Cyanide Sunset

there's always a certain level of professionalism that you maintain when you are within your work environment, always keeping order in your classrooms or during your lessons to prevent any room for distraction. this very discipline does not allow room for distraction, and you are sure to lead your teachings with this very motto. your students understand. they respect it. they learn.

consequently, you don't allow much to sway you during work hours - things like off kilter jokes or a pencil accidentally flying across the room, a shameful result of toge's frequent pencil tapping against his desk to occupy his body whilst retaining the information you share, don't receive much reaction. the most you'll give is an exasperated glance, or a weary eye roll that leads the corners of your lips to twitch with the slightest bit of amusement, but that's all you've got before you're redirecting focus back to the chalk board.

satoru, of course, took notice, as he finds himself picking on any of his coworkers or students who dare not to flash even the subtlest of grins within such a dreary atmosphere. he gives you grief frequently about it, telling you that you would look a hell of a lot prettier if you'd flash those pearly whites of yours. you know that he is, of course, purposefully being gross and annoying about it just to get a rise out of you, just as he does nanami or utahime or, hell, even poor megumi or nobara on occasion.

you brush him off time and time again, reminding him that you aren't some unfeeling monster who does not show joy. in fact, you're quite down to earth as a professor, much more down to earth than other mentors who have taught you, sparking memories you look back on with a resentful chill.

"i'm just doing my job," you would say as satoru walks beside you, hands tucked in his pockets as he leans over to meet your eye level. his head tilts and pink lips curl into that teasing, self-satisfied smile he always wears.

"yeah, a real boring job," he'd sigh wistfully, dramatics and airiness twisted up in his tone. you'd shoot him a glare, he'd chuckle. "come on, just one smile."

"what are you talking about, gojo? i smile all the time," you slightly chuckle at his sheer ridiculousness, a mild display of what you insist to be the personality that you very much so do have that satoru is always griping that you don't.

"you know what i mean. let loose. live a little."

"i let loose while i'm teaching, i put those kids' lives at risk. i'm not doing that."

"are you insinuating that because i have a more laid back teaching style than you, my students are more prone to danger?" the ivory haired sorcerer gasps, mimicking offense.

you think back to yuta's first day under satoru's watch. "yes," you deadpan.

"blasphemy," he'd deny. "my kids are smart and powerful because of me. and funny."

he'd go on about something else regarding the way you carry yourself at work, mentioning something about the way your nose always crinkles a certain way when you're too focused, how you'll give yourself worry lines instead of smile lines.

you'd ask him how he even notices something so minuscule like that, and he'd stand upright again with a shrug and his tongue peaking past his smiling lips playfully. he tries not to give your question much thought when you've arrived to the field where your students are sparring, approaching side by side like sun and gloom.

and you'd leave it be. no matter how much he continues to try and pester you into entertaining his mockery. no matter how many stupid jokes and stories he throws your way as you work your way through the winding halls of the school, just to get you to crack the kind of smile or laugh that shakes your entire body instead of lingering small in the front of your face.

you don't think anything of satoru's constant nagging, and neither does he. at first.

you see the way he treats the others who perform more rigidly than you do within their fields, who always - always groan and toss their eyes to the ceiling in disdain when satoru's jolly frame saunters into a room or barges through the door. you see how strategically he stretches out his pestering tactics, how he'll say just the right thing at the right time to bait nanami into forcefully shutting his newspaper and muttering something about taking a bathroom break to just get away from the sound of satoru's neverending words.

despite having not spent your youth with your coworkers the way they have with each other, as your addition to the school transpired within the recent year, you think you've got a good idea of who satoru is behind that big, shiny, glittering title of the honored one.

lighthearted, a little arrogant in a way that charms those less familiar with his antics, pride acceptable enough for it to be overlooked by his warm energy and indulgence in everyday simplicities: sweets and laughter and childlike wonder. he's a big kid. and though he's an irritating little shit, what the world does not see is the generosity, the care, the intelligence. he's a good guy. stupidly aggravating and too flirty at the best of times, but far more human than how he is perceived, how he is treated.

you don't think anything of the way he tends to follow you around, as you assume this is his routine treatment of fresh meat, of the less boisterous among you. shoko told you that's just how he is. too friendly. too invasive. too loud. too talkative.

too clingy.

satoru, on the other hand, doesn't quite know what's wrong with him yet, but he knows something is wrong.

he likes you. a bit too much, probably. it's been so long since he's met someone new who is like you, someone who fit so well into the dynamic him and his former classmates have cultivated for their students. your arrival was greatly anticipated, if not slightly disorienting. you came in with a regal air and a face so pretty that it almost paralyzed him where he stood, but he thought nothing of it. he's met beautiful women before. he’s flirted with them before. he knew it meant nothing. yet he’s flirted with you, and it always feels like something.

so he's not so sure why he often finds himself stopping dead in his tracks when he hears your voice echoing from the sparring field, instructing your students with a stern yet almost motherly cadence. he'll turn and locate you down there from where he stands by winding pillars, watching the way your hands find your hips and your (e/c) eyes monitor your students' movements with that pinch of concern. like you didn't just get here. like you raised them yourself, and their survival is your responsibility.

satoru will swallow the saliva that has built in his mouth, suddenly becoming aware of the way his cheeks ache from having smiled at the sight and sound of you for so long from afar.

he's not sure why he is so curious about you and your adjustment to your job. he perks up at the very mention of your name in any setting, tuning out whatever yuji is rambling on about to listen to what yaga is detailing about your next mission in the room over. he wonders if you're even up for the job, and decides to catch yaga long after his conversation about you to offer himself up to go in your place. yaga would lower his sunglasses and quirk his thick brows, pursing his lips in inquisition as he stares up at the white haired man he's known since he was a young boy.

"why are you so worried about (l/n)'s business?"

why is he?

satoru shrugs. "just looking out for the newbie."

"(l/n) has been a grade one sorcerer for years. she can handle herself just fine," yaga gives gojo one last skeptical work. "get back to worrying about your job, satoru. not hers."

he brushes off the bitter taste yaga's words leave in his mouth, as though peers and colleagues and friends and former classmates have not come and gone at the hand of the unknown, having been thrust into what they had believed to be familiar territory only to find themselves sorely mistaken, outnumbered, and overpowered.

you're new. you're nice, and humble, responsible, and you actually listen to what gojo has to say, despite how everyone around him feigns or feels palpable disdain or aggravation toward him. you don't treat him like he's a joke. you go to him for advice, looking to him as an inspiration rather than a pest to belittle, his title neither pushing you away or sparking excessive glorification. you simply respect him, beneath all that goofiness and bickering. you're sweet in that way. unbiased. unjudging.

and you treat every one of your students like family, bracing them for the cruel world, remembering that they are still children. not weapons. people like you, people who are kind and generous and stable, are a rarity within the jujutsu world. satoru would prefer not to lose the refreshing air that you bring to the campus just because you were sent on an muddy mission too soon.

