The click of the door finally broke him out of your spell. He rested his back against the leather chair, his lungs taking a deep breath as he came back to reality. He didn’t know how long he can handle your presence before doing something so reckless. Hiromi’s fingers hook on his tie, pulling it to loosen his collar just enough to get more air.

He needed to stay on top of his game.

.

.

.

It was like you were purposely teasing him.

“Here, Higuruma. The documents you requested and Mr Mishima thanked you for the reminder.”

The documents were warm, fresh out from the printer, both your hands set on each side on the pages; a polite manner when giving it to your boss but, Hiromi could only focus on the bra you were wearing today. The thin fabric clung nicely to the garment making Hiromi’s senses go wild. Could it be a cute little lacy one? With an opening in the front that would make it easier for Hiromi to snap it open with his teeth? Plus, the silk bow that held your blouse made it look so tempting to undo.

To make conversation Hiromi glanced at your manicured nails, “Ah, Did you get your nails done recently?”

Your eyes slightly widen at the sudden comment of your nails, but you give a smile with a flex of your new set, “Yes, I just got them done! Decided on a new color on me, how do they look?”

His eyes traveled around your fingers, the nimble limbs decorated by your new fresh acrylics—he could only imagine how those nails could dig into his wooden desk if he bent you over it—“The color suits you…”

Your smile brightens even more, the color of your cheeks began to show, “Gosh, thank you! Your the first to notice the change”

He gave a small huff of laughter, needing to shake away the desire he was suddenly feeling so early in the morning, “I have quite the eye for detail.”

‘Like noticing your skirt is shorter from yesterdays…’

Oh, yes. He noticed the shortened skirt as soon as you walked in from work. The way it hiked up your thighs even more when you tried hooking up your coat on the rack, just barely covering your ass. He was addicted the way it was snug around your waist, exposing more of your curves to him. It didn’t help that you were wearing higher heels that elongated your legs, which gave Hiromi a glance of your inner thighs every now and then.

Every click and clack of your heels became a sirens song to Hiromi. His eyes would instantly try to find your form when he heard the sound. He was so desperate that he made excuses to get out of his office; either by getting something from the break room or pretending to grab more supplies. He would stare whenever you began to print documents for some upcoming meeting, how you stretched across the machine in order to click a single button— how every piece of fabric on your body just cling to your curves so sensually. He grew a bit jealous at how the other young male lawyers were also infatuated at your simple motion.

It only got worse when his client came in for his appointment.

.

.

.

He really did try to focus on Mr Mishima, he really did try.

The man continued to spew on about how much money he spent on lawyers to help him with this case. He needed to prove that he is innocent of some crime that Hiromi couldn’t remember. Usually, Hiromi was writing notes while a client is speaking, trying to get every detail about the case; however, it was so hard to care when his cute assistant is perched on the chair near the door in her miniskirt. Legs crossed, thighs wrapped in that sexy mesh stocking, heels slightly dangling on the front of your foot— barely revealing your smooth soles.

He bit on the click of his pen, focusing on how your skirt can barely contain the plush of your thighs. His eyes darted back to Mishima as he asked Hiromi a question that revolved around the case.

Hiromi had to pull something out of his ass to save face.

“—Thank you for coming, I’ll make sure to look over the case thoroughly.”

The meeting was a disaster in Hiromi’s eyes, he had never been so distracted in his life. That damn skirt. Damn you. What made it more frustrating was how Mishima also gazed on your form when you led him out. The lawyer wanted nothing more than to lock you away in his office, rip away your stockings and taste you.

Hiromi pinches the bridge of his nose, needing to get back into his professional mindset before he gets an HR complaint.

The door clicked open once more, his eyes peeked open to see your form emerge. Your lovely face pokes from the small gap of the door, “Excuse me, Higuruma?”

He quickly flattened the wrinkles on his coat, “yes?”

You squeeze yourself through the door, closing it from behind, “Sorry, I think I forgot my phone here. Do you mind if I?—“

“No,no…not at all, go ahead.”

He gestured around awkwardly, turning away to let you look around in peace. You walked over to the chair that you had once sat in, your hands digging in the gaps of the cushions. Hiromi could just see your bent form from the side, his head itching to just fully turn, but he knew that he needed to keep his distance. Unfortunately, his eyes began to wander.

There in all its glory was the curve of your ass on full display, your skirt ridding up just enough to see your cotton panties. You continued to dig into the cushions, your knees buckling on the position you were in. Then, Hiromi noticed a small tear in your stockings, one in between your inner thighs. The idea that the tear was caused by your flesh rubbing against one another almost made him groan out loud.

“I got it!”

You victoriously pull out your phone from the cushions, showing him your triumphant smile with your face flushed and all. The sudden movement startled Hiromi, his eyes quickly shifted around before going back to you.

“O-oh. Congratulations”

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips at his awkward consolation; however, you didn’t think much of it. You quickly headed out from his office, giving a cheerful depart before heading back to work.

God he needed to keep it in his pants.

.

.

.

He was back in his flow: documents were being highlighted, sticky notes littered his desk, phone calls were being made. Hiromi had no distractions—

“Higuruma?”

Fuck.

His eyes look away from his document toward yours, he gave a polite nod for you to enter his office. He couldn’t get over the way your calves flexed as you stepped in your heels, it made him wonder if your feet ached from the constant pressure. He imagined his fingers digging into the soles of your feet, watching you squirm from the relief of his touch.

He shook away the thoughts that invaded his mind, “Yes? Did something come up?”

You lightly shook your head, “I was just checking up on you, are you staying overtime again?”

Hiromi glanced at the clock, he barely realized that it was almost time for him to call it a night; however, he did want to stay a bit longer to get his papers in order.

“Yeah, I still have some things to finish up.”

Your cheeks softly puff up forming a slight pout, “But you haven’t taken a break yet, Higuruma”

His heart thumped against his ribs as he saw that cute expression, he let out a breathy chuckle, “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay though—“

‘I might do something stupid if you do’

“I don’t mind staying. I can help out even, so you don’t have to stay so long.”

“You really don’t have to— it’s getting dark, it’s best if you go home—“

You waved your hand, your nails glistening through the dim light, “No,No— I don’t mind at all! Maybe you can get some good night’s rest after this.”

Reluctantly, Hiromi agreed for you to stay— not that he would really put up a fight to not have you in his office. He had to use all his mental strength to keep himself professional, he could not let himself do something reckless with you. Though, the sway of your hips was hypnotic as you sat yourself down by the coffee table. The minutes passed between the two, Hiromi would take notes on every document; his fingers gliding with the high lighter with such precision that made him even more attractive.

Your eyes would more often than not glance at him, seemingly sending a message that he didn’t want to believe. They would run up and down his form, noting every detail of him: his white button up that clung deliciously on his pecks, his tie was loosen enough for him to concentrate but you wanted nothing more to grip on it tightly— you bit your lip, focusing back on organizing the files.

The only thing filling the silence was the ticking from the clock that was set in the corner of his office, the movement of the hand only intensified the desire that the two of you were feeling. From an outside perspective, it was so obvious that the two of you wanted to bang each other in that office; however, it seemed that it was the two of you who were holding back.

Hiromi would look up from his documents, tired eyes would find your form like it had been doing all along; moreover, they would trace your neck, the smooth skin untouched— sensitive even. He was captivated the way your plump lips pursed out in concentration or even contemplation. Once they got to your eyes, his body jumped as your pupils stared into his.

“Something the matter, Higuruma?”

There was a honey essence to the words that lathered your lips, it only made Hiromi try to push down the desire that formed within himself. He moved some documents absentmindedly, needing to make it seem like he had been busy,

“Ah… I’m fine, fine. Did you need something?”

He couldn’t help but cringe at his dumb question, though it couldn’t be helped with you confronting him. Hiromi followed your gaze as it trailed from his lower stomach to his face in a slow torturous manner; he tried fixing himself up, fearing that he looked disheveled. But, his movements stopped as he began to realize your desire— finally accepting his own as well.

Your fingers play with the corners of the stacks of papers, your plump lips still pursed out in feign innocence, “Perhaps…”

He gulped down the anticipation that was building up in his throat, but his voice came out in a sort of husk, “what do you need?”

You pushed yourself off from the coffee table, your body flowing up like water. His eyes were fixed on the way your skirt wrinkled up and down with the friction of your thighs, watching as you came before him. As you stop right in front of him with half lidded eyes, one foot holding more weight that the other; for the first time in ages, Hiromi felt utterly small.

You leaned forward, resting your palms on each of the arm rests; his hooked nose barely touching yours, he could could count every speck of color in your pupils. The vulnerable position made him repeat his question,

“What….what do you need…?”

You inch closer, rubbing your nose lightly on his, sharing your minty breath with his, “You.”

.

.

.

Loong strokes of his tongue lapped over your clothed pussy, damping the layers that kept the two of you apart. Hiromi could feel the warmth of your thigh as it lightly placed itself over his shoulder; locking him in place. After a few moments of stimulation, he poked out his head from your skirt.

