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. âfor breakfast. and for helping me.â
for a second, he forgets how to breathe.
you smell like coffee and sugar and something faintly floral. your hand rests briefly against his side, and he swears every nerve in his body lights up.
then you pull away, smiling up at him, oblivious to the chaos youâve just caused.
âsee you tomorrow?â
âyeah!â he says quickly, way too excited. âd-definitely.â
you wave and head out, the door swinging shut behind you.
he stands there for a full minute, still staring at the spot youâd been standing, until he realizes his hands are clenched and his pulse is hammering.
he grabs his bag, mutters something under his breath, and heads outside.
the moment heâs in the open air again, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
the breeze does nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.
he walks fast, head down, eyes on the pavement.
every step feels heavy with restraint.
because all he can think about is how soft you felt, how small your hand was against him, how much he wanted to pull you in, bury his face in your neck, keep you there for hours.
he curses under his breath, tugging his hoodie lower, hoping it hides the problem growing in his jeans.
âget it together,â he mutters.
he tries to think about anything elseâthe assignment, the game tomorrow, the half-finished paper on his deskâbut his mind keeps circling back to you. your laugh. your blush. your hug.
by the time he reaches the frat, his heartbeatâs finally starting to slow, but the feeling stays. that dizzy mix of guilt and want.
he steps inside quietly, the house still a mess of half-dead hangovers, and slips upstairs to his room.
the first thing he does is sit on his bed, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, shaky exhale.
heâs in trouble.
he knows it.
because he canât stop smiling.
~
the gym in the frat house isnât much. itâs a dim room tucked behind the kitchen, with cracked mirrors and rusted weights, the air always heavy with the stale scent of sweat and cheap deodorant.
the guys call it a âhome gym,â but itâs really just a collection of mismatched dumbbells, an old bench press, and a speaker that always buzzes when the bass hits too hard. its nothing like the fancy campus one him and toji visit, still, it works for sukuna.
heâs halfway through a set, sweat sliding down the back of his neck, when his thoughts start slipping away from the burn in his muscles and land right where they always seem to go lately.
he tries to ignore it, focusing on the motion, the rhythm, the push and pull of the bar in his hands.
but the harder he tries not to think about you, the more vivid you become. your voice, soft but steady, your shy little smiles whenever he cracks a joke, the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when youâre trying not to blush.
itâs infuriating, how easily you creep into his head.
he exhales sharply, finishing the set with a grunt, letting the bar clang down harder than he means to. it rattles against the frame, echoing in the small room.
âfuck,â he mutters under his breath, sitting up and grabbing the towel draped over his shoulders.
he wipes his face, breathing hard, his reflection in the mirror smudged with fingerprints and dust. he looks exhausted, not just from the workout but from everything sitting in his head.
you and toji.
you and that stupid, innocent crush youâd confessed to him like it was nothing.
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loosely around his neck. he canât keep fucking around pretending like this is going to work anymore.
he canât sit through another study session with you knowing that toji knows you're into him.
toji doesnât even remember half the girls he flirts with, so why should he get to occupy that sweet spot in your brain.
that thought alone makes his blood boil.
youâre too good for that. too damn good.
he picks up the dumbbell again, trying to lift through the frustration, but his mind keeps racing. tojiâs face flashes in his mindâthe obnoxiousness, his interest in you only after finding out what you looked like.
the memory makes his jaw clench.
toji doesnât deserve to know you exist, let alone be someone you lose sleep over.
his grip tightens around the handle. he lifts again, but it feels pointless now, his muscles burning for a different reason entirely.
finally, he slams the weight down and stands up, chest heaving.
heâs done.
done thinking he can stomach this, done keeping that deal, done lying to himself.
without even thinking about it, he walks out of the gym, towel still slung over his shoulder. his feet move on instinct, carrying him through the hall, up the grand stairs, straight to tojiâs room.
the doorâs half-shut, light spilling from the gap, and he doesnât bother knocking. he pushes it open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud.
tojiâs sprawled across his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. thereâs a protein shake on the desk, a game controller tangled in the sheets. he looks up lazily when sukuna appears.
âyo,â he says, grinning. âyou look pissed. what, satoru stealing your shirts n' shit again?â
sukuna doesnât answer. he stands there for half a second, jaw tight, and then the words just fall out before he can stop them.