he would prefer not to lose you at all.

when shoko starts to look at him sideways whenever you walk by or finish up a conversation with him, satoru knows for sure that his suspicions about his own behavior are not just in his head. that the strange way he is acting, the strange way he is feeling whenever you are around, is actually noticeable. she observes how your presence slowly begins to dictate how satoru is feeling, or how he will behave for the remainder of the day.

you'll tell him and the brunette that you'll be sent away for a few days, and satoru is pouting, glossy lips pulled downward as his brow furrows with disappointment beneath his blindfold. he'll bombard you with a hundred questions, asking how far away you'll be, what kind of curse you'll be encountering, if you will be going alone. and with each patient answer you give, his sulking grows tenfold.

because why do you have to leave? it's so boring without you here, though he always claims that you contribute to the drab atmosphere with your refusal to entertain his antics throughout the school day just to get a reaction out of you.

still, that would be days without your soft smile. days without your eager questions that satoru always drops everything to answer happily, his heart thundering at the calm, attentive way you look past his blindfold as if to hold his gaze, to let him know that you have all of his undivided attention.

days without your heavy lectures that ring out in the halls and weigh down the air, your delivery so urgent and resolute that it makes the snowy haired man himself want to stand at attention.

days without those reserved chuckles and thoughtful eyes. without your maternal agency toward your students. without those breezy compliments that must hold no true substance, as they flutter past your lips like daily greetings.

your hair looks really fluffy today, gojo.

did you get a new uniform jacket tailored? it looks nice.

you have really broad shoulders, you know that?

and you're never flirting. never seeking anything in return. you're just... like that. endearing and observant and eager to share the good that you see in others with them. you're fully aware of gojo's arrogance, yet unbothered by the possibility of making his head ten times bigger than it already is. you compliment him the same way you'd compliment utahime, or kusakabe. it's effortless, thoughtless kindness.

and the higher ups expect satoru to go days without that?

he's all but begging you to stay, though there isn't much of anything you can do to get out of direct orders from higher command. shoko will watch lazily with a cigarette hanging from her glossed lips, her cheek in her palm as the gears turn in her head, and she decides that maybe gojo isn't like this with everyone. that with you, he's a bit more clingy than too clingy.

she can tell for certain that something is up when an air of silent, tormented pensiveness captures satoru when you leave to meet with one of your students, unaware of the fact that your absence truly wounds satoru. you think he's overexaggerating his desire for you to stay.

he's not.

"what was that about?' shoko asks from where she sits just behind satoru, the sorcerer standing before her desk as he stares at the empty doorway.

"i don't know," he sighs. "some new mission. they've been throwing her out in the field a lot lately."

"it's her job," shoko says flatly. "but that's not what i mean. i'm talking about you."

he turns to look at her, a bubble of anxiety brewing in his chest as he tries to appear normal. "what about me?"

shoko's brow raises, her index and middle finger pinching the cigarette between them. a cloud of smoke wafts from her lips as she lowers it away from her mouth. "you were really persistent just now. why don't you want her to leave so bad? it's just a few days. do you always get like that when she leaves?"

yes. he does. and it's only been a few months.

"what do you mean? i worry about all of my friends and colleagues."

"you so do not. and definitely not like that."

heat pinches satoru's cheeks. "like what, exactly, shoko?"

"like a lovesick puppydog."

she's being dramatic. he claims everyone but himself is being dramatic when they toss him those questioning looks, the looks that scream out how different he has been acting since you came along.

he just cares about you. he cares about everyone at jujutsu high. he wants you to stay safe, vigilent, like the rest of them, so that you can stay in one piece and he can spend more time with you. so that he can learn more about you, and sit with you as you talk with that hypnotic, smooth authority that makes his brain mushy and his knees weak. what's so bad about wanting to be around you?

satoru is still trying to figure out exactly what is going on when a few of you go out for a couple of drinks. satoru, as usual, does not indulge, but encourages you to nonetheless, eager to see how you'd behave when alcohol has made you limber and slow.

it's been a long month, you're a bit battered and overworked, and normally you wouldn't, but you finally have a day ahead of you where you don't teach or get sent out to damn battle, so you think that just one drink won't hurt.

you're four drinks in when the others leave, leaving you and satoru at the bar talking for hours. your inibitions have lowered significantly, and in contrast to the tight composure you keep at school, you’re slumped casually in your bar stool, elbow propped on the counter and eyes big and glittery as satoru tells you a story from his days back in high school, where the sun seemed to shine all the time and his best friends' laughter constantly filled the air.

he's telling you this one story about when a group of them - him, nanami, geto, haibara, and shoko, all snuck out of the dorms one night to try to make it to a concert that was happening a few blocks away, only to be caught by yaga the second they stepped off school grounds. satoru, ever the rebellious teen, was dragged back to his dorm kicking and screaming by the principal after having attemped to combat him.

something about the liquor warming your stomach and lightening the atmosphere makes satoru's story and the animated hand movements and voices he incorporates to revive the memory for you all the more hilarious. and instead of brushing him off or telling him to quit playing around, you bend over at your waist and release the loudest, most obnoxious laugh satoru has ever heard in his entire life.

the sound startles him at first, his sapphire eyes going slightly wide behind his dark shades, his lips twitching in shock as he freezes just to watch you and listen.

your skin is slightly flushed, your eyes a little glassy. but your lips, your lips are stretched wide across your pretty face, all teeth on display, your jaw open to free the symphony of cackles that spill from you. your hand raises to hover over your mouth as if to conceal your laughter, but it doesn't work. you're still laughing, your eyes little crescents, the skin beside and underneath wrinkled, your nose crunched, your brows curled just slightly with humor as if it pains you.

satoru's mouth runs dry, and the chaotic white noise of the buzzing bar goes mute. his surroundings blur out to slowly focus on you. your laughter seems to echo through satoru's mind like a distant memory playing on repeat, ringing out through the hollow space of his head. the dim bar lights appear to glow about you, twinkling around your hair and against your (s/c) skin slightly moist from the atmosphere thick with heat from confined bodies.

satoru always jokes about your dismal air. he's seen you smile. he's heard you laugh.

but never like this.

it's like music to his ears. like the prettiest song he's ever had the privilege to hear. your entire body shakes with your laughter, like it has completely taken over you and you don't care that it has. it shines in your gaze, flutters out so bright and loud that gojo thinks it brightened your entire aura.

satoru's smile is gone, having faded away with each passing second your laughter soaked through his ears. he watches you like that for a while, awed, and then, his smile returns as if compelled. his skin warms, dimples poke into his cheeks, and he beams along with you, his own laughter slipping into yours. it's just so contageous.

his heart is hammering in his throat, his gaze suddenly soft and tender on you, the vision of you before him so angelic that it makes his entire mass quiver with the electricity of your beauty.

you laugh. the very thing satoru has been trying to get out of you finally happened. all because of him.

then you say it. clipped words between breathless giggles, your true soul finally bearing itself raw in the comfortability of the public. away from your concerns. away from the safety you must ensure your kids practice. away from the burden of sorcery. you exist.