“Let me taste you… please, let me— I need it”

Your eyes glance down at him, glimmering with mischief, “Undress me then”

Hiromi felt his throat go dry, his hands hesitantly moved toward the waistband of your stockings first; his fingers hook onto it, pulling it down slowly. The color of your thighs finally revealed themselves from the mesh stockings, arousing him even more. Removing the last inches of the mesh, he threw the fabric behind him before diving into your scent once more.

The hardness of his nose nuzzled itself deeper into your panties, which made a soft sigh escape your lips. Your hand grazed lightly over his gelled hair, praising him with your touch. You could feel the sweat from the tips of his fingers as they pull down the delicate lace you wore; exposing the trail of your slick connecting from your panties to your cunt.

“Fuck,” a low needy groan escaped his lips.

Not even giving you time to breathe, he began to work his jaw as his tongue began to twist inside you—spreading your folds to taste that sweet honey. Hiromi grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing your hips into his face to let his tongue hit deeper inside you; you had to grip onto his wooden desk to not fall off.

“You taste so delicious… so fucking tasty—mm!”

He could tell you were close, your walls began to pulse with every lap— you even gripped his hair tightly, nails slightly digging in.

“Higu—-fuck! Yr’ so messy,” you rolled your hips into his face needing to feel that big nose hit your clit in the right way. You could hear the rough groans and gulps as Hiromi drank your slick. You could feel the way his lips mouthed your pussy, practically eating your insides.

Hiromi pushed himself off from his knees, the top of his lip having a glimmer of your cum that he didn’t care to wipe away.

“Lemme fuck you… please, let me put it in—Sweetheart, I’m aching for you”

He pushed his hips against your wet cunt, making you feel his throbbing member through the fabric of his pants. Every grind of his harden cock against your wet core left a beautiful stain on his pants. Your nails gripped onto his jacket which he quickly shed off.

“Yes… Yes, Higuruma—Put it in…”

“Hiromi,” he quickly corrected, needing to break away from their professional barrier. He watched as the anticipation in your eyes deepened with the added closeness.

“Hiromi. Cute name”

You leaned in to kiss him, which Hiromi was gladly willing to accept; his tongue slipping inside your mouth, lathering his wet muscle against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers rubbing circles at the soft skin of his neck.

The two of you needed to be even closer than this.

.

.

.

“Hiromi—fuck! Hiromi!”

Your high pitch whines echoed around the room accompanied by the slap of his hips against yours ass. Hiromi gripped onto your sides as he rammed his cock into your pussy, stretching you out nicely. Every time he pulled back, he could hear that lovely squelching cry that came out from your cunt. He liked the way your nails dug onto the end of the desk, leaving marks onto the expensive wood. Every buck from his hips left your body moving forward by his rhythm.

“So tight—-Sweetheart, you’re killing me”

Your gummy walls kept sucking him in even deeper. His hands were all over you: caressing the side of your breasts, caressing the fat of your ass—- each touch left you so needy for him. Bent over the desk, lying over the cold wood; you could feel his throbbing tip hit your walls from different angles causing more cries of pleasure. Your knees buckled as they began to grow numb, you could even hear the droplets of your cum hitting the wooden floor of the office.

“Hiromi—we’ll… we’ll ruin the floor! I’m dripping all over…”

Hiromi couldn’t care about the floor, he leaned forward to kiss the back of your neck, “Stop thinking about the floor. Focus on me, doll.”

Your pussy lips clung onto him, suctioning him in permanently. Tears filled your eyes as his broad chest squished your body against the desk. His teeth grazed your ears so teasingly that it made you tighten. His thrusts began to grow more rough and quick; kissing your cervix with such haste that made you beg for more.

“I-I am focused on you! Fuck, Hiromi!”

His breeding balls smacked harshly against your now puffy lips, every thrust spilled out more of your connecting slick. You clenched your teeth tightly as you felt yourself lose more control.

Hiromi brought his hand to grab your breast from under your bra, his fingers squished against your warm flesh and the cold wood. His fingers swirled your harden nipple: pinching and pulling that made your mouth drool. The sensation caused your pussy to slurp his cock, your hot slick burned against his sensitive skin. He could feel his muscle coil as hot cum began to spurt slightly. Every fleck teased your insides to wanting more.

“H-Hiromi! Hiro—guh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You pushed your hips toward his own, with his final thrusts came to action. Hiromi’s balls squeezed tightly as his cum painted your gummy walls; your cervix expanded against your organs. You could feel your belly bulging against the wooden desk, causing a nice press. His body was atop of yours, keeping your hips locked in place to take every last drop of his seed.

A low groan erupted from his throat, “Sweetheart….mm, you were so good for me”

His fingers lightly grab your face, which was already buzzing from his touch; his lips softly pressed against yours, aching to feel your plump lips once more. You could barely comprehend what was going on, but your lips moved against his with passion that made you understand that you were his.

Eight years slipped by like water. Now, the chaotic halls of high school had given way to the sprawling brick architecture of the university. Sukuna was carving out a name for himself in graphic design a field that perfectly suited his sharp visual instincts while you buried yourself in the grueling, endless cycles of medical school. Despite the brutal workloads, you remained each other's constants.

Your social circles had merged into a strange, volatile ecosystem. He had introduced you to his crowd: the towering, cynical Toji; the fiercely loyal Uraume. the chaotic, unpredictable Mahito more like the most weird one, and the calculating Kenjaku. In return, you dragged him into your world, introducing him to Shoko, Suguru, and Gojo Satoru. Sukuna hated Gojo from the exact millisecond they locked eyes a mutual, visceral hatred that provided endless entertainment for everyone else.

It was the height of summer break. The heat was a thick, physical weight pressing down on the city. Sukuna was working grueling double shifts mornings at a local automotive garage, followed by an afternoon stint at a small creative firm. Still, he carved out his remaining hours for you. You, too, were hunting for a part time job. the thought of spending the entire summer trapped inside your apartment, drowning in medical journals and mindlessly binge watching television, felt like a waste of life.

Currently, you were curled up on your small, slightly faded pink couch. Sukuna sat beside you, his large frame taking up over half the cushions. His long legs were casually man.spreaded, dressed in his worn blue jeans and a faded band shirt that clung to the broad expanse of his chest. He smelled exactly like he always did a heady, comforting cocktail of bitter tobacco smoke, iron, and a faint hint of amber alcohol. It was the scent of your safe haven.

You sipped your iced tea, dressed simply in a pair of pink lounge shorts and a white tank top.

"You know, the firm where I do design work... they need someone part time to handle basic image editing and digital filing" Sukuna murmured, his deep voice vibrating through the cushions. He didn't look at you, his eyes fixed on the blank TV screen. "I could talk to the manager about throwing your name in-"

"Omg! Yes, please, Ryo! Please!" you burst out leaning over and grabbing his forearm.

Sukuna paused, slowly turning his head to glare at you through his lower set of eyes, his expression a mix of irritation and mild amusement. "Brat, will you shut up and listen for a second?"

"I am listening!"

"I'll talk to them tomorrow and see what the boss says" he muttered, flicking a stray ash into an empty can. "But do you even know how to use the software properly? This isn't your little anatomy flashcards."

"Mhm, yeah! I took that digital design elective last semester, remember? Besides, it’s a small company. As long as the environment is cozy and fun, I can handle it."

Sukuna let out a rough, mocking scoff. "Cozy? Fun? That's a goddamn shithole."

You rolled your eyes, setting your mug down on the coffee table with a definitive clack. "Oh, stop it. Why do you always have to be so pessimistic? I've walked past that building, it looks incredibly cool from the outside."

"Yeah? Well, from the outside, you look smart too" Sukuna shot back, pulling a long drag from his cigarette and deliberately blowing the smoke upward, away from your face. "But that doesn't mean you actually are."

"Hey!" You brought your hand down in a sharp slap against his thick bicep. The impact made a solid sound, but he barely flinched, offering only a low, amused grunt.

"Talk to them tomorrow" you commanded, leaning in closer. On a sudden, playful whim, you pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to his tattooed cheek.

Before you could pull away, his hand shot out with lightning reflexes. His thick fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm but careful not to hurt you, pulling you back down into his space. He stared down at you, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk.

"Don't wear that pink, girlish shit when you show up for the interview" he warned, his free hand reaching up to roughly squeeze your cheeks together until your lips puckered. You glared at him through narrowed eyes, swatting at his chest until he finally laughed and let you go.

You sank back against the couch, resting your head on the cushions as you stared toward the television. "I know how to dress professionally, chill out. You're probably just jealous because my style is better than yours"

Sukuna scoffed, leaning his head back. "Yeah. When pigs fly, brat."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, save for the hum of the air conditioner. You turned your head slightly, your eyes softening as you traced the familiar lines of his tattoos. You loved them especially the intricate markings beneath his eyes. Watching him now, the stark realization hit you of just how much he had changed. The lean, angry teenager from the rain soaked school hallway had filled out into a massive.imposing man. The sheer weight of your shared memories made your heart ache with a strange, sweet tightness.

"What? Want to kiss me or something?" Sukuna asked suddenly, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts. He turned his head, a wicked, knowing wink flashing across his face.