ây/n has a boyfriend,â he blurts. âso you can forget the whole crush on you thing.â
toji blinks, confused. âuhm?â
âwhat,â sukuna says, crossing his arms. âshes got a guy.â
toji sits up slightly, eyebrows furrowing. âwhoâs y/n again?â
the silence that follows is deafening.
sukuna stares at him, the vein in his temple twitching.
âare you actually deadass right now?â
toji shrugs. âbro, i talk to a lot of girls, you gotta be more specific.â
thatâs it.
sukuna drags a hand down his face, muttering something that sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. he doesnât even bother explaining. itâs not worth it.
âdon't worry, man,â he snaps, spinning on his heel.
he slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.
by the time he gets back to his room, his chest is tight, the frustration boiling over into something heavier. he paces once, twice, then finally drops onto his bed, letting his head fall back against the wall.
âwhoâs y/n again?â
the words echo in his mind like a bad joke.
he canât believe it. he canât believe he ever thought this was a good idea, trying to set you up with that idiot.
itâs not even about the deal anymore. itâs about you.
because now he knows what it feels like to be around you, to hear you laugh, to see the way your eyes light up when he remembers the smallest things. he knows what it feels like to walk beside you through campus at night, the air cool and soft, your voice quiet but steady.
he likes you.
really, really likes you.
and itâs not just because youâre pretty, though god, you are. itâs because youâre kind. because you make him feel human again, in a way that nothing else ever does. because you talk to him like heâs worth something more than the reputation that follows him.
he doesnât know when it happened, but itâs there now, and itâs not going away.
.
the weeks that follow move in a blur. the two of you keep meeting for study sessions, but theyâve shifted. so subtly that neither of you seems to notice.
youâre more relaxed now. you smile more, laugh easier. youâve started showing up with little things for him too. chocolates, protein bars, a can of cold brew. every time, he teases you about it, but inside, heâs having a spaz out.
and every time he brings you something in return, you light up like heâs handed you the world.
youâve started talking about more than the project. now, itâs everything. random things. favorite youtuber, weird scandals, "uhm, no way you think d4vd is innocent, they had matching tattoos!", childhood fuck ups, "yeah, i used to be one of those devious lick kids in middle school, me and gojo stole an entire sink".
sometimes, you talk so much you forget the assignment altogether, and he never stops you.
he lives for these moments.
sometimes, when youâre sitting side by side at the library, your knees brush under the table. itâs barely a touch, accidental every time, but it makes his pulse stutter.
youâve started giving him hugs too, real ones. not just quick, polite ones, actual, full-bodied hugs that make him want to forget how to breathe. all he wants to do is bundle you up and take you back home, lock you away where no one could possibly taint that beautiful smile.
he pretends to be chill and nonchalant, but inside, heâs crashing out so hard.
one afternoon, itâs raining outside, and you show up in a damp tank top, hair slightly damp. he nearly forgets how to speak. you hand him a hot chocolate and giggle when he stares at it like heâs never seen one before.
âitâs not that weird,â you say, smiling. âi thought you might want something warm and sweet for this type of weather.â
he looks at you for a long moment trying not to stare at your see through chest, then takes the cup. âthanks,â he murmurs, and it sounds like something heavier than gratitude.
you shrug, shy but pleased, then sit down beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
when the session ends that day, he walks you home like he always does. itâs become a quiet habit between you. no one suggested it, but neither of you questions it either. you live just off campus, in a small apartment with ivy creeping up the walls, and every time you reach your door, you both hesitate.
he wants to ask if he can come inside, just once.
you always look like you might invite him, too.
but neither of you ever says it.
instead, you smile, soft and warm, and tell him goodnight. he always watches until you disappear inside, until the light flicks on and frank ocean starts softly pouring from the window.
and every time, he walks back to the frat with that same ache in his chest, the one thatâs half longing and half fear.
he knows heâs in wayyy too deep.
but he can't stop.
youâve started coming out of your shell in little bursts. you tease him now, gently. you call him out when heâs being lazy, roll your eyes when he tries to act too chill. and he eats it the fuck up. every second of it.
youâre different with him now. freer. you trust him.
and that makes everything both better and worse.
because every time you look at him with that open, honest expression, he has to remind himself of the lie he built this onâthe deal, the fake promise to get you closer to toji.
it barely comes up anymore. sometimes you mention toji in passing, usually as a joke, and you both laugh it off. itâs like neither of you really care about it anymore.
and maybe thatâs the truth. maybe it stopped mattering the moment you started looking at him like that.
one evening, when the sunâs setting, youâre sitting across from him at the library, talking about nothing in particular. youâre smiling, head tilted, your voice soft. and he catches himself staring, not hearing a single word.
you stop mid-sentence, blinking. âwhat?â
he shakes his head quickly. ânothing.â
âyouâre staring,â you say, cheeks pink.