"you kill me, gojo."

he feels something resolute strike him in the chest right there, his lips twitching in his smile and his body running hotter than the sun.

you think he's funny. you think he's funny. you're laughing all breathless and beautiful and shamelessly because of him, and he's choking over charm, fumbling in his mind for a smooth quip, an i told you so, a finally.

but all he can think of is how fucking pretty you look laughing like that, letting joy take you, letting your cares slip away in his company.

that strike to his chest cements firm and hot, and he chuckles rather awkwardly, chin thumping against his palm as he gazes at you with an impending realization. his mind conjures up glittery flowers and floating hearts that surround your laughing figure, and he abruptly knows what's been wrong with him.

it's not just that you make every room brighter when you step into it. it's not just that your beauty renders him speechless any time he's within your vicinity. it's not just that he has a little work crush on you and likes to tug your pigtails over it.

it's not any of that. he knows by the way he's looking at you now, by the way his body feels warm and fuzzy like he's stuck inside a sweet, insulated dream that he doesn't want to wake up from, that what is plaguing him is far stronger than the aforementioned simplicities.

he knows by the way your laughter makes him want to drop to his knees before you and plead you to never stop, to never deprive him of such a sound again.

he sighs. he's in love with you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

suguru geto: the future!

suguru has always known that he likes you.

he has no reason to deny it. nothing is standing in the way of how he feels, even if he finds out one day that you don't feel the same. suguru has accepted his crush, his puppy dog attraction to you and his simultaneous desire for your affection.

he shields it thinly but smoothly, always greeting you with warm smiles that make you feel toasty inside and eyes that always lock directly onto yours, as if he is reminding you every day that he sees you and wants to continue seeing you for the rest of his life. you're a dear friend to him, very dear, and you should know it each time you see him - how much he appreciates you. how much he cares.

his fingers always find some way to touch you, whether curving a piece of hair from your face or grazing your arm to eventually slip his hand into yours, and hold it as you walk side by side as if it is nothing. as if friends do this all the time. and whether he's saying hello or goodbye, he always opens his arms wide to invite you into a soothing embrace, his arms circling around you and holding you snug to his chest. you always hum in content, smiling sweetly and hugging tight around his middle, sinking into his comfort.

and when he's departing for an extended period of time, when your face just looks too sweet as you look up at him and wish him safety, he ducks to hold your head and press his lips to your forehead chastely, pulling away to smile sweetly down at you.

like friends do.

suguru has nothing to be ashamed of.

especially when you make him feel the way he does. flooding him with joy and fuzziness that he once believed himself undeserving of. helping to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders at the end of long, testing days with the time vessel association, without even trying. further fueling his ambitions for a non-sorcerer free world for you, because someone as sweet, loyal, selfless, and beautiful as you deserves a peace that only the world he has envisioned promises.

a world where the two of you can live freely, where you can be perfectly, permanently, blissfully happy by his side. void of any unwarranted responsibility, void of any pain.

why should suguru feel embarrassed of his affections toward you? why should he shield how dearly you mean to him? how deeply he cherishes you, alongside the rest of his family?

especially when you stayed, when everyone else he loved turned away from him. he doesn't blame them, and never has, but you. you didn't leave him behind. you didn't hesitate. you stayed.

and that's all that mattered in the end.

despite suguru's overt self awareness regarding his feelings for you, he does not attempt to pursue you until he has realized that these said feelings have grown past what he initially believed them to. and this intensity dawns on him much later than he would have expected for himself.

it hits him one sunny day on the roof of the time vessel association, a spot he frequents with his girls when the three of them need a bit of quiet time away from all the noise just below their feet.

geto has a newspaper cracked open over his lap as mimiko weaves a fishtail braid into his long, black locks. the breeze whistles through pinned linen on wires, a slight chill nipping at the wind, an indicator of the cooler months creeping in.

the cult leader and his girls ordinarily talk of whatever comes to mind, catching up on little things happening around the facility, dreaming up all the wonders that geto intends to provide when his goals reach fruition.

he expects further talk of the new phone that is coming out within the next few months, or the rom coms that the girls desperately want him to watch with them, but what he doesn't expect is the bold question that leaves nanako's mouth that inevitably draws his mind right back to you, as it always does.

"geto, do you think you'll ever wanna get married in the new world?" the blonde questions curiously from her spot crouched next to geto's chair, her nose still pressed into her telepohone screen.

the hazel eyed man blinks, turning slightly to look down at the young girl's head. "married?" he echoes, taken aback. "what could have possibly made your mind go to that, nanako?"

she shrugs, tilting her head back to look up at her father figure from upside down. "i dunno. i feel like you should get to settle down after all your hard work has paid off."

he smiles softly, half amused, half affectionate. "you think so?"

"sure. mimiko and i were talking about it the other day."

"were you now?"

the brunette teenager behind him hums flatly. "mhm."

he chuckles. "well, i'll be honest with you girls, marriage hasn't crossed my mind just yet. other priorities come first, and will continue to until i see fit."

"but," nanako twists her body around to look up at him properly. "wouldn't it be nice for you to have someone by your side? to care for?"

"i already have that. i have you all."

"that's different," mimiko says monotonously.

"it is!" nanako agrees, puffing her cheeks. "what we mean is, like, someone to love. someone to hold and to tell you how great you are," she fantasizes, painting a pretty idea of a domestic life.

suguru's brow quirks slightly down at the teenager, as he detects from her tone that she is imagining such things for herself as well.

"like i said girls, i already have people to love. i love you and the rest of our family very dearly," he says calmly. he feels mimiko hesitate amidst his strands, and catches the pout that begins to cross nanako's face. he smiles, closing his eyes. "though i understand what you're saying, and it's sweet of you to care about things like that, but i don't plan marry. i never have."

"...are you sure?" mimiko asks gently, carefully crossed one section of silky hair over another.

"i'm positive," he affirms.

"but why not? we thought you liked (y/n)."

suguru's eyes snap open wide, the brunette's hands completely freeze in his hair, and nanako's face swarms with a bashful pink as she puckers her lips, testing the waters.

he doesn't miss the way his body reacts to your name. the way his heart swells the slightest bit more as if pumped with obsessive air. the way his entire nervous system seems to halt its functions, his brain swarming with your phantom touch and scent. the way a smile subconsciously comes to his face with ease, like your name is a trigger for his happiness, even when mentioned in this setting.

"nanako," the blonde's sister hisses after a few beats of silence, and the said girl throws her hands up in defense.

"what?! we did! you do, don't you master geto?"

"even if he does, why would he admit it to us, let alone entertain talking about marrying her?"