You rolled your eyes hard, fighting back a blush. "Ugh, no. In your dreams. I would never kiss someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Sukuna’s demeanor shifted instantly. He stubbed his cigarette out in the can, turning his entire body toward you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means" you retorted, crossing your arms and putting on a small, challenging smirk. "You literally ghosted poor Yorozu after sleeping with her once. That was horrible, Ryo. You can't just play with people's feelings like that. She actually liked you and you just used her for her-"

"Stop right fucking there." Sukuna interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "You’ve known me since I was a kid, and you know damn well I don't play those pathetic games. Yorozu was an annoying, a delusional bitch. She knew exactly what she was doing, she came onto me, and nobody used her. I’m not going to date a woman who treats her own body like a revolving door."

"Wait a minute!" You turned fully on the couch, your temper flaring as you met his gaze head-on. "So you're saying a woman can't explore her options, but men can? When a guy does it, it's 'experience,' but when a girl does it, she should be ashamed?"

"I didn't say that, brat!" Sukuna growled, leaning in closer, his jaw tight. "I don't give two fucks who sleeps with whom. I’d date a girl regardless of her past if it actually mattered to her, but Yorozu wasn't looking for a relationship. She went through four different guys in our circle in a single week. Tell me the truth would you seriously date a guy who changes his bedsheets for a new girl every single night?"

You paused, your argument losing its steam. "No... I wouldn't. But still... you sleep around too!"

"Oh, don't worry your little head about my life. It's not like I'd ever let a nerdy brat like you date me anyway" Sukuna smirked, the tension draining from his shoulders as he pulled another cigarette from his pack. "Besides, thanks for the reminder. I haven't even looked at a woman in months."

You let out a loud sigh of pure annoyance, throwing your hands up. "Good! Because no one is going to date you anyway! Just look at you. You're impossible! Ugh!"

Pushed to your limit, you pushed yourself off the couch and stormed into the small kitchen adjacent to the living room.

From behind you, Sukuna’s deep voice rose in a mocking, high.pitched whine. "Damn, I hear a cat meowing. Blah, blah, blah."

Without turning around, you hoisted your arm over your shoulder and flipped him the middle finger. A rough, genuine snort of laughter echoed from the living room.

You forced your focus onto the kitchen counter, pulling out the ingredients for a classic spaghetti with rich red meat sauce. It was your favorite comfort food, and despite his tough exterior, Sukuna loved it just as much. No matter how viciously you bickered, this apartment this dynamic was your safe harbor. He had come straight from an exhausting shift, smelling of grease and office stress, just to sit on your couch and let you vent about your week. That was the hidden, fiercely protective side of him that you cherished above all else.

As you brought a pot of water to a boil, you stared at the steam rising into the air. "Hey, Ryo... do you think I should get a tattoo?"

The rustle of the couch cushions told you he had instantly shifted. A moment later, the heavy thud of his footsteps approached the kitchen. You looked up to see him stretching his arms over his head, pulling his band shirt taut against the sharp, chiseled definition of his torso and the prominent V-line disappearing into his jeans.

"Depends on what you're getting" he said, leaning his hip against the counter. He watched you intently as you began chopping onions, his gaze heavy and focused.

"Maybe something delicate" you murmured, tilting your head thoughtfully. "Like an Om symbol... or a lotus flower. Right here, near my hip."

Sukuna’s eyes darkened slightly. "A lotus... on your hip? Like... right here?"

Before you could register the movement, his large, rough hand reached out, his long fingers gently pressing against the curve of your hip bone. His skin was heavily calloused from the garage, rough against your bare skin, but the heat radiating from his palm was incredibly warm. sending a sudden electric shiver down your spine.

You nodded swallowed hard. "Yeah. Right there."

Sukuna slowly pulled his hand back, his expression turning unreadable. "Nah. Don't do it."

"Why not?" you asked, turning back to the stove to drop the pasta into the boiling water.

"Because I wouldn't be able to see it" he stated flatly.

You let out a loud snort, your cheeks instantly burning. "Well, it's not for you! It's for my future husband. He'll see it when he... oh my god, shut up, I'm getting shy just talking about it!" You hid your face in your hands, giggling nervously at your own sudden embarrassment.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, looking thoroughly cringed "I didn't even say anything, woman. You're losing your mind."

"I know! But still." You turned around, your eyes dropping to the freshly lit cigarette in his hand. With a quick, practiced motion, you snatched it right out of his lips and dropped it directly into the trash can by the sink. "And stop smoking in my kitchen."

"What the fuck?!" Sukuna glared down at you, his eyebrows knitting together in genuine outrage. "You know how much those cost?"

You offered him a bright, unapologetic smile, leaning back against the counter. "I don't care. Nothing is more expensive than your health, Ryomen."

Sukuna froze. His fierce expression melted, his eyes softening into something so profoundly tender it would have terrified anyone else. He looked at you really looked at you and the realization of how deeply he cared for you settled heavily in his chest. You were the only person alive allowed to snatch things from his hands, to yell at him, to care about his well being without an ulterior motive. He hid a small, vulnerable smile by looking down at the floor, composing his face before you could catch him.

"I've been drinking so much banana milk lately" you rambled on, completely oblivious to his internal crisis as you opened the fridge. "It's so sweet and comforting. I've been craving it like crazy the past few days. Maybe my period is coming up." You poured a glass of the chilled yellow milk and handed it to him.

Sukuna took the glass mechanically. "Wasn't your cycle supposed to start two days ago?"

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He froze mid-sip, mentally cursing himself. He knew your calendar perfectly he kept a silent, running track of it in his notes app so he knew exactly when to buy your favorite chocolates, when to keep his temper in check, and when to just let you rest. But saying it out loud made him sound completely weird.

Your eyes went wide, your jaw dropping. "Oh my god, you're right! Wait... how on earth do you know my cycle better than I do?"

Sukuna shrugged nonchalantly, taking a massive gulp of the milk to avoid looking at you. "Just a random guess, brat."

"Ryo, scratch my back please!" You turned around, presenting your back to him while the sauce simmered.

"what the hell" he grumbled, but he set the empty glass down anyway. He stepped up directly behind you, his massive chest nearly pressing against your shoulder blades. He brought his large hand up, dragging his nails firmly over the cotton of your white top.

"No, lower! Go under the shirt, up and to the right!" you instructed, leaning into the pressure.

Sukuna let out a low sigh but complied. His large, warm hand slipped beneath the hem of your tank top, his rough fingers tracing the smooth skin of your lower back. He moved upward, his knuckles brushing against the strap of your bra, carefully bypassing it to reach the tense muscles of your neck. He looked down at the soft curve of your shoulders, a quiet, lingering expression crossing his face. You had grown up so beautifully. The clumsy, guarded nerd from high school had transformed into a brilliant, captivating woman right before his eyes.

And yet he had fallen in love with that nerd years ago.

"Hey, are you still in touch with Toji?" you asked out loud, stirring the red sauce.

Sukuna’s hand stopped instantly. The warmth left his expression, replaced by a sudden, icy glare. He pulled his hand out from under your shirt. "Yeah. Why the fuck are you asking about him?"

"just asking" you said, turning to look at him over your shoulder. "I just thought he was really cool when we all hung out last month. He was funny, and we had a great conversation-"

"Do you have a crush on him?" Sukuna’s voice was dangerously low, his jaw clenching.

"Maybe a little?"

"That asshole is a man whore" Sukuna snapped, stepping closer and grabbing your wrist with a sudden, intense seriousness. "You are staying the hell away from him. The guy probably has half a dozen babies across the country that he's abandoned."

You blinked, surprised by his intensity. "Isn't he your friend?"

"Yeah, which means I know exactly what kind of scum he is" Sukuna growled, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'm protecting your virgin ass."

"I am not a virgin!" your face flushed an intense, bright crimson. You had admitted that to him years ago during a weak moment, and you had regretted it ever since because he never let you live it down.

"You are, and there's nothing wrong with that" he grunted, his grip on your wrist softening but not letting go. "Save it for someone who's actually going to cherish you and marry you, not a jerk like Toji."

"Yeah, right. That fairytale stuff only happens in old movies" you sighed dramatically, twisting out of his grip and spinning around the kitchen with an exaggerated sigh. "Maybe I need to move to a completely different country to find my prince charming."

Sukuna let out a rough snort, reaching forward and sharply flicking your forehead. "Open your eyes, brat. He might be standing right in front of you."

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead as you served the food.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable, familiar blur. You ate dinner side by side at the small counter, your voice filling the quiet apartment as you rambled about a new medical drama you were watching and the outfits you wanted to buy once you got the job. Sukuna listened with a rare, quiet patience, occasionally chiming in about his chaotic shifts at the garage or updates about his young nephew, yuji whom you absolutely adored.

By eleven, he was standing at your front door, preparing to head back to his boring house

"Text me the exact second you get home, okay?" you said, stepping out into the cool hallway. You were wearing your oversized orange slippers with the little bear faces on them, looking incredibly small compared to him as he pulled his helmet over his pink hair and swung his leg over his heavy black motorcycle.

You reached out, playfully tapping the visor of his helmet. "Hellooooooooo? Can you hear me in there?"