âyouâre imagining things, honey."
you laugh, hiding your face in your hands.
he smiles too, but thereâs something behind itâsomething he doesnât let you see.
because in that moment, it hits him all over again, stronger than before.
heâs seriously can't do this shit any longer.
he doesnât want to help you get to toji anymore.
he doesnât want to stand by while you talk about someone else, even in passing.
he wants you. all of you.
the quiet smiles, the shy blushes, the little quirks heâs learned by heart.
he wants to be the one who gets to see every part of youâevery version of that soft, sweet girl whoâs been slowly unraveling in front of him.
and he knows, deep down, that if he ever let himself say it out loud, heâd never be able to take it back.
so he keeps it buried, just for now, as he walks you home again that night. the streetlights stretch long shadows across the pavement, and your arm brushes his once, twice, and each time, he swears of he doesn't concentrate he'll trip over his jordans.
when you reach your door, you turn to him with that same bright smile, the one that always knocks the air from his lungs.
âthanks again,â you say softly.
he nods. âanytime.â
you linger for a second, like you want to say something more, then wave goodnight and disappear inside.
he stands there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to the faint hum of music from your apartment.
then, finally, he exhales, a small, helpless laugh slipping out.
heâs ruined. completely.
and for once in his life, he doesnât even mind.
~
the classroom is thick with the sound of quiet chatter, chairs scraping against tile, pens clicking as people jot down reminders before leaving. the fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting everything in a washed-out glow that makes it feel like timeâs been stretched too thin. the chemistry teacherâs voice cuts through it all, cheerful but distant.
âalright, everyoneâjust a quick reminder that your paired assignment is due at the end of this week. make sure youâve got everything finalized. iâll be checking submissions on friday.â
the words hang in the air like a quiet ending bell.
you look up from your notes at the same time sukuna does, and for a moment, your eyes meet across the shared lab table. heâs already watching you, elbows resting on the counter, twirling his pen between his fingers.
he gives you this crooked half-smileâsomething between fond and nervousâand you return it, though yours falters just a little at the edges.
it hits both of you at once. this thing between you, this rhythm youâve fallen into, the study sessions, the walks home, the quiet coffees before class? itâs been built around this assignment. and when the assignment ends, what happens then?
he taps his pen against his notebook, looking away first. âguess weâre almost done, huh?â
you try to sound light. âyeah⊠crazy how fast it went.â
but it doesnât feel fast. it feels full. it feels like a lifetime compressed into a few short weeks, every minute threaded with something unspoken.
he hums in agreement, glancing at you again. âwe should probably go over everything one more time. make sure itâs perfect.â
you nod, pretending to check the notes in front of you. âmhm, library after class?â
âyeah,â he says. âone last session.â
one last. the words make your stomach twist.
.
sukuna drops his bag on the chair across from you, stretching his arms as he sits down. his hairâs a little messy from the wind, and he smells faintly of the sexy cologne he always wears, something clean and manly that clings to his skin.
you open your laptop, trying to focus on the document in front of you. itâs almost doneâjust small edits, formatting, double-checking citationsâbut the words keep blurring. you can feel his presence across the table, solid and steady, and itâs impossible to think about chemistry when heâs right there.
heâs quieter than usual too. his knee bounces under the table, a restless rhythm, and every now and then you catch him glancing up, like heâs about to say something but decides against it.
the silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. you canât stand it anymore.
âsoâŠâ you start, voice softer than you mean it to be.
he looks up instantly, like heâs been waiting for you to speak. âyeah?â
you open your mouth, close it again, glance at your hands. ânever mind. itâs nothing.â
he frowns slightly. âcome on. what is it?â
you shake your head, forcing a small smile. âseriously, itâs nothing. just focus.â
he watches you for a second longer, then sighs and leans back, crossing his arms. âfine. but youâre acting weird.â
you let out a soft laugh that sounds too nervous. âi could say the same about you.â
that gets a real smile out of him, crooked and teasing, but it fades quickly.
you both go quiet again, typing half-heartedly, neither of you really working. the tension builds, unspoken and unbearable.
you can feel the words sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. you want to tell him everything. how the crush on toji fizzled out weeks ago, how stupid it feels now, how you canât stop thinking about him instead. how every time he looks at you, your whole chest feels like itâs about to give out.
you glance up. heâs staring at his screen, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. and somehow, you can tell heâs holding something back too.
finally, you both move at the same time.