"don't be such a hypocrite! you know you were thinking the same exact thing as me, sis! we just talked about it!" nanako reiterates.

"so? it's not the same as confronting him with our speculations, dummy."

"don't call me a dummy! you're the dummy, dummy!"

"girls," the cult leader's voice rings out sternly, and the teens know to instantly stop fussing. they clamp their lips shut and look to the man who saved their lives, and he eyes them with a fatherly assertiveness. "what did i say about fighting? we only have each other, alright? no one's a dummy. enough of that."

"sorry," they murmur in unison. suguru sighs and turns his head forward again, allowing mimiko to resume her task.

"that being said," he starts lowly. "i'm a little anxious about these 'speculations' of yours. you thought i would marry (y/n) when it's all said and done. is that it?"

the girls exchange glances. "well," mimiko starts slowly.

"we'd be surprised if you didn't."

"and why is that?"

"...don't you like her, geto?"

the sentiment comes again, and suguru's head rings. not because his girls, and likely everyone with the time vessel association have caught wind of his very obvious emotons regarding you, but because he can't seem to shake this strange feeling hat sits in the pit of his stomach now that the idea of settling down with you has been abruptly brought to his attention.

suguru always assumed that you would just be by his side forever, as you've already promised to remain loyal to him and only him for the rest of your life. being a part of his family, that was a given. that you all would never part.

but... marriage? settling down?

in truth, despite being a planner down to his very core, he hasn't thought that far ahead yet, not of anything beyond making his new world become a reality. for so long, that's all that has consumed his head. erradicating the weak. preserving the safety and dignity of the strong. taking care of those who have always taken care of him. his family. his girls. you.

but suddenly, he envisions you in white. a veil long enough to drag past your ankles, a soft white dress that hugs your body as if it was made just for you - and it would be. suguru would have it tailored by the best in the country, so long as you'd let him take some part in the dress planning. he imagines you'd be quite anal about such things, not letting him see the dress or you during your wedding day. he'd respect it, entertain it for a bit, but have his girls sneak to see you and report how gorgeous you appear as you prepare to stroll down the aisle as his bride.

he's clasping your warm, small hands in his like he always does, smoothing his fingers over the ring he's just slipped onto your digit. the rock twinkles over your skin, a grand symbol, but not quite grand enough to account for all that you mean to him. still, the 8 carot gold will do for now.

his vision is blurry, and his cheeks ache from how hard he knows he would be smiling. and you look like an angel in front of him, eyes glossing over with something gracious and sweet, your lips pinched together to prevent from bursting with the sheer emount of emotion overcoming you. you'd be happy there. he'd make you so happy.

your lips would unite with a passion, the weight of waiting finally released. he'd tug you close by the small of your waist with one hand holding your cheek delicately, and you'd melt into each other, knowing that you could finally rest in each other's arms and enjoy the life he once dreamed to give you.

if you'd want kids, he'd maybe ponder giving you one more, but you have the children you need in the teenagers who he swears make his strands go grey, who are responsible for even making him conjure up this fantasy. though, to see you waddling through the house, glowing with oncoming maternity and content would be a treat he could never deny himself.

he'd give you everything. he'd make you the happiest wife to grace this earth. he'd work hard every day to keep you, to remind you of his love the way he does now.

his heart aches with yearning.

it doesn't bother him that the girls gossiped about the possibilities between the two of you in private, or that they know how he feels. everyone knows except you.

what bothers him is that he was wrong. the ever prideful, ever diligent suguru geto was wrong about what he had thought he had all figured out.

he doesn't like you at all. he loves you. and he does in fact want to be with you until the day he dies, united in holy matrimony under his name. (y/n) geto. a beautiful, hypnotic ring he must make come to fruition in addition to a curse-less world.

he turns to look down at nanako with a gentle grin, one that makes the breeze feel warmer and the golden rays above shine the slighest bit brighter.

"maybe i do like her," he says playfully.

nanako stares up at him for a moment before a big grin spreads over her face in understanding.

"but you two are skipping a few steps. i'd have to ask the lovely woman out before jumping into marriage, now wouldn't i?"

suguru decides to forgive the way mimiko accidentally yanks at his roots due to jumping up with her sister in excitement.

he lets the girls yammer on about various ways for suguru to ask you out, a perfect fishtail woven into his hair and long forgotten. he humors them, enjoying the sheer excitement they bestow regarding his affections for you, further solidifying your place in their lives as a wife and mother, but he does not have the heart to tell them just yet that he already knows what he'll do to attempt to woo you into being his.

suguru is a dramatic man, one of great gestures and movements. he is passionate, at times almost scarily so, and he handles everything with empassioned precision. he certainly handles his pursuit of you the very same.

he stretches the act out over the course of a few days.

he starts, first, by greeting you with his familiar hugs accompanied by a fresh bouqet of flowers that the girls take the privilege of making with him every night.

he watches your face flush with red, your pretty eyes blinking almost confused before you allow yourself to swoon, your fingers gingerly reaching for the bunch of stems that suguru presents serenely to you, a relaxed captivation gracing his gorgeous features.

the first bunch are an arrangement of chysanthemums, a bright explosion of fierce reds and fushias that pops against your eyes and skin when you bring them to your nose to smell. suguru watches you calmly, heart twisting, cheeks burning, and he thinks that he could do this for the rest of his life when you bat those pretty eyes up at him and beam with a sheepish thank you fluttering from your lips and into the petals that you use to hide your face.

you don't know that there are more coming. that this first bouqet is meant to represent a sanction of what he promises you, a symbol of devotion and his unyielding legacy, the legacy you have helped him build. the legacy he intends to share with you.

the next day, he gifts you a bunch of cream colored anemonaes when he first sees you in the morning. you're shocked expression makes him chuckle lowly as he presents the flowers to you, the stems laced with a white ribbon, the petals fluttering eagerly around their black pistils. you stare up at suguru in awe, as he has caught you off guard once again, stolen the breath from your lungs and made your jaw drop in a stupor. two bouqets of flowers, two days in a row, in tandem with his soft hugs and soft looks and soft hands brushing yours.

"suguru, wha...?" you trail off as he places the bouqet in your hands, helping to secure your fingers around them. you stare at him, stunned, bashful, flattered, and he simply flashes you that serene, warm smile that soaks up the sun. "more flowers? but you already - "

"i know," is all he says, his hands holding yours around the bouqet. he glances at the flowers, a symbol of his patience, of how long he would be willing to wait for you if you decide to have him. the sincerity of his emotions, and how far he'd go for you and only you. his eagerness to obtain you, despite his willingness to hold off so long as it would make you comfortable. "they're all for you, angel," he eventually says.

you melt, your shoulders sagging with the curl of your brow. "i don't know what to say... why are you doing this?"