A muffled, dark chuckle resonated from behind the glass. "I can't hear a single word you're saying, brat. Go back inside where it's warm."

Instead of turning back, you stepped forward, grabbing the thick leather of his jacket to pull him down slightly. You pressed a firm, lingering kiss right against the side of his helmet. "Ride safe. Text me."

Before he could respond, you spun around and dashed back inside your apartment, clicking the lock shut behind you.

Out in the driveway, Sukuna sat frozen on his idling bike. His heart was hammering against his ribs at a ridiculous, violent pace. He slowly lifted a gloved hand, his fingers touching the exact spot on his helmet where your lips had rested. He let out a long, ragged exhale into the darkness. You were going to be the absolute death of him.

Inside, you collapsed onto your bed, a massive, unprompted smile stretching across your face. You didn't quite understand why you had done that, but the lingering warmth in your chest told you that you didn't regret it for a single second.

A moment later, your phone buzzed in your hand.

Ryoooo yum:

Am home.

You giggled, quickly tapping out a response.

You:

🫪 Look! It's a new sticker!

Ryoooo yum:

Thank you. I desperately needed that completely useless information.

You:

Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Ryo. Anyway, make sure you text me about the job tomorrow!

Ryoooo yum:

I will. Get your beauty sleep.

You:

Did you just indirectly call me beautiful?! 🥰

Ryoooo yum:

Night, brat.

The next morning was a whirlwind of nervous energy. You spent hours tearing through your closet, trying to find an outfit that balanced professionalism with your own personal flair. You went out to the grocery store, buying an excessive amount of fresh ingredients, cooking far more food than one person could ever eat just to keep your hands busy.

At exactly two in the afternoon, your phone lit up.

Ryoooo yum:

Come to the office at five PM sharp. Bring your portfolio and identification documents.

Your heart did a violent flip.

You:

Oh my god, yes! Are you going to be there?!

Ryoooo yum:

Maybe. My shift ends at 5:30.

You immediately liked the message, a sudden surge of determination washing over you. You packed a large, multi tiered tiffin box with the specific grilled chicken sandwiches he loved the ones he always claimed were "mediocre" but devoured in seconds. You added a side of seasoned rice and tucked his favorite energy drink into the side pocket.

With time to spare, you took a long, luxurious shower, doing your makeup with meticulous care. You applied a subtle touch of eyeliner, mascara to frame your eyes, and a soft lip liner topped with a glossy sheen. For clothes, you chose a sleek, dark pencil skirt that hugged your curves and hit just above your knees, paired with a crisp white blouse that offered just a tasteful hint of your cleaverage You tied your hair up into a elegant bun, stepping into a pair of classic burgundy kitten heels. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt an unfamiliar, intoxicating rush of confidence.

The Uber ride to the firm was a tense, quiet countdown. When you finally arrived at the sleek, modern building, the receptionist offered you a warm, welcoming smile and guided you straight down the hall to the hiring manager’s office. You kept your eyes peeled for a flash of pink hair, but the creative floor was quiet.

The manager, a poised woman in her late forties, greeted you warmly. "You must be Y/n. Sukuna hasn't stopped reminding me about your application all week."

You smiled, settling into the chair. "Yes, that's me. He's my best friend."

The woman paused, adjusting her glasses with a knowing smile. "Oh? From the way he was fiercely defending your credentials, I assumed you were his girlfriend."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you chose not to correct her, letting the comment slide as she dove into the interview. She asked about your university schedule, your familiarity with design software, and reviewed your documents.

Finally, she extended her hand across the desk. "Everything looks perfect. You can start next Monday. I'll email you the formal details tonight."

You walked out of the office trying to find someone, your chest bursting with excitement. As you made your way back down the central corridor, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement through a glass paneled office door.

Inside was Sukuna

He was staring intensely at a laptop, dressed in a sharp white button down shirt with a dark tie, his black suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. His pink hair was a bit messy, his jaw tight as he typed. The sheer, commanding masculinity of his presence struck you with a force that left you breathless. He looked breathtakingly handsome.

You quietly opened the door and stepped inside. He didn't look up immediately, assumed it was a coworker.

You cleared your throat, adopting a playful, formal tone. "Excuse me, Mr. Ryomen? May I have a moment of your time?"

Sukuna’s head snapped up. The moment his eyes landed on you, his entire posture froze. The breath completely left his lungs. You looked... illegal. The pencil skirt accentuated every line of your body, your face was radiant, and the elegant bun made you look sophisticated and entirely out of his reach. His heart hammered violently against his ribs.

Before he could speak, you closed the distance between you, dropping your bag on the floor and throwing your arms tightly around his neck.

Sukuna’s eyes widened in sheer shock, but his instincts took over. His large arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his massive chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of your perfume.

"I got the job, Ryo" you whispered softly against his shoulder. "Thank you so much."

He let out a low, rumbling hum, his grip tightening just a fraction. Neither of you moved. For several long, unbroken minutes, you simply stood there in the quiet office, holding onto each other as if the rest of the world didn't exist.

Finally, you cleared your throat gently. "Ryo?"

He blinked, suddenly realizing how long he had been holding you, and quickly pulled back, clearing his throat to hide his flushed face. "Yeah. Yeah, congrats, brat." He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "Sit down."

You took a seat, pulling the tiffin box from your bag and setting it on his desk alongside the energy drink. "I brought you lunch,.I know it's a bit late, but since you always skip meals when you're busy, I knew you'd be starving."

Sukuna stared at the food, a faint, self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips. "At this rate, you might as well just marry me."

It was a joke you two had made a thousand times before. But today, the air in the room felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension.

You bit your lower lip, looking directly into his eyes. "You already know my ring size, don't you?"

Sukuna froze, a piece of the sandwich halfway to his mouth. He swallowed hard, his dark eyes fixed on yours with a sudden, terrifying intensity. "Yeah." he said, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. "I do. Thanks for the food."

He took a bite, trying to ground himself. After a moment, he slid the container toward the edge of the desk. "Come here. Let's share."

You smiled, standing up. But instead of grabbing the adjacent chair, your feet carried you directly to his side of the desk. Without thinking, you pivoted and sat down directly onto his muscular thigh.

Sukuna’s entire body went rigid as stone. He stopped breathing. But he didn't push you away. Slowly, hesitantly, his large arm snaked around your waist, anchoring you securely against him. With his other hand, he picked up the fork, dipping into the rice and lifting it to your lips. You took the bite, and without switching utensils, he used the exact same fork to take a bite for himself.

"When does your shift officially end?" you asked, leaning your shoulder against his chest. He reached up, his thumb gently brushing a stray grain of rice from the corner of your mouth, his touch impossibly tender.

"It's already over" he murmured, his voice vibrating against your back. "We're going home together after this."

"Ryo..." Your voice turned quiet, serious.

"Yeah?"

"Can we end our friendship?"

The words cut through the room like a knife. Sukuna’s hand froze entirely. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp panic that made his chest heave. "Stop playing around, Y/n. That's not funny."

"I'm completely serious, Sukuna..." you sighed, pushing yourself off his lap. The sudden loss of your warmth left him feeling entirely hollow. You walked over to the large window, staring out at the sunset.

"Why?!" Sukuna stood up so fast his chair rolled back and slammed into the wall. He crossed the room in three long strides, his face twisted in a mix of anger and terror. "What the hell do you mean? Did I do something wrong? Talk to me, brat!"

You turned around to face him, your heart pounding in your throat. "I like you."

Sukuna froze in his tracks. His jaw slackened. He stared at you, his mind racing, convinced this was some cruel, elaborate prank. If he admitted his truth and you laughed it off, he would never be able to look at you again. He forced a stiff, awkward laugh, his defenses slamming into place. "Yeah... right. I like you too, brat. We've been best friends for years, obviously-"

"No, Sukuna. Not like that" you interrupted, your voice trembling slightly as you took a step closer. "I've had feelings for you for the past two years. Real, romantic feelings. I'm in love with you."

Sukuna’s entire world ground to a screeching halt. "A... what?"

Misinterpreting his shock for rejection, your eyes cast downward, your shoulders slumping. "Okay... you don't have to say anything. You don't have to make fun of me or call me a nerd. If you don't feel the same way, we can just... try to ignore this and stay friends, or-"

"I fucking love you, Y/n."

The words tore out of his throat, raw and unrestrained. Before you could even process the sound, Sukuna’s large hands closed around your waist, lifting you slightly as he pulled you flush against his chest. His grip was fiercely tight, as if he were terrified you would vanish if he let go.

"I've loved you since we were seventeen years old" he growled, his voice thick with a lifetime of suppressed emotion. He pressed his forehead against yours, his dark eyes burning into yours. "You were sitting in that library with those ridiculous glasses, yapping my damn ear off about things I didn't care about, and I was completely goner. And if that wasn't enough, you show up here today looking like a dream, bringing me lunch like you're already my goddamn wife... I can't take it anymore."

A tear leaked from your eye, a bright, breathless laugh escaping your lips. "Really? You're not joking?"

"Fucking really" he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips.

He didn't wait. Sukuna leaned down, closing the final distance between you, and captured your mouth in a deep, fiercely passionate kiss that erased eight years of waiting in a single, breathless second.