âi have to tell you something,â you say, right as he says, âthereâs something i should tell you.â
you both stop, eyes locking.
you laugh softly. âyou first.â
he shakes his head. ânuh uh, you first.â
âno way,â you say, smiling now despite the nerves. âyou looked like you were about to explode. go ahead.â
âladies first,â he shoots back, that teasing lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes are still serious.
you roll your eyes, but your heartâs hammering. âfine,â you breathe.
he leans forward, forearms on the table, watching you carefully.
you swallow, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. âokay. so, um⊠this is kind of embarrassing, butââ
you stop, take a breath, try again. âit's about toji.â
his expression flickers for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. âyeah,â he says slowly. âwhat about him?â
you toy with a pen to keep your hands busy. âi donât really⊠feel that way anymore. about him.â
his brow lifts just slightly, his voice careful. âts' that so?â
you nod, cheeks warm. âyeah. i mean, it was kind of silly, wasnât it? i barely knew him. i think i just liked the idea of him. and then when you brought him to that one session, i realised heâs⊠kinda clapped, nothing like what i imagined.â
he lets out a small sound, something close to a laugh, but itâs quiet, almost nervous. âyeah, that sounds like him.â
you smile faintly, tracing a finger along the edge of your notebook. âthe truth is, i think i was just projecting. when we started hanging out, i didnât know you that well, and i guess i thought maybe toji was like you. you know? confident, funny, easy to talk to.â you pause, your gaze flicking up to his. âbut heâs not you. not even remotely close.â
his breath catches slightly, and for a moment, he forgets how to speak.
âi donât know,â you go on, voice softer now, almost trembling. âi kept thinking i wanted someone like toji, but⊠the whole time, i was really just wishing heâd be more like you, sukuna.â
you meet his eyes fully now, and the world seems to narrow around you both. âand then i realised maybe i donât want someone like you. maybe i just, you know, want you.â
the silence that follows feels endless.
heâs staring at you, completely still. you can see the realization hit him. the tension in his shoulders easing, his expression softening in disbelief and relief all at once.
you bite your lip, instantly flustered. âthat sounded so stupid, didnât it?â
he shakes his head quickly. âno. no, not at all.â
he leans back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky exhale. itâs the biggest breath of relief youâve ever seen someone take. he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath, a sound thatâs half disbelieving, half overwhelmed.
âholy shit,â he murmurs, still smiling. âyou have no idea how good it is to hear that.â
you blink. âuhm, what?â
he laughs again, softer this time, his hand still pressed to the back of his neck. âthatâs what i was gonna tell you. iâve been losing my fucking mind these past few weeks because iâve been trying so hard not to say it.â
you stare at him, your heart pounding. âsay what?â
he meets your gaze again, eyes warm and honest. âthat i like you. like, really like you. iâve had this massive crush on you for a while now, and itâs been killing me trying to act normal.â
you canât help the little laugh that escapes you, part disbelief, part giddy joy. âyouâre deadass?â
he nods. âone hundred percent.â
âbut⊠the deal,â you say quietly. âyou were supposed to help me with toji.â
âyeah, about that,â he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. âi kinda⊠just didnât.â
you tilt your head. âuhhm, what?â
he laughs again, nervously this time. âi told him you had a boyfriend.â
your eyes widen. âyou did?"
he winces. âyeah. i told him that weeks ago. i just... i couldnât do it anymore. couldnât keep pretending i was helping you get with him when all i wanted was to keep you all to myself.â
you blink once, twice, then cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. âyou told him i had a boyfriend?â
âyep.â he grins now, a little cocky, a little embarrassed. âguess thatâs me sabotaging the deal.â
you drop your hand, still smiling. âthatâs so stupid.â
âi know.â
âbutâŠâ you pause, your smile turning softer. âitâs kind of sweet.â
he leans forward again, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. âyouâre not mad?â
âmad?â you repeat, shaking your head. âno. thatâs⊠exactly what i wanted, actually.â
he blinks. âreally?â
you nod, heart in your throat. âyeah. i didnât want you helping me with toji. not anymore. i just didnât know how to tell you.â
he stares at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. âso what now?â
you smile. âi donât know. maybe we just⊠stop pretending.â
he exhales, leaning back with a grin that could light up the whole room. âi can do that.â
for a moment, neither of you says anything. you just sit there, the quiet hum of the library around you, the sun slipping lower through the windows, painting his skin in gold.