"because you deserve it."

the third and final day, suguru tells you to meet him in his drawing room. you're buzzing with the adrenaline of his very recent affections, the way he has been looking at you as of late in addition to his gifts of flowers.

you don't think you can find the words when you slide the door open to reveal the inky haired cult leader standing before you, at the very center of the room. sweet perfumes of incense intoxicate the candle lit space, and a generous bunch of your favorite flowers settles in his arms amidst his buddhist robes. a symbol of all that you are in his life, radiant. bright. loyal. a symbol of his immense adoration, and the fruitfulness of his love for you.

sunflowers.

your throat clamps up and you attempt to swallow the automatic lump that ails you. your heart pounds in your ears, your skin hot to the touch, and you ask yourself if you are inside of some kind of dream. if the man you've fallen for is truly right here in front of you with his heart in his hands and your world in his hazel eyes.

you freeze up, shaking your head. this can't be real. suguru is all dreams of the new world, ambitions to wipe out existence, eagerness to make the unloyal and the greedy pay with their lives. he is a passionate man, yes, but never one for romantics. never one for love, as you had previously believed.

he's generous, therefore you thought nothing of the way he would hold you close to him, his breathe murmuring that he's missed you throughout the day against your ear, though you've only been parted for a few hours within the cult. you thought nothing over those lingering, sultry looks past miguel's figure during family meetings, or the way his warm lips would meet your skin with fatigue. you thought nothing of it because suguru is a man of his people who hardly shies away from bestowing such affections on those he cares for.

still, you've never seen him hug miguel the same way. or look at manami with such intensity, let alone kiss any of the others on the head, save for his girls.

nevertheless, you never allowed yourself to believe that you were special. not when suguru has always made his priorities in this life painfully clear.

so you struggle to understand what this means. why he is showering you with affections and doting on you like you could possibly mean anything more to him than family.

"no, this is too much," you shake your head, your voice ringing out wobblier than you intended. "this is too much, suguru, what are you doing?"

the hazel eyed sorcerer does not panic when he hears your voice crack, for any time you are in his presence, a pink filter washes over his senses, and all he can register is your unfathomable beauty shining through the way you speak and the way you look at him.

he smiles, body warm. "do you not like them?"

"do i - no, i - i love them. that's not what i... those are for me, too?" you ask incredulously, though deep down you know the answer.

"of course they are."

"...suguru, why?" your breath hitches. "this is way too much."

"it's not nearly enough."

"but why would you - "

"you should let me talk, beautiful. then everything will make more sense. i promise."

you frown, eyes glazing over. suguru only smiles and shifts the bouqet, holding a hand out to you.

"come here."

you do, carefully sliding the door closed behind you in a stupor and moving to approach him. he takes your hand, holds your gaze, and brings it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your fingers. you inhale sharply, lips twitch, eyes glossy.

"i was talking with the girls the other day," he starts slowly, lowering your hand as he caressing it gently. "and they made me realize something."

you're scared to speak, but your voice croaks out anyway. "what?"

"that i don't want to waste any more time with you," suguru's voice dips just slightly, his tone taking a raw vulnerability that you have not heard in quite sometime. it takes you back to high school, before he snapped, when the two of you were just kids seeking one another's comfort within a strange and unforgiving education.

"suguru, what are you talking about?" you breathe a whisper.

"ever since we were kids, i've known. that i never want to live without you," he confesses. "but it's taken me too long to truly understand what that means and to actually do something about it."

you shake your head with a disoriented breath, a tear you can't fight catching your lashes. suguru releases your hand to swipe the tear away with his thumb.

his hand curves to your chin and he lifts your head slightly, encouraging your teary eyes to meet his again. his pupils expand, his eyes lidded.

"so now i'm doing something about it," he mumbles. "i want you to be with me, (y/n). i want you to be mine. there's no one else in this godforsaken world for me but you. it's always been you."

you feel another tear trail down your cheek, your heart soaring, your mind still not quite comprehending that this is real. that this is happening.

suguru is patient. he doesn't need an immediate response, nor does he demand your immediate reciprocation. instead, he is merely happy to tell you, to watch the awe float over your pretty face as his chest becomes lighter, having freed the weight of his truth to you.

"these flowers are a promise. i'll be good to you. i'll put you before everything. i'll love you as you should be loved. because i do. i love you. and i always will, whether you'll have me or not."

your heart skips a beat. or two. or ten. "...you love me?"

"i love you," he confirms.

the past nine years whip through your head, all the doubts, the hopes, the longing, the fear, that have brought you to this very moment. your cloudy gaze finds the flowers brushing your chests between you, then his warm hazel eyes. you see into his soul, you see the cracks exposed, the hint of anxiety that swirls in the back of his mind as he bears himself raw to you behind a front of serenity.

you cave with the breathless call of his name, and he takes the chance, his name on your tongue dispelling any fear and uncertainty. he ducks down and pulls you in, petals brushing your chins as his lips press to yours fervently. you whimper and he groans, both symphonies of long awaited relief, and in the brief disconnect of your hungry lips, you whisper into his mouth.

"i love you too."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

choso kamo: your patience!

“it’s okay, cho. here, let me help you.”

sharp violet eyes blink down at you in a stupor as you ease your palm onto his shoulder blade, stepping close to take initiative as he submissively backs away. you look up and give him a soft smile before turning your attention to the electronic fast food kiosk to help him navigate the options.

the brunette lets you take the lead, as you always do when it comes to human things like this, and he watches you from your side with a blank expression, something far more intense shining in his wide eyes.

choso knows he can be a handful. basic things do not always come to him very easily, like small talk or technology or anything within the realm of human functionality that he has yet to completely accomodate to. while the brunette has been around long enough to assimilate into his brother's livelihood and the people directly surrounding him, he still significantly struggles to comprehend certain mortal concepts.

it took him a whole day to figure out how to program the phone that yuji helped him purchase, and that was with the help of the salmon haired teenager. each day, he still battles with comprehending some of the slang his kid brother uses when talking to him, often opting to pretend to know what yuji is talking about when he sends little acronyms like lmao or wyd. he doesn't quite grasp the goal of certain sports when he sees yuji and his classmates playing them, and he has absolutly no idea how to decipher or navigate the internet.

in the human world, choso often feels like a fish out of water, much to his chagrin. the persistent internal dilemma of existing as something between a human and a curse often leaves choso confused as he attempts to navigate how he is supposed to behave, what he is supposed to know, how he can be accepted by either jujutsu or human society.

and people are less than forgiving, less than patient with those who appear to be outsiders, choso has come to find. the world is a cruel place, and as he continues to manage how to move about it, strangers expect him to figure it out.

it tells in the way he gets shoulder checked in crowded markets when he does not know where to go, or what the number on his ticket means as he stands in the middle of a bustling grocery store right in front of the deli, having promised yuki that he'd pick up her order during lunch. it tells in the dirty glares that are tossed his way when he scratches the back of his scalp, nose twisted with frustration and brows angled as he tries to figure out which direction this particular train he was told to board is going to take him in. it tells in the way the kids jokingly gasp when they hear that he has yet to try the newest fad sweeping through the social media feeds, some kind of food vendor that everyone is suddenly obsessed with and expects others to share that same obsession in order to be viewed as an equal.