(go and flop)

you peeped a look back over your shoulder, his crimson hair tickled your neck and his sets of eyes crinkled under your motion, then relaxed.

maybe even in his sleep, sukuna knew you would not be able to get away.

he made sure of that.

“sukuna..” you whispered slowly enunciating his name.

no response, but the grip on your waist loosened.

huh.

you moved finally to sit up. you reached out to the cup of water placed conveniently near your bed and took hasty sips. the cold water was an antidote for your thirst and surprisingly refreshing for the mind.

with a newfound wakefulness you braced to stand up only for an inked hand to grip your thigh, although not intended to be very strong, and halt your motion.

you looked back and the sight devastated you.

there he was, sukuna, your lover, your wedded lord, with his eyes open blearily heavily intoxicated from sleep and a look almost pleading for you to stop.

he whispered your name, his voice coming out rough around the edges and his grip tightened on your thigh, engulfing it entirely.

“what is it” you whispered back wrinkling your nose with a soft smile painted on your lips.

sukuna silently observed you, taking in everything: your slippers half-hazardly covering your feet, your night gown sliding off your shoulder, your hair a little messy and those eyes, your pretty twinkling eyes.

sukuna’s heart pinched.

heaven’s there had to be a limit to the ever encompassing love he had for his wife, it was simply unfair.

you cupped a hand on the side of your lips before saying “i’ll be back..”

sukuna watched in dismay as you again attempted to get away from him.

before you could even get a step out you were being pulled back by a force much, much stronger than you.

you tut disapprovingly, brushing him off with a light tap.

“it’ll take a minute”

sukuna hugged your back, shaking his head no and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. as much as his 7 foot frame could.

energized by his playful demeanor you harnessed your own, twisting in his grasp you face towards him and cup his face.

“sukuna” you say and he grumbles your name back at you.

“you won’t even know i’m gone”

and without pause,

“i will”

you hold back your giggle opting for a neutral expression.

“my lord, you’re being rather dependent on your poor wife”

“if that is what the situation demands, then so be it” sukuna rolls over, grunting from the movement and pulls you on top of him.

you pushed up at his chest, now with an apparent upper hand ready to appeal for your freedom.

sukuna’s hands rested on your lower back his thumb rubbing into the dip at your hip, eyes barely cracked open.

you brought your fingers up and rubbed his jaw absentmindedly, “i can’t sleep like this”

“why?”

“you haven’t shaved, your face is much too prickly” you teased.

and then ofcourse sukuna proceeded to rub his face against your cheek making you burst into a fit of giggles.

“stop!” you squealed.

you breathed hard, grinning down at your husband, “let me go”

“not in a million years”

you huffed, a stray piece of your hair flying up, the motions the brute had engaged you in making you dreary.

“alright” you fake yawned, “i surrender”

sukuna’s taut shoulders finally melted, the bed creaking under his weight as he let himself loose.

that’s when you cracked your eye open and in a blur of movements you were up and out of his hands. especially the one that almost grabbed onto your ankle.

almost.

you looked at him across the room, waving a finger at his loss.

and lost he was, sukuna with his defined chest highlighted by the moonlight and hair sprung in an unruly sort of direction.

like sweet temptation.

his lower hand motioned you to come closer.

you knew better.

but you stepped into his trap anyway.

And he had nothing to fear.

Or so he told himself, standing in the corner of yet another boring Jujutsu High networking event, a glass of champagne dangling from his fingers that he hadn't taken a single sip from.

"You're doing it again," Shoko said, not even looking up from her phone. She was leaned against the wall next to him, already bored out of her mind, watching the room through half-lidded eyes.

"Doing what?" Satoru asked, his voice casual. Too casual.

"That thing where you stare at someone like you're calculating exactly how to make them disappear from the face of the earth. You know. Your specialty."

Satoru's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm not staring at anyone."

"You've been staring at that guy for seven minutes," Shoko replied, finally glancing up. Her eyes followed his gaze across the room. "Seven minutes, Satoru. I counted."

"I've been observing," he corrected, his tone clipped. "There's a difference."

"Mm. And what, exactly, are you observing?"

Satoru didn't answer. Because he couldn't. Because if he opened his mouth right now, he might say something he couldn't take back — something like "I'm observing the way his hand keeps finding excuses to touch my girlfriend's arms" or "I'm observing how he's standing way too close to her" or "I'm observing the exact angle I'd need to Infinity his stupid face into next week."

Shoko finally looked up from her phone, following his gaze across the room. You were talking to someone — some assistant from the Kyoto branch, some guy Satoru didn't recognize and didn't care to know. The guy was tall, annoyingly handsome, and he kept laughing at things you said. Too loudly. Too eagerly. Like he was trying to impress you.

Like he didn't see Satoru standing right there.

"You're jealous," Shoko said flatly.

"I'm not jealous."

"You're literally turning green."

"I'm not turning anything—" Satoru started, but then he saw it. The guy's hand slid down to the small of your back. Casually. Like he had any right to touch you there. Like your boyfriend wasn't ten feet away, watching the whole thing.

Satoru's eye twitched.

Shoko smirked, taking a slow sip of her drink. "Oh, this is going to be good."

You were mid-conversation — something about mission protocols, something boring that you were only half-paying attention to because this guy had been talking for five minutes and you were starting to wonder where Satoru had wandered off to — when you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

Not roughly. Not aggressively. Just... there. Warm and familiar and distinctly his. The arm tightened just slightly, pulling you back against a solid chest, and you felt the brush of lips against your temple — soft, almost absent, like he couldn't help himself.

"Hey, baby," Satoru said, his voice smooth and easy. But you felt his fingers press just a little more firmly into your hip. A reminder. A claim. Mine.

You looked up at him. His blindfold was on, but his head was tilted in that particular way that meant he was looking at the guy across from you. Not glaring. Not threatening. Just... looking. The kind of looking that made lesser men break into a cold sweat.

"Hey, sweetheart," you said back, playing along even though you knew exactly what he was doing. "I was wondering where you went."

"Got bored," he shrugged, but his arm didn't move from your waist. Not an inch. "Who's your friend, pretty girl?"

The guy — you'd already forgotten his name, something with a K maybe? — shifted uncomfortably under Satoru's unseen gaze. "I'm— we were just discussing—"

"Great." Satoru smiled. Not his real smile. The other one. The one that didn't reach his eyes and made everyone who saw it take a small step backward. "Well, we should get going, my love. Things to do. People to see."

"We do?"

"We do." He was already steering you away, his hand sliding from your waist to the small of your back — right where that other guy's hand had been. Like he was erasing the touch. Replacing it with his own. "Nice meeting you. Enjoy the rest of your night, yeah?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He just guided you across the room, his touch warm and steady, until you were standing by the windows at the far end of the venue, away from everyone else, the city lights glittering behind the glass.

"Satoru," you said, turning to face him. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"What was what, darling?" He was playing innocent, but his ears were already turning pink.

"You just... dragged me away from a conversation."

"I didn't drag you, princess. I escorted you. There's a difference."

"That's literally the same thing."

"It's really not."

"Satoru."

He sighed, running a hand through his white hair. His blindfold had slipped slightly during his dramatic intervention, and you could see the edge of his eyebrow, the furrow in his brow. He looked flustered. Embarrassed. Cute.

"Who was that guy, anyway?" he asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

You blinked. "I don't know. Some assistant from Kyoto? I think his name started with a K?"

"And he had to stand that close to you?"

"He was just talking, Satoru."

"His hand was on your back, sweetheart." Satoru's voice dropped, losing its playful edge. "I saw it. He put his hand on your lower back and left it there for way too long."

"He was just being polite, Satoru." you pointed out, though you were struggling not to smile. "Not everyone is trying to steal me away."

"I touch your back when we talk," he said, stepping closer. His hands found your waist again, pulling you gently toward him. "He doesn't get to."

You stared up at him — at his pink ears, his slightly furrowed brow, the way his bottom lip was caught between his teeth like he was trying not to say something he'd regret.

And then, slowly, you smiled.

"Satoru," you said, drawing out his name like a tease. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You are. You're totally jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm protective. There's a difference, princess."

"Name one difference."

"The difference is—" He stopped. Paused. His ears went from pink to red. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You're so jealous, baby."

"I'm not—" He groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder in defeat. His arms wrapped around you fully, pulling you against his chest. "You're impossible, you know that?"

You laughed, reaching up to run your fingers through his messy white hair. He melted into your touch instantly, his whole body relaxing against yours, a soft hum escaping his throat.

"I don't get jealous," he mumbled against your shoulder, his voice muffled. "I'm not that guy, sweetheart."

"You're literally that guy right now, my love."

"I'm never that guy."

"You're being that guy, darling."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't, pretty boy."

He sighed. His arms tightened around you. "...I really don't, baby. I really, really don't."

Later, when you got home, Satoru was quiet.

Not the bad kind of quiet — not the distant, unreachable kind that made you feel like he was a thousand miles away even when he was right next to you. Just... thoughtful. Introspective. His hand found yours on the couch, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm while he stared at the ceiling.