finally, he breaks the silence, voice low. âfor the record, i was terrified you were about to tell me you had a new man for real.â
you laugh softly. âno chance.â
âgood,â he says, and the way he looks at youâsoft, sure, a little possessiveâmakes your pulse race.
you donât know who moves first, but suddenly youâre both leaning across the table, closer than youâve ever been. the distance between you shrinks until you can feel his breath on your lips, his hand brushing lightly against yours.
neither of you say anything. you donât need to.
the moment stretches, slow and sweet, full of everything youâve both been holding back.
~
the second you get back to your apartment, your face ignites with the kind of fire only a really nice fireplace could match, the ones in those fancy houses you see on the block.
the guy you'd been crushing on for a total of four weeks now had just told you he felt the same. and ever more, he'd been so obsessed he'd told your ex-crush you'd had a boyfriend in hopes of bagging you himself.
for a girl not used to being in the spotlight, having such a loud, well known frat guy like ryomen sukuna become vulnerable, just for you? it was like the world came crashing and burning down at your feet. he made your stomach swim with love and passion, a feeling you'd only ever gotten from receiving higher grades than everyone else, a feeling so much better than finding a new delicious pastry you couldn't help but order again.
ryomen sukuna was it. he was the kinda guy you'd been dreaming of ever since you'd started college. he was the perfect man, and he was as into you as you were him.
you settled into your living room with an adorably large smile painted on your lips, the sensation of fulfilment taking over your ever thought as you dreamt of what was to happen next.
~
the week after the submission crawls by. you think about both sukuna and the possible grade you'll both get every day. every time you pass the lab, every time you open your laptop, every time you catch sight of sukuna across the courtyard, leaning against the wall with his friends.
you can tell heâs thinking about it too. the way he catches your eye during class and offers a small, crooked smile says everything. neither of you can really stop wondering what the final mark will be, as well as what life has in store for the both of you.
friday finally rolls around, the classroom feels weird. students trickle in with tired faces and restless energy, everyone buzzing quietly with the same anticipation. the teacher walks in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
she sets everything down at the front desk, claps her hands together, and gives a small, approving smile.
âalright, everyone,â she says, her tone almost teasing. âiâve marked your projects. youâll get the official grades through the online portal, but since i know youâre all impatientââ her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on you and sukuna, ââiâll let you know this much: some of you really impressed me.â
a ripple of chatter runs through the class. sukuna shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrows raised. you smile nervously and shrug.
after class, the two of you linger by the doorway, waiting for the crowd to clear out. youâre clutching your phone, refreshing the student portal again and again even though the grades still arenât visible. sukuna leans close, peering at your screen.
ânothing yet?â he asks.
âno,â you sigh. âprobably another hour.â
he tilts his head, thinking for a moment. âwant to check it together later? at that little cafe with the green sign?â
you blink. âawe, my favourite. sure!â
âof course,â he says, smirking lightly. âhow good am i remembering your favourite things n' shit.â
you laugh, cheeks warming. âwhat a man. how about we meet there at five?â
âfive it is.â he gives a small wave as he heads down the hall. âsee you then, partner.â
the cafe smells like roasted coffee beans and sugar, the air humming with quiet conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. itâs early evening, and the place is wrapped in that warm, lazy glow that makes everything feel softer. the green sign outside flickers faintly through the window, the letters worn from years of weather and sunlight.
you spot him immediatelyâsitting near the counter, wearing a black hoodie and tapping his thumb against his phone screen. his hairâs pulled back, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. he looks up the moment the door chimes, and that grin spreads across his face like itâs second nature.
âhey,â he says as you approach.
âhey,â you echo, sliding into the seat across from him.
he gestures toward the counter. âi already ordered for us. black coffee for me, that thing you like for you, andââ he grins, ââa pastry, because apparently you canât sit in this place without one.â
you laugh softly, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. âyou know me too well, we needa' hang out less.â
ânoo,â he says, leaning back. âi'm just an observer.â
the drinks come quickly, steam curling from the cups. you take yours with both hands, staring at the little swirl of foam, trying to calm your nerves. sukuna pulls out his phone again, refreshes the student portal, and freezes.
his eyes widen. âholy shit,â he mutters.
you look up sharply. âwhat?â
he turns the screen toward you. there it isâyour names side by side, and next to them, the number that makes your breath catch.