choso sighs. the world is not very understanding toward people like him, who need time to grasp what is happening around him and how to adjust to its functions. to people who move slowly, cautiously, carefully to ensure that he is doing the right thing, to reduce the chances of making excessive mistakes. to people who can not just click into society's expectations with the snap of a finger, who need patience and understanding.

so when you come around and begin to show him such things, begin to teach him those societal functions with a calm, peaceful countenance and an eagerness to help, choso finds his heart fluttering in his chest.

his feelings for you come abruptly, quick and stunning like the shock of an ice bath.

the first time you helped choso with something, he didn't even know what to say. you're one of the institution's frequently traveling sorcerers, about twenty or so years old, often popping in to serve as a mentor for the first years. you are ordinarly paired up with yuki for missions, which is how you were introduced to choso, who was pinned with her as well.

choso already thinks you're pretty and nice when you first introduce yourself to him. you smell like sugary, sunny summer days, and you have (e/c) eyes that pierce the veil to his soul. but what makes him weak and renders him a fool at your beck and call is when you catch him one day in the break room fiddling with the rather expensive coffee machine.

you saunter in the room behind him and notice his hunched figure over the device, and when you approach his side, you see that the dark circles that live under his eyes are more prominent, and an irritated grimace is crossed over his lips. your eyes follow his gaze to the stubborn machine and you realize that he is having a hard time getting the water to filter through.

choso sees you out of the corner of his eye and straightens up, locking eyes with you, attempting to blink away his clear vexation. "(y/n)," he says your name surprised, as if he would have never expected to see you here despite this being your place of work as well. "hi," he fumbles.

you grin. "hi choso! whatcha doin?"

"j-just trying to make coffee. sorry, are you waiting to use this?" he asks, immediately thinking that he has been standing in your way, taking up the time you could have used to fix yourself a cup of coffee. he thinks himself a useless burden once more and is prepared to abandon the task for your sake, despite how lethargic he feels.

but instead of rolling your eyes or expressing any kind of impatience with him, you smile up at him sweetly. "no, it's okay. just saw you and wanted to check in. do you need any help?" you ask softly, unbothered.

choso's face falls as your question leaves him taken aback. not even just your question, but the way you ask as though you wish to assist him, as if it is really no problem. he goes silent for a second, and you wait for him to answer, still looking up at him with a gentle smile.

his cheeks burst red and he clears his throat. "um - yeah. kinda. if you don't... don't mind. sorry," he scratches the back of his neck.

"you don't have to apologize," you chirp with a soft chuckle. "i know how these things can be. super stubborn sometimes, y'know?"

you don't even blame his incompetence. you blame the coffee maker in order to make him feel less out of place. choso blinks, baffled, and swallows hard. you step closer to him, and he takes an involuntary shuffle away, averting his gaze from your pretty eyes and kind smile. your scent suddenly invades him, and he shivers, a lump forming in his throat.

"what's wrong with it?" you ask.

"...it's - uh - just not pouring. it keeps making a click sound, but nothing's coming out."

you hum thoughtfully. "i hate when it does this," you murmur, looking over the device. "here, let me try something."

you step closer to him, and choso takes the hint to move back, standing behind you as you work your magic. you reach back behind the machine and unplug it, wait a few more seconds, then plug it back in. you then lift the top of the machine open once it powers back on, and close that one more time. you press a few buttons, it clicks, then in seconds, brown liquid dribbles down from the spout and into choso's navy mug.

you grin and turn over your shoulder to look up at the half-curse. "there you go! sometimes it just needs to be restarted to get working again. if it gives you any more trouble, just unplug it and plug it back in, okay? that's what i always do anyway."

choso stares at the coffee filtering into the mug, then at your bright expression. he nods stiffly, eyes shimmering, face beet red. "thank you," he says earnestly.

"don't mention it. let me know if you ever need help with anything else!"

you hum a soft tune as you walk out of the break room, and violet eyes follow your retreating figure. choso feels his heart spasm, for he thinks this is the very first time someone has appeared truly happy to assist him - the first time anyone has ever treated him unlike a chore. and you walk off like it's nothing.

choso starts to like you immediately after that, but he doesn't quite know that those feelings he is experiencing means something more than platonic admiration. he doesn't know what it means when his face flushes in your presence, and your phantom scent smacks him in the face whenever you're not around, and his heart thumps a mile per minute whenever you so much as look at him.

ever new to the human experience, he is much newer to intense human emotions like these.

and the feelings grow more intense each time you assist him with something so nicely, a stark contrast to the way others are so impatient with him. he’s holding a camera the wrong way? no worries, you’re there to pat his shoulder and help him flip it around, demonstrating an easier way to point it at his beloved brother. he can’t figure out directions to that spot his coworkers want to eat at? not a problem! you’ll take over directions with him and set him up for how to find things on his own next time around. trying to follow a tutorial for how to fix the squeaky hinge on his brother’s door? he doesn’t have to do it alone! you’re happy to assist him and make the whole ordeal quicker.

and today, yuji insisted on going out to the nearest fast food place with his friends, both you and choso having accompanied. yet no matter how many things you continue to show him, he still can’t quite grasp how to save his order on this damn screen.

the kamo hears your voice narrating your actions as you tap through the options, inquiring what he wants, and while he responds to you flatly, he’s not really paying attention. not to what you’re showing him.

all he can hear is the sweet, understanding cadence of your gorgeous voice as you swipe through selections, the way your lashes blink when you turn over your shoulder to meet his eyes and double check with him before adding something to the cart. he doesn’t even know what the hell you’re putting in there or what he’s telling you to get, but he knows that your lips are a tint of cherry red today instead of your go-to peachy gloss.

"do you want anything?" he suddenly speaks up, accidentally interrupting you in the middle of your little spiel. he comes closer behind you involuntarily, his chest brushing the tip of your shoulder as you look up at him softly.

you blink a few times, aware of his close proximinity, and you press your lips together, heat flaring in your cheeks, your cool countenance disrupted. "it's okay, i'm not really that hungry."