"You know I trust you, right, sweetheart?" he said finally, his voice soft.

You turned to look at him. His blindfold was off now — just his eyes, soft and blue in the dim lamplight, reflecting something vulnerable. Something honest. He looked young like this. Unprotected.

"I know, Satoru," you said.

"It's not that I don't trust you, baby." He paused, searching for the right words. "I just... I don't trust them. I don't like the way they look at you, my love. Like you're something to be... taken. Like I'm not standing right there. Like you're not mine."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's not rational." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just a hollow, self-deprecating sound. "I know I'm being stupid, princess. I'm Gojo Satoru. I'm not supposed to feel... threatened. By anyone. I'm the strongest. I've faced down curses that would make grown men weep. But when I see someone touch you — when I see someone look at you like they have a chance—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "I want to remind them that you're mine. And I hate that, pretty girl. Because you're not mine. You're your own person. You can talk to whoever you want. You can let whoever touch—"

"Satoru."

He looked at you.

You leaned over and kissed him. Soft. Slow. Deliberate. You poured every ounce of reassurance you had into that kiss, and you felt him exhale against your lips, felt his shoulders drop, felt his hand come up to cup your cheek like you were something precious.

"I am yours, baby," you said against his lips. "I'm yours and I'm my own person. Both things can be true at the same time."

He stared at you for a long moment — at your eyes, your lips, the small smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Then his shoulders relaxed completely, and he pulled you into his lap, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he mumbled against your skin. "For being weird tonight. For being jealous. For dragging you away like a caveman."

"You weren't weird, my love. You were... cute."

"Cute?"

"Jealous you is very cute, darling."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, one eyebrow raised. "I'm never being jealous again, princess. I'm above it."

"Sure you won't, baby."

"I won't. I'm the strongest. I don't get jealous."

"Mmhmm."

"I'm serious, sweetheart."

"The strongest jealous boyfriend."

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. "I'm leaving you."

"You're not going anywhere, pretty boy."

He sighed. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until your chest was pressed against his and you could feel his heartbeat, steady and warm. "You're right, baby. I'm not."

The next time it happened, you were at a small café down the street from your shared apartment.

It was a Saturday morning, the sun was golden through the windows, and you'd just wanted a quiet coffee before heading back to curl up on the couch with Satoru. Nothing fancy. Nothing worth noting.

Except the barista was cute.

You noticed — because you had eyes, not because you were interested. He was tall, lanky, with kind brown eyes and a friendly smile. The kind of guy who probably had a dog and went on hikes and remembered people's orders.

"One oat milk latte," he said, sliding the cup across the counter. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his smile widening. "It's on the house today. For the pretty customer."

You laughed politely, reaching for your wallet. "Oh, thank you, but I can pay—"

"She said she can pay."

Satoru's voice came from directly behind you, smooth as silk and cold as ice. His hand appeared on your lower back — firm, possessive, deliberate — and he stepped up beside you, towering over the counter like a warning sign.

The barista's smile faltered. "Oh, I didn't realize—"

"Clearly." Satoru's smile was razor-sharp. "Thanks for the coffee. Very generous. We'll be going now, baby."

He took the cup from the counter, wrapped his other arm around your waist, and guided you out of the café before you could even process what had happened.

The door swung shut behind you. The morning air was cool on your flushed cheeks.

"Satoru," you said, turning to face him. "Did you just... jealous-interrupt me again?"

"No, baby."

"You did. You totally did, my love."

"I was being efficient, sweetheart. He was wasting your time."

"He was being nice, Satoru."

"He was being flirty, pretty girl. There's a very big difference."

You stared at him — at his red ears, his stubborn jaw, the way he was holding your coffee like a trophy. He stared back, unblinking, refusing to admit defeat.

"You're impossible, darling," you said finally.

"You've mentioned that before, princess."

"I'm dating a toddler."

"You're dating the strongest sorcerer in the world, actually."

"You're a jealous toddler, baby."

"I am not—" He stopped. Took a breath. Ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Okay, sweetheart. Fine. Maybe I'm a little jealous."

"Maybe?"

"...A lot jealous, my love. I'm a lot jealous. Are you happy now?"

You smiled — wide and bright and full of affection — and reached up to cup his face in your hands. His eyes fluttered shut immediately, his whole body leaning into your touch like a sunflower seeking the sun.

"I'm not going anywhere, Satoru," you said softly. "You don't have to scare off every guy who looks at me, pretty boy."

"I know, baby." He opened his eyes, and they were soft now. Warm. Vulnerable. "But I want to."

"That's not healthy, darling."

"I never claimed to be healthy, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to your palm. "I just claimed to be yours."

You laughed — bright and surprised and so full of love it made your chest ache — and he kissed you right there on the sidewalk, coffee forgotten, the world fading away around you.

"You're ridiculous, Satoru," you whispered against his lips.

"I'm yours, princess," he corrected, his forehead resting against yours. "There's a very big difference."

Later that night — after the café incident, after you'd spent the afternoon curled up on the couch together while watching bad movies, and after Satoru had apologized approximately seventeen more times (you'd stopped counting) — his phone started buzzing.

He glanced at the screen. Rolled his eyes.

"It's Shoko," he said, already reading through the messages. "She's being annoying."

"Nothing new there," you said, leaning over to look.

The group chat was, as always, chaotic.

Satoru's fingers flew across the screen, his expression indignant.

He hesitated for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a dramatic sigh you could hear from across the couch, he typed:

You laughed, the sound muffled against his shoulder. Satoru shot you a look of betrayal. "You're supposed to be on my side," he complained.

"I'm on no one's side," you said sweetly. "I'm an agent of chaos."

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "traitor" before turning back to his phone.

You watched his thumbs hover again. He was typing, deleting, typing again.

Satoru stared at his phone for a long moment. His ears were turning pink again. You could see him trying to come up with a comeback.

He failed.

You burst out laughing — actually laughing, the kind that made your stomach hurt and your eyes water. Satoru tossed his phone onto the couch cushion beside him and flopped backward with a dramatic groan.

"They're the worst," he declared, staring at the ceiling.

"You love them," you said, still giggling.

"I tolerate them. Barely."

"You literally just said you don't hate Shoko."

"Don't quote me at me."

You grinned, crawling over to curl up against his side. His arm came around you automatically, pulling you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're cute when you're flustered," you said.

"I'm never flustered."

"Your ears are red."

"The room is warm."

"It's November."

"The heater is warm."

You reached up and tugged gently at his earlobe. He swatted your hand away, but he was smiling — that soft, private smile he only let you see.

"I love you, you know," he said quietly.

"I know, baby."

"Say it back."

"I love you too, Satoru. Even when you're a jealous mess."

"I'm not a jealous mess."

"Your phone says otherwise."

He groaned, burying his face in your hair. "I'm never looking at that group chat again."

"Sure you won't, pretty boy."

"…I really hate you sometimes."

"No, you don't."

He sighed, his arms tightening around you. "…No, I don't."

That night, you were lying in bed, half-asleep, the sheets tangled around your legs and Satoru's arm draped across your stomach. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the city outside the window, and everything was quiet and warm and safe.

"Hey, baby," he whispered.

"Mm, Satoru?" you mumbled, barely conscious.

"I'm sorry. For being... like that tonight. At the café."

You opened your eyes, blinking in the darkness. He was propped up on one elbow, looking down at you. His hair was a complete disaster — flattened on one side, sticking up on the other — and his eyes were soft in the dim light. He looked adorable like this. Unprotected. Yours.

"Like what, my love?" you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

"Jealous. Possessive. Weird." He paused, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip. "I've never been like this before, sweetheart. With anyone. I've never cared enough to be."

You reached up and brushed his white hair back from his forehead, your fingers trailing down to trace the line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch like a cat seeking warmth, his eyes fluttering half-closed.

"I know, Satoru," you said softly.

"I don't like it, princess. Feeling like I could lose you. Even when I know I won't." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "It makes me act... not like myself, pretty girl."

"Maybe this is yourself, darling," you said, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "Maybe you've just never cared enough about anyone to feel it before. Maybe jealousy isn't weakness, Satoru. Maybe it just means you love me."

He was quiet for a long moment. His eyes searched yours in the darkness, looking for something — reassurance, maybe. Or permission.

"That's... actually really insightful, baby," he said finally.

"I have my moments, my love."

He smiled — that soft, private smile he only gave you in moments like this, when the world was asleep and nothing existed except the two of you — and leaned down to kiss you. Slow. Sweet. Full of everything he couldn't say out loud.

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered against your lips.

"I know, pretty boy."

"Say it back, princess."

"I love you too, Satoru. More than all the baristas in the world."

He laughed — a real laugh, warm and surprised — and buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.

"I'm still going to glare at anyone who touches you, baby," he mumbled into your skin.

"I would expect nothing less, my love."

"And I'm not sorry about the Kyoto assistant."

"I know you're not, darling."

"Or the barista."

"Definitely not the barista."

"And if anyone ever puts their hand on your back again, sweetheart —"

"Satoru."

"—I'm not saying I'll do anything violent. I'm just saying I might, pretty girl."