98%.
you stare at it for a second, then look at him, and the two of you just burst out laughing.
âoh my-â you say, grinning from ear to ear. âninety-eight?â
he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. âholy shit- holy shit canât believe it,â he says, half-laughing, half-sighing in disbelief. âi actually passed. i can stay in the frat. holy shit.â
you laugh again, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably. âi told you youâd do fine!â
he stands up suddenly, still laughing, and before you can react he pulls you into his arms. itâs a full, tight hugâso warm, so big. his chest rumbles with laughter, and you can feel how much this means to him, how much the stress and pressure have finally melted away.
âthank you,â he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost breathless. âthank you so much for helping me. i wouldâve completely fucking tanked without you.â
you laugh against his shoulder, feeling your own face heat up. âyouâre welcome,â you mumble, your words muffled by his hoodie. âyou did so good, really.â
when he finally lets go, you can still feel the warmth lingering where heâd held you. he looks just as flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down.
âsorry,â he says, half-smiling. âgot a little carried away.â
âitâs fine,â you say quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. âit was⊠nice.â
his grin widens at that.
you both take a moment to calm down, sipping your drinks in the cozy corner. the sound of the coffee machine hums faintly in the background, and sunlight filters through the leaves outside, dappled across the table. it feels like the whole worldâs slowed down just for the two of you.
âso,â he says eventually, voice softer now, âninety-eight percent. that's so peak."
âyeah, we did that,â you reply, smiling. âyouâll probably get a compliment from the teacher next class.â
âyou too,â he says. âyou carried me, you're actually so clutch.â
âyou helped too,â you insist. âyou actually tried, sukuna. thatâs what mattered.â
he chuckles, shaking his head. âyeah, but even if i hadnât passedâŠâ he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. âi donât think iâd be too upset.â
you tilt your head, smiling faintly. âno?â
ânah.â he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. âbecause i got to spend all that time with you. and honestly? that made it worth it.â
your chest tightens, a flutter rising under your ribs. you look down quickly, pretending to focus on your coffee. âyouâre just saying that.â
âiâm not,â he says firmly. âyou made studying actually fun. no oneâs ever done that shit before.â
you look up again, and his expression is so genuine, so open, that you forget how to breathe for a second.
âwell,â you say softly, âi liked spending time with you too.â
your cups sit forgotten on the table, the croissant half-eaten, and all you can hear is the chatter of other uni kids and the soft clatter of dishes.
you stare into his eyes, and thereâs a question thereâunspoken but clear.
he smiles, almost shyly, a rare thing for him. âso⊠what now?â
you shrug lightly, but your smile mirrors his. âi donât know. i guess we donât have to stop hanging out just because the projectâs done.â
his grin grows wider, and you can see the faintest pink dusting his ears. âgood,â he says. âbecause i was kinda hoping youâd say that.â
he hesitates for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, as if gathering courage.
âactually,â he says, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cup, âthereâs something i wanted to ask.â
you tilt your head. âhmm? and whatâs that?â
he exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. âi know this is probably cheesy as hell, but⊠iâd really like to take you out. like, properly. dinner, movie, whatever you want. an actual date.â
the words sink in, soft and certain. you blink, surprised but instantly smiling, your cheeks growing hot.
âyou mean⊠like, a date date?â you ask, teasing just a little.
he laughs under his breath. âyeah. a date date.â
you canât help the grin that spreads across your face. âiâd love that.â
his expression softens into something that almost makes your heart ache. âyeah?â
âyeah.â
for a moment, you just sit there, both grinning like idiots. it feels unreal, like something out of a quiet, sunlit dream.
he leans back in his chair, relief washing over him in waves. âgood,â he says. âi was worried youâd say no.â
you shake your head, still smiling. ânever.â
the light outside shifts slowly, spilling gold through the window, painting his skin in soft warmth. he looks at you like heâs memorizing the momentâthe coffee, the laughter, the way you keep tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
and as he sits across from you, grinning like he canât quite believe his luck, you know that whatever comes next, itâs going to be something worth waiting for.