"are you sure? we've had a busy day. i can get you something. whatever you want."

you're suddenly bashful, biting back a warm smile. "...i mean, sure, if you're offering. i kinda want an icecream cone..."

an ice cream cone. suddenly it's the most important thing on this planet.

choso nods firmly. "okay."

and you watch as he reaches past you to hesitantly take control of the screen under a mask of confidence, utilizing your tips and brief tutorial to scroll through the options, locate your desired item, and land it in the cart.

you beam, your hand flying to his bicep. "look, cho, you did it all by yourself! i'm so proud of you!" you praise. "thank you so much!"

a huff of air dispels from choso's nose as he looks down at your sweet expression, tenses under the soft touch of your palm, and processes what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your gratitude. to step up and do something for you in return for all the patience and kindness that you've shown him.

pink bursts over his pale cheeks, and a wobbly hint of a smile rises. his heart hammers louder and louder in his ears, and his entire body feels as though its catching a sweat. is he sick? is it you?

is he sick off of you?

he doesn't know, nor does he care. all that he knows is, as your fingers slip away from his arm, and your warmth is dragged along with you as you rejoin the teens at the table they snagged, that he wants to feel this way with you for as long as he possibly can. he wants to make you feel just as seen, just as happy, just as heard, just as warm.

the brunette eventually rejoins you all, flustering in silence when you pat the seat that you've saved for him across from the booth nobara, yuji, and megumi cramp themselves in.

choso sits with his broad shoulders tense and his hands in his lap as you talk excitedly with nobara about this new top that you found online, and choso's eyes eventually fall to the two teenage boys across from him who quirk their brows at his posture and exchange knowing glances.

you and nobara somehow convince the guys to trail behind you as you seek out the tops you found. as the boys trail behind, and as choso's eyes glue to the back of your head while you walk beside the brunette fifteen year old, he feels yuji nudge him in the side.

choso looks down at his little brother, blatantly dazed, pupils wide. "hm?" he inquires softly.

"dude. you've been staring at her the entire time we've been out," the salmon haired boy deadpans. on his right, megumi walks while staring boredly ahead, hands in his pockets as he agrees.

"pretty painful to watch," the navy haired boy murmurs.

"oh," choso blinks, turning back to look at you when a giggle spills past your lips. his heart flips. "yeah. sorry," he swallows, distracted.

"aw man, you've got it so bad," yuji shakes his head. "why don't you just tell her already? it's so obvious."

choso turns to him again, suddenly invested. "tell her what? what's it? what do i have?"

"y'know? lovesickness. you're down bad."

choso tilts his head. "i'm sick? down where? it's bad?"

yuji exhales defeatedly. and drops his shoulders. "no man, you're not actually sick. i mean, like, you're in love."

the half curse's eyes grow wide. "in love?"

megumi sighs. "i don't think he knows, yuji."

the said boy's eyes snap wide with realization. "oh shit! choso! do you not know?!"

"know what?"

yuji throws his arm up and around his brother's shoulders, bringing his face down in secrecy as they walk. choso furrows his brows in confusion at the salmon haired boy's abrupt intensity. "answer me this - does your face get all hot whenever (y/n) is around?" he whispers aggressively, megumi rolling his eyes.

"um... yes...?"

"does she make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?"

"...yeah."

"when you look at her, do you just wanna scream and cry and do everything you possibly can to make her happy all at the same time?"

choso swoons. "i do."

yuji grins mischievously. "you think she's pretty ~ ?"

"yuji," megumi groans.

"yes. i think she's the prettiest girl in the world," choso affirms, eyes still stuck to you. his younger brother huffs conclusively, fighting off a gag and releasing choso so that he can stand up straight again. he closes his eyes, nodding as if making an internal diagnosis.

"you're in love big bro. you like (y/n) as way more than a friend. so much it's making you crazy."

choso thinks it over, the strange urges that overcome him when you're near, his desire to always be around you and make you proud. "...you're right. i do feel crazy."

"everyone literally already knew that but you, kamo," megumi adds.

"what do i do?!" choso panics.

yuji shrugs. "you should tell her."

"tell her that i - " the image of confronting you in such a way, standing before you as his feelings get caught in his throat, watching as you bat those pretty lashes up at him and await what he has to say with a patient smile makes his heart sieze up in his throat and his stomach churn with something discomforting. choso grits his teeth, shaking his head furiously. "no, i can't do that. she'll hate me. i don't want her to hate me."

"what? who says she'll hate you?" yuji waves him off.

choso's mind flies to the way strangers regard him, to how clueless he is about most things that someone his age should know about. he imagines all the men out there who are more experienced, who know more than he ever could, including how to treat you the way you should be treated.

he's not that guy. he isn't normal. he doesn't know things. he's only himself, caught between darkness and light, and you are kind enough to stand by his side and help him through some of his confusion, but you deserve more than his empty head. hell, he didn't even know that he had feelings for you until his fifteen year old brother pieced it together for him.

"i don't want to make her uncomfortable," he mumbles.

megumi's eye twitches. "but she literally - "

"shh, shhh, shhh!" yuji blindly smacks his hand over megumi's mouth, earning him a rather merciless smack upside the back of his head. the two glare at each other before yuji turns his attention back to his brother, rubbing the tender spot of his head. "listen choso, the thing about love is that you never know what to expect. you shouldn't assume that (y/n) doesn't like you just because you don't know or haven't tried to tell her. she's super nice and she loves spending time with you. she'd be lucky to have you."

"no, i'd be the lucky one. i'd just slow her down."

"that's your head talking. don't listen to your head, listen to me! your brother!" yuji fumes, gripping choso's shoulder tight. choso sighs, looking down. "look at her, man. look how happy she's been ever since you got her that ice cream. does that look like someone who'd hate you if you confessed?"

choso looks up at you again, noting how the golden sun seems to illuminate you, that smile that could send him into shock spread wide across your face as you talk. god, you're pretty.

"you think that's... because of me?"

"trust me, bro. i know women - "

"do you?" megumi intercepts sharply, ready to go home.

"shut up," yuji bites back. "i know women, and i know for a fact that no girl gets as happy as i see her get whenever you're involved. trust me on this. any time we buy nobara anything, she snatches it from our hands and tells us it's the least we could do for being pains in her ass."

"oh. (y/n) has never said anything like that to me."

"that's because she probably sees you as more than a friend too. but you'll never know unless you tell her." choso hums, taking in his brother's advice. "don't be scared. go for it! besides, you'd end up regretting it if you wait too long."

in a trance, choso moves to march up to you, but yuji's grip tightens on his shoulder as he pulls him back. "what the - not now, i don't wanna see that! just wait 'til you two are alone. it'll be more special that way."

so he does, but every single time the two of you wind up alone, choso chickens out. despite having won difficult battles and overcome extinction itself, the violet eyed half curse can't seem to muster up the courage to face you like a man and tell you that he's obsessed with you, that he thinks about you every single day, that he wants to be able to hold your hand and kiss you and be yours.

every single time he thinks he will, his eyes find yours, and he fumbles. like a coward. he can't get out of his own mind. he can't fight the thoughts that are telling him that he's just not good enough, that you deserve better, that he can't be what you need.

he'd rather have you in his life as a friend than screw things up by confessing to you and inevitably losing you completely.

instead of telling you how he feels, choso finds himself clinging to the memory of your praise, the day he first did something for you and not vice versa, and stepping in to perform random, small tasks for you, tasks that don't even require his help.