You laughed, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you, and pressed a kiss to the top of his messy white head.

"Go to sleep, Satoru," you murmured.

"Can't, baby."

"Why not, my love?"

"Too busy being jealous of your dreams, princess."

"My dreams, darling?"

"You might dream about someone else, sweetheart. Someone with better hair."

"No one has better hair than you, pretty boy."

"That's true." He paused, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Wait. Was that a compliment, baby?"

"Go to sleep, Satoru."

"...I love you, my love."

"I love you too, darling."

"More than the barista?"

"Satoru."

"I'm just asking, sweetheart!"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. And when you felt his breathing even out a few minutes later, his arms still wrapped around you like he was afraid you'd disappear, you pressed another kiss to his forehead and held on just as tight.

Jealous Gojo was a lot.

But he was your jealous Gojo.

And you wouldn't have him any other way.

A/N. if you can't tell, i am NOT talented at writing jealousy, so i hope you guys still enjoyed this!! 😭

next up: sick gojo.. or maybe a cooking disaster?.. 🧐

you however are busy helping a client. an older woman whose dress had ripped in three different spots. she said her grandchildren had gotten ahold of the dress, and wanted to make it “stylish.”

you don’t mind though, because the kind woman even brought the original design for the dress, making it easier to fix it.

the woman is chatting to you, about her husband. she says he’s always ignoring her and constantly drinking. you feel bad for the woman, no one should feel overlooked.

the doors bell rings, announcing someone has entered. you don’t look up, focused on not only the woman’s dress, but her feelings on her husband.

the older woman has her shoulder tapped on, she looks behind her to find a man. he’s tall with dark hair and tired eyes.

be gives the woman a small smile, “is this the line to talk to the pretty tailor?”

the woman gasps, “oh my!”

you look up, it’s your husband. “hi hon,” you smile at him, causing him to tilt his head, “what are you doing here?”

he brings a suit in front of him to see, careful not to hit the older woman with it.

“size to big.”

you raise an eyebrow, “you didn’t want to return it?”

he laughs shyly, “well, this gives me an excuse to visit my gorgeous wife.”

you shake your head at his corny response, while the elder woman giggles. “young lady you didn’t tell me you were married as well! and here i was complaining about my husband when i could have been hearing about this charming young man!”

your cheeks warm at the attention, “i really don’t mind hearing you talk miss kiyoko.”

“my wife is too quiet sometimes. even at home she’d rather hear me talk. although, if i’m being honest, hearing her is the highlight of my day.”

miss kiyoko awes at the confession, “why couldn’t i have met someone like you when i was your age?! i wouldn’t be stuck with my deadbeat husband!”

hiromi furrows his eyebrows in confusion, “may i ask why you’re still with him ma’am?”

the woman doesn’t say anything, she looks like the question confuses her. hiromi thinks he might’ve offended the woman.

before he can apologize, “i’m still with him because he’s the only constant in my life. yes i have my kids and grandkids, but i’ve known my husband for sixty seven years. if i’m being honest, if i left him, i don’t think i could ever truly be myself.”

and honestly, that scares hiromi. what if one day you feel to co-dependent to leave him? you only feel obligated to stay with fun for the sake of “being yourself”. he starts to sweat a little, he’d rather die than make you feel that way.

you must know what he’s thinking, because you’re looking right at him. your face shows nothing, i mean, you normally don’t, but right now it’s scaring him.

but then, his fear fades whenever you shake your head. assuring him that, no, you don’t ever feel that way with him. he feels like he can relax a bit, he’ll have to talk to you whenever you guys get home.

“ahh, but enough about me, while we wait for my dress to finish, tell me something. tell me all the details about the two of you.”

“how nosey miss kiyoko.”

she looks your way and slaps the top of your head gently, “i liked it better when you just listened!”

you laugh at the theatrics of the woman. “what do you want to know miss kiyoko?” you ask.

she thinks about it, looking at hiromi, “how did the two of you meet? and when should i expect to see you pregnant.”

hiromi flushes at the woman, cheeks red. you shake your head, laughing, “nosey AND invasive miss kiyoko. do i need to kick you out?”

miss kiyoko rolls her eyes, “don’t be coy,” she says your name, “you talk about kids all the time. i just didn’t know you had a husband who could do that for you.”

rolling your eyes, laughing at the woman, “we met when he was in law school and i was working part time as a librarian in the school.”

hiromi smiles at the reminder, “don’t water our meeting down hon. tell her the truth.”

you feel your cheeks warm in embarrassment. when you were younger, you were a lot more outspoken and loud. you still speak out when needed, but you more or less keep to yourself.

hiromi keeps on, “she was working when she saw me studying. she came up to me and demanded i give her my number. when i asked why i would do that, she told me that she liked my face and would be a crime to not to go out with her. claiming, ‘a lawyer committing a crime won’t look good for clients.’ i knew it then i wanted her in my life.”

miss kiyoko is so tickled at the news. she just laughs and pats your head while you look down in embarrassment.

hiromi on the other hand, is proud. he’s proud to be your husband. spending the rest of his life with you is the only thing that matters to him. he watches as miss kiyoko teases you, he smiles as you retaliate her teasing, ‘i’m going to rip this dress!’ you threaten. miss kiyoko scolds her finger at you, ‘we’ve known each other for years and you kept everything interesting a secret!’

he laughs at your offended face.

that night, hiromi confronts you.

the two of you are lying down together, him holding you in his arms.

“i don’t ever want you to feel scared to leave me.” he whispers while you’re on the verge of sleep.

“huh?”

“it’s just that miss kiyoko won’t leave her husband of fear of not being herself. i don’t want to become her husband, and i don’t want you to become her.”

you look at hiromi, whose already looking at you.

you laugh, pecking his lips.

“you are so cute!”

“i’m being serious!”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

you nearly fall to your knees. you don’t know how or what sukuna’s going to do now that you’ve dropped the honorifics on accident and called him by a nickname.

you hold your hands together, “my deepest apologi—“

“again,” sukuna demands in a rough voice.

you freeze for a second before tilting your head back. you catch a glimpse of his expression; he’s amused, intrigued and perhaps still a bit annoyed. he repeats, “call me that again.”

sukuna isn’t annoyed by the fact that you’ve called him by a nickname for the first time. he’s annoyed, because your sweet voice makes him feel stuff he’s sworn to never feel for a regular human.

that warm feeling in his chest. . . he hates it. yet he yearns for it. from you.

you hesitate for a second, unsure if the firm tone in sukuna’s voice was a bad sign or not. you decide to just comply and hope for the best, “. . . ryo.”

sukuna grits his teeth. you think he’s mad, but in reality, he’s trying to eliminate the feelings of love from within him. your voice calling him so affectionately—so intimately; it makes him feel that warmth in his chest.

no one’s dared to call him anything like that before. everyone’s formal with him. it’s a must. sukuna’s used to everyone acknowledging his superiority in the conversations he holds. it’s a given.

no one refers to him so casually. no one dares to.

you’re the first one to break that pattern. the first one to make sukuna’s cold heart tremble. if it were anyone else, they’d be his dinner by now. but it’s you so it’s. . . fine, he assumes. an exception.

silence falls in the hallway. luckily, not another soul is around to witness the king of curses struggling to contain his own ‘foolish’ emotions.

sukuna clicks his tongue and sighs before continuing to walk ahead of you.

you scurry after him—keeping your head low. you don’t wish to upset him any further. you feel like you overstepped a boundary just now.

the silence continues for a couple seconds, both of you deep in thought.

sukuna’s the one to end the quiet atmosphere. his voice is as deep and cold as ever, though there’s no denying the subtle softness that creeps in whenever he talks with you.

he takes a deep breath and sighs. he keeps walking and doesn’t spare you a glance, however his words say enough;

“from now on, that’s the only way you’ll address me until i say otherwise, understood?”

wobbling from the impact, zayne recovers quickly and gently peels you off of him. “is something wrong?”

“no.” you try to dive back in, but you’re halted by an impromptu examination. he feels your forehead, checks your lymph nodes, and puts a hand over your heart. at first, you think he’s only toying with you. but when he moves to inspect your nostrils next, you cut the checkup short with a scandalized grunt. 

“are you sure you’re alright? you can hardly walk straight.” his eyes narrow slightly. “and before you say that i’m to blame, that was every bit what you asked for last night.” 

“stop,” you groan. like a magnet, the crown of your head finds its way back to his chest. “i’m fine. i saw a video of a cat headbutting its owner and thought it was cute. it’s how they show affection. i wanted to try it, but you keep getting in my way.”

repositioning yourself, you settle over his quickening heartbeat. his pectorals freeze against your forehead before finally relaxing, and he gives in with a chuckle. 

“i see. in that case, it’s only right that i return the gesture.” zayne curls one hand around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer. with his other, he cups your cheek gently, warmth from his large palm flowing into your skin. when he leans forward, you can’t help but close your eyes in anticipation. 

a force you can only compare to a heavyweight bowling ball knocks into your skull. the thunk sound echoes through the kitchen. 

suppressing a yelp, you rear backwards and try to blink the dizziness away. on the counter, the water in his glass ripples from the aftershocks. 

the human hardhat in front of you looks pleased with himself—until he sees the grimace on your face, that is. confused caution turns his pink cheeks a deeper red. “is that how cats do it?” 