~
months slide by, slow but certain. what once was a study partnership built on awkward exchanges and quiet glances has become something sooo much more. somewhere between library stops, coffee stops, and tight hugs, it shifted. you shifted. sukuna shifted. the line between school and romance blurred until it disappeared completely.
now, youâre his. officially, undeniably, completely his. and heâs yours.
the first time sukuna brings you to the frat house as his girlfriend, it feels like stepping into a completely different world. the place is loud, music spilling from bluetooth speakers, guys shouting from the kitchen about whoâs out of beer, the smell of cheap cologne and pizza hanging in the air.
you pause in the doorway, clutching sukunaâs hand like itâs an anchor. he glances down at you with that little smirk that never fails to make your heart stutter.
âdonât stress it baby,â he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes your ear. âtheyâll love you.â
and they do.
weather or not that's because he threatened to beat them unconscious if they made you feel uncomfortable before you came over is irrelevant.
satoruâs the first to notice you, perched on the couch with a controller in hand. he looks up mid-game, grins wide, and immediately calls out, âholy shit, sukuna actually brought a girl here voluntarily?â
âshut up,â sukuna grumbles, tightening his grip on your hand. âthis oneâs permanent.â
that earns a chorus of oohs and whistles from the guys nearby. your face burns, but when you glance up at sukuna, heâs smilingânot his usual cocky grin, but something softer. proud.
âhey,â you mumble under your breath, âit smells so bad in here, ryo.â
he chuckles quietly. âyouâll get used to it.â
before you can even respond, toji appears from the kitchen, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face. âwell, if it isnât the little chem genius.â
you blink. âyou⊠remember me?â
âof course,â toji laughs, setting his drink down and stretching out a hand. âheard you saved this idiotâs academic career.â
âhey,â sukuna cuts in, rolling his eyes. âi wasnât that bad.â
âyou had an eight percent, bro.â
the whole room bursts into laughter. sukuna just grumbles and flips toji off while you try not to giggle too loudly. itâs strange, seeing them all like this. so loud, so chaotic, so different from the quiet rhythm youâre used to, but somehow, it feels okay. you feel okay.
by the end of the night, youâre sitting between sukunaâs legs on the couch, his arms draped loosely around your waist, your back against his chest. someone puts on an old movie in the background, and the chatter slowly fades into easy quiet. for the first time, the frat doesnât feel intimidating. it feels warm. welcoming.
satoru catches your eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before mouthing, sheâs a keeper. sukuna just smirks.
later that night, when everyone else has gone to bed and the house has fallen quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards, sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head.
âtold you theyâd love you,â he whispers.
âyeah, you were right,â you murmur, smiling softly. âtheyâre so nice.â
âyouâre even nicer,â he says, his voice barely audible. âthatâs why they love ya'.â
and you can hear the truth in his tone. you know he means it.
after that, everything starts to fall into blissful routine. you help him study, drilling formulas and reactions into his head late into the night. heâs surprisingly good at it now, his grades climbing steadilyâproof that maybe he was capable all along, he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.
and in return, he helps you come out of your shell.
he brings you to tiny cafes youâve never been to before, teaches you how to play pool (terribly, but he doesnât care), and pulls you into spontaneous late-night walks through campus when the air is cool and the stars are bright.
sometimes, you end up sitting on the hood of his car, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers tangled with his as he talks about everything and nothing.
he tells you things heâs never told anyone elseâabout his parents, about the pressure to be someone bigger, stronger, louder. about how he never really cared about anything before he met you.
âyou made me start giving a shit,â he says one night, his voice low as he traces lazy circles against your palm. âabout school, about the future. about being a better guy.â
you glance up at him, smiling faintly. âyou're the bestest guy, kuna.â
he looks at you for a long time, his chest squeezing with the urge to squish you until you pop. then, with a soft exhale, he leans down and kisses you. gentle, slow, like the world could end and heâd still be happy just holding you against his muscular chest.
word gets around campus fast. whispers follow you sometimes. half disbelief, half awe. people donât really understand how you ended up with him. the shy, quiet girl who sits at the front of every lecture, always polite, always prepared⊠dating one of the loudest, most notorious frat boys on campus.
but the thing is, neither of you care.
youâve seen the way people look at you two when you walk hand in hand across campus, his tall frame towering beside yours. youâve heard the murmursâ'how long do you think itâll last, sheâs too good for him, heâll get bored'. but then he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and all of it melts away.
"don't listen to those clowns."
because you know him now. the real him.
the boy who wakes up early to get your favorite pastry from the cafe before class. the one who drapes his hoodie over your shoulders when itâs too crisp. the one who never forgets to text you goodnight, even when heâs exhausted.
the one who stopped showing up to most frat partys because, as he put it, ânone of itâs fun without you anyway.â
you see it in the way heâs changed. not because you asked him to, but because he wants to.
he doesnât flirt with girls anymore. he doesnât even seem to notice when they do. his focus is all on you. your laughter, your voice, your little quirks that no one else ever bothered to notice.
and itâs not just the big things that show it. itâs the way he always walks on the side of the road closest to the cars. the way he remembers all your orders without ever asking. the way heâll pull you closer when youâre out together, even if itâs just to rest his big hand on your hip.
he doesnât talk about feelings much, not directly. but in every gesture, every glance, itâs there.
youâre his world now, and everyone can see it.
his room at the frat house has changed, too. gone are the stacks of solo cups and random gym gear scattered across the floor. in their place are little pieces of youâa throw blanket you brought one day, a mug you left on his desk, your notebook tucked on the shelf next to his textbooks.
he keeps a photo of the two of you pinned on his bulletin board. itâs a candid, one of those moments you didnât even know he was taking. a shot of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing his hoodie, laughing with a half-eaten cookie in your hand. he swears itâs his favorite picture in the world.
âyou look so fucking cute, and happy,â he tells you when you catch him staring at it one night.
âi am happy,â you reply softly.
âbetter be,â he says. âthatâs all i ever want for you, y/n.â
some nights, he stays over at your apartment instead of the frat. he always claims itâs because itâs quieter, easier to focus on studying. but you both know itâs just because he sleeps better when youâre beside him.
you cook together sometimes, though âcookâ might be a really shitty out of touch excuse for the disaster you two create. he burns half the things he touches, laughs through every fuck up, and still insists on taste-testing everything like heâs on master chef. you canât stay mad when he grins at you with flour on his cheek, his dimples showing as he holds up a misshapen cookie.
âhey, weâre improvin',â he says.
âbarely,â you reply, giggling.
he just leans down, presses a quick kiss to your nose, and murmurs, âyeah, but youâre still here, so i must be doing somethin' right.â
there are still parties, of courseâheâs still in the frat, and sometimes showing up is expected. but itâs much different. when he does go, he stays by your side the whole night, a protective hand on your back or wrapped around your waist.
he barely drinks anymore, claiming he doesnât need to. when people flirt or make comments, he just laughs them off and pulls you a little closer.
and when it gets late, when the musicâs too loud and the air too heavy with alcohol and perfume, heâll lean down and whisper, âwanna get out of here?â
you always nod. and the two of you slip away, walking through quiet streets until you reach your place, where everything feels calm again.
people still whisper, still wonder how it works. how a shy, soft-spoken girl could tame someone like ryomen sukuna. but you know the truth.
you didnât tame him, you just saw him. really saw him. beneath the tattoos, the reputation, the arrogance. you saw the boy who just needed someone to care, and he saw the girl who needed someone to make her feel brave.
and together, you found something that feels a lot like forever.
months pass, the seasons shifting from late autumn to the first chill of winter. the air turns crisp, the sky pale and bright. the two of you walk through campus hand in hand, your breath forming little clouds in the cold.
âremember when we first started that project?â you ask one day, laughing softly. âyou barely knew what a periodic table was.â
âhey,â he says, pretending to be offended. âi knew what it was. i just didnât give a shit.â
âhmm, and now youâre pulling straight aâs.â
he grins. âguess i had a real good tutor. she's real sexy, too..â
you bump his shoulder lightly. âawe i bet she'd be real flattered to hear that.â
he stops walking for a moment, looking down at you with that same warm, unguarded look that still makes your stomach flip.
âyou know something?â he says quietly.
âhmm?â
âi still think that fuckass project was the best thing that's ever happened to lil' ol' me.â
you smile, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket. âyeah?â
âhell yeah,â he murmurs, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. âbecause it led me to you.â
the world fades for a moment, the cold, the noise, the people around you, and itâs just him. just you.
when he kisses you, itâs slow, steady, full of all the fuzzy romantic fire thatâs been culminating between you since the day he walked up to your desk with a failed test and a hidden nervous smile.
you remember that moment so clearly now, and you canât help but think how far youâve both come. from shy glances and awkward silences to this. a love that feels like home.
and as his hand tightens around yours, you realize something simple, something certain.
youâve both found exactly where youâre meant to be, with each other.
soft sukuna is my fav icl
anyways tysm for 6k im gonna cry im gonna miss you all on your mouths đ„čđ