he brings extra ponytails to work on his wrist for you just in case you need them in the midst of sparring or mentoring. he keeps an extra jacket close by in case he sees you shiver and rub your arms from the cold of the air conditioned conference room. he asks you every day if you want him to run out and get the coffee he sees you drink so frequently, eager to serve you in any form, eager to make you smile, eager to prove himself worthy of your love.

you notice the change, how he frantically jumps to assist you more and more each day. how he tries to impress you by picking up your hobbies, or telling you about a book that he's reading that's written by an author he heard through the grapevine that you enjoy. you notice him trying to fit into your world more, trying to talk to you about shows and music and ideas that you've never heard him talk about before learning that you've shown interest in them. you observe how much more inherently human he tries to be around you, how desperately he tries to stray from himself with his eyes glued to your every move, and you start to think you know what's going on.

your last straw is when he approaches you one day at the field when you're packing up your weaponry and gloves. the sun sets behind the nearby mountains, the entirety of the sparring field melted in a rich orange glow. you perk up when you hear footsteps against the grass, and you turn around to see choso holding something out for you to take, cheeks rosy and eyes soft.

"hey... for you," is all his says, and when you look down at his palms, you see a cute little cream puff keychain - a gift associated with your passing mention of loving baked goods.

you melt with a sigh. "choso," you coo, abandoning your duffel bag to approach him slowly. "you didn't have to get me this."

"i know. i just thought you'd like it. unless you don't. you don't have to take it. i'll get you something else."

"no," you cup under his outstretched hands and he shivers under your touch, looking up at you shyly. "you don't have to get me anything else. this is - this is so sweet, but, i don't need this. you didn't have to do this."

"oh. okay. i see," he nods, taking your words as rejection.

you notice the dip in his tone and the way he goes to turn and walk off, but you stop him gently. "no, that's not what i - i like it choso i do! i didn't mean to say i don't. i love it... but are you okay?"

"yes," he answers quickly.

"are you sure? you've been so... anxious lately."

you noticed. you notice things about him. he tries not to let that fact alone further push him into a delusional state. when he meets your eyes again, he gets lost in your gentle concern as your palms brush his knuckles. his breath hitches when he speaks again. "i'm fine."

"...okay..." you say slowly, unconvinced. you look over his flushed face, then around at the area, ensuring that you are alone. "hey... listen, i kinda wanted to... to actually talk to you."

choso freezes, keychain still presented to you. "oh. okay," he gulps. is this it? is this the cold sting of rejection that he's been working so hard to avoid? is it time for him to give up on the foolish dream of making you happy? "what's wrong?" he asks.

"i've noticed... lately, on top of being so anxious... it seems like you've been trying to - like - impress me? is that it?" you say softly.

choso's heart begins to pound again, and dread overcomes him. "w-what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean, cho. all the little gestures. the gifts, the acts of service, the pretending to like what i like - "

"i do like what you like."

you give him a look. "cho, i know you've only gotten interested in all of that stuff because of me."

"...is that a bad thing? do you not like that i did?"

"i'm not saying it's bad. i just want to understand why you feel like you have to do that all of a sudden. you never did before, then suddenly you started acting like i would only be interested in you if you do those things. did i make you feel like you have to do all those things for me to... enjoy your friendship?"

friendship. you still think of him as a friend.

choso frowns. "i don't know," he murmurs, nervous. he glances down at his hands over yours, then back into the sun glittering in your perfect eyes. could he ever appear that perfect to you, the way you do to him?

"choso, it's okay. you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

his jaw clenches hard. can he really?

"...and i never meant to make you feel like you have to be someone you're not. it's okay if you have different interests from me. you don't have to like everything i like to get my attention. i like you just the way you are. i always have."

his eyes glisten. "you do?"

you smile something warm and comforting. "of course i do."

"but... i do like liking the same things as you," he says lowly, face fiery. "i like learning about you... and making you happy... and being someone for you to lean on. you always are to me. i want to repay that."

you giggle lightly. "aw, cho. you're so sweet. but i don't do any of that stuff for you out of obligation."

"i know," he says. "that's why i want to do the same for you. you're always so nice to me and it means a lot. i just wanted to show you that i... care."

you soften, heat crawling over your skin. "i care about you too."

he swallows hard again, eyes unblinking. "like... as a friend?"

you hesitate, averting your gaze briefly. "y-yeah. as a friend," you affirm, peaking back up at him hopefully. the corners of your lips twitch as you sway awkwardly, puckering your lips in thought. "...unless you... care about me some other way...?"

choso's body goes rigid. do you know? have you read him so easily? more importantly, are you hoping that he does like you as something more? do you reciprocate the intensity he feels?

he's never felt more scared of anything in his life. "um..." he looks down at the keychain in his large palms and shudders. "well, i don't know... i guess-"

choso's words are caught in his throat when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist and tug him forward. you press onto your tip toes and lean up, pulling him down to press your sweet lips to his cheekbone. the brunette's eyes snap wide, pupils small, the sensation of your pillowy lips on his skin completely disrupting the function of his brain. he stares ahead, shocked as you pull away and you laugh at his expression.

"choso," you chuckle, holding onto his wrist as you toy with the hem of your shirt girlishly. "i like you as more than a friend too. a lot, actually."

he can hardly think or speak. "...what?"

"come on, i'm dying here," you whine. "i like you, choso. okay? and i'd never want you to think that you should change anything about yourself for me to see you that way. i already do. i like you, unfiltered, as you are. you're perfect," you emphasize. "...you like me too, right?"

"...you like me?"

"yes," you laugh.

"as... more than... a friend?"

"obviously, cho."

choso thinks he's seen heaven as your words land gracefully on his ears. your keychain drops to the ground in his stupor, and before you can ask if he's alright or decide that you've completely broken him, he clobbers you in a tight embrace, finally allowed permission, finally assured. his strong arms wrap tightly around your waist and you yelp as he lifts you into the air effortlessly, his face buried into your shoulder as he holds you tight.

his eyes scrunch closed and he breathes you in, overjoyed, relieved, happy enough to bawl his eyes out right there. he sniffs, pressing his lips tight together, savoring your body against his. he hears you laugh out before feeling your arms wrap around him for stability, and he can finally breathe. for somehow, choso lucked out. the most beautiful, kind, deserving woman on this planet chooses him, and now that he knows, he's not going to let a second of you go to waste any more than he already has.

for how can you even begin to ask if he likes you when you are all that he has ever wanted?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

hiromi higuruma: your new boyfriend!

hiromi has heard all of the accusations, every single last one, and has denied each one with an adamance.

the dark haired attorney has known you for years, and throughout those years, you have remained a gracious constant in his rather chaotic, exhausting, ever so stressful life. having a best friend like you certainly had never been in the cards for hiromi, who always prides himself on his independence and insists that intimate relationships of any kind would hinder his concentration.

that, however, did not stop him from growing close to you after meeting you in law school. before the