“uh-huh,” you lie. “that was great. it’s just…i’m glad a brain as brilliant as yours is under such elite protection.”

he furrows his eyebrows. “what do you mean?”

you got by closing your eyes at the scarier parts and subtly whispering to sukuna to tell you when it was over.

then the movie hit you with the most horrific, satan-spawned jumpscare imaginable.

you shrieked so loud the entire row flinched.

your hand jerked violently.

and your ice cream launched directly into satoru gojo's face.

silence.

then satoru yelling, “WHAT THE HELLY?”

suguru and toji snickered.

and suddenly you were crying.

partly because you’d just assaulted sukuna's friend with matcha soft serve after you'd spent a whole minute outside the theatre convincing all of them you weren't scared in the slightest before you'd gone in.

partly because that was some really good ice cream you'd just wasted.

partly because everyone was staring.

but mostly because that movie was fucking terrifying.

sukuna immediately grabbed your wrist and stood up. “aight, we’re leaving.”

you hid your face in his arm while his friends snickered behind you. humiliation burned hot in your chest as he guided you out of the theater, your legs still shaky.

outside, the cold night air hit your cheeks.

“sorry…” you mumbled miserably.

sukuna snorted. “it's fine, baby. gojo deserved it, he was being an asshole."

you whined, covering your face. "i wasn't talking about that!"

he laughed under his breath, but there wasn’t an ounce of cruelty in it. just amusement. then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, “i’ll take you home, yeah?”

you sniffled and nodded. “that was scary.”

“i know, babe. i'm sorry,” he opened the passenger door for you, buckling your seatbelt himself with surprising gentleness. “should’ve known that shit would freak you out.”

“it was my idea…” you hiccuped.

“i still shoulda said no.” he shut the door and rounded the hood of the car.

the few seconds you sat alone were awful. your eyes immediately darted to the rearview mirror. the backseat looked way too dark. you stared at it, fully convinced some horrifying demon woman was about to crawl over the seats and kill you.

the driver door opened and sukuna slid in and caught you staring.

“…you looking at your little friend back there?”

you gasped, “kuna, don’t SAY that!”

he barked out a laugh while starting the engine. “you want another ice cream?”

your watery eyes widened hopefully. “…yeah.”

“thought so.”

by the time you reached your apartment complex, you were clutching a drive-thru soft serve with both hands while sukuna walked beside you toward your door.

you were finally calm again.

until he kissed your forehead, patted your ass lightly, and turned away. “see you tomorrow, babe.”

terror immediately flooded your face. you grabbed his arm so fast he almost stumbled back.

he looked down at you with a blink. then sighed. “…should’ve expected that.”

your eyes welled up again. “y-you’re leaving?”

“nah.” he unlocked your apartment and walked in beside you. “just wanted to see your face.” sukuna lied smoothly.

you blinked. “…oh.”

“cute reaction though.”

you huffed at him before setting your ice cream on the counter. “um… i need to pee.”

“okay?” he said, lifting a questioning brow, not quite sure what this has to do with him.

you awkwardly twisted your fingers together before looking up at him nervously.

a beat passed.

then sukuna sighed the sigh of a man accepting his fate.

a minute later, he was inside your bathroom aggressively yanking the shower curtain open .checking the cabinets. looking behind the door.

“there.” he deadpanned. “no demons.”

you stood in the doorway anxiously. “is it safe?”

“yes.”

“…promise?”

“baby, if something attacks you while you piss, i’ll personally beat its ass.”

you considered that seriously.

“…okay.”

you stepped inside cautiously.

“stand by the door.”

“stand by the—” he repeated in disbelief, before he stopped himself with a long exhale. “fine.”

“and turn around.”

“baby, i’ve literally seen you naked—”

“TURN AROUND.”

“bossy as hell,” he muttered, turning around anyway.

“and cover your ears.”

he stared at you over his shoulder in disbelief. “why?”

"i don't want you hearing me pee!"

sukuna sighed slowly. then lifted too resigned hands to his ears.

“not all the way though,” you continued nervously, “or you won’t hear me scream.”

sukuna closed his eyes and covered his ears, “that all, princess?”

“mhm!” you chirped brightly, kissing his cheek. “thanks honey. you’re sooo brave.”

he looked up at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for strength.

“next time we’re watching finding nemo.”

supa kyoot dividers by my fave @anitalenia !!

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose office smells expensive. Crisp cologne, coffee, and the faint scent of whatever luxury detergent rich people use. You hate that you associate the smell with long nights spent working overtime because of him.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who doesn’t flirt with you at first. That’s the problem. He flirts with everyone else. Receptionists giggle when he walks by, executives’ daughters practically throw themselves at him during company dinners, and gossip spreads about whatever model or actress was spotted leaving his penthouse that week.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who makes you stay late constantly, then has the nerve to look confused when you snap at him one night and tell him you actually have a life outside this company.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who starts unconsciously relying on you for everything. His coffee order. His schedule. Which tie matches which suit. He’ll bark, “Where’s my blue file?” across the office before remembering other employees exist.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose grandfather absolutely adores you because you’re the only employee who doesn’t kiss his grandson’s ass. The old man laughs every single time you glare at Gojo during meetings.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who accidentally blurts out that you’re his fiancée during a family dinner because he panics after hearing the words arranged marriage for the tenth time that night.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who immediately turns to you afterward like you’re the unreasonable one for looking horrified.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who says, “Just play along for a little while,” as if he didn’t just ruin your entire life in front of a room full of billionaires.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose family becomes obsessed with you overnight. Suddenly flowers are arriving at your desk. His grandmother wants your ring size. His grandfather keeps asking when the wedding is.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who offers you an absurd amount of money to keep pretending to be engaged to him, and gets offended when you tell him he’s insufferable enough that no amount of money feels worth it.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who starts acting weirdly protective once the fake engagement begins. If another executive talks down to you during meetings, Gojo cuts them off with an icy smile that makes the entire room tense.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who insists on driving you home after late nights because “my fiancée taking the subway at midnight looks bad for me.”

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who absolutely cannot act normal during fake couple moments. He’s smooth with everyone else, but with you there’s this strange stiffness to him sometimes, like he’s overthinking every little thing.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who stares at you for half a second too long the first time you fix his tie before an event. His ears go slightly pink, and he immediately gets mean afterward to compensate.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who learns your habits embarrassingly quickly. He knows exactly how you take your coffee, which snacks disappear first from the office vending machine, and when you’re about to get a stress headache before you even say anything.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who keeps accidentally slipping into domestic behavior. Holding doors open for you automatically. Saving you a seat during meetings. Texting you when he gets home after business trips without realizing how boyfriend-ish it sounds.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who gets irrationally annoyed whenever someone calls you by your last name instead of “Mrs. Gojo” during fake engagement events.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who has a massive penthouse that somehow still feels lonely. The first time you go there for contract-related fake dating reasons, you realize how empty it actually is despite all the expensive furniture.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who secretly likes when you yell at him because everyone else is too intimidated to do it. You call him an arrogant asshole to his face and he just stares at you with this weirdly entertained look.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who is horrible at receiving care. If he gets sick from overworking, he insists he’s fine while looking seconds away from collapsing at his desk.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who starts smiling more around the office after the fake engagement begins, and everyone notices immediately. Unfortunately for you, this leads to endless teasing from coworkers asking if you’ve “finally tamed” him.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who’s terrifyingly good at physical affection in public. His arm around your waist feels natural. His thumb rubbing circles against your hand during family dinners feels natural. Which is a problem, because none of it should feel real.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who has absolutely zero actual relationship experience despite his reputation. You assume he’s some experienced playboy because of rumors and tabloid gossip, meanwhile he’s internally fighting for his life every time you get too close to him.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who one day realizes he’s started thinking of you as his real fiancée long before either of you have actually talked about feelings.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who shows up one morning and finds you asleep at your desk because you stayed up helping your parents with the family restaurant/store/accounting stuff the night before.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა whose fridge contains imported water, expensive champagne, and literally nothing else meanwhile your family’s fridge is packed with leftovers, labeled containers, and six different sauces in reused jars.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who cannot comprehend why you refuse to let him buy you expensive things. The first time he casually hands you a designer bag because “you looked at it too long,” you nearly throw it back at his head.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who gets dragged to your neighborhood for the first time and looks hilariously out of place in his luxury suit while old aunties openly gossip about him from across the street.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who’s painfully aware your parents don’t trust him at first. To them he’s just another cold rich man who probably sees their daughter as disposable.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who slowly starts looking forward to dinners at your house because it’s the first time in years someone’s made him feel like part of a family instead of a business asset.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who slowly starts looking forward to dinners at your house because it’s the first time in years someone’s made him feel like part of a family instead of a business asset.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who nearly malfunctions the first time your mom fusses over him and packs him leftovers to take home.

૮₍ satoru ⑅₎ა who has no idea how normal people function. You once mention waiting for payday before buying something and he genuinely pauses because the concept has literally never applied to him before.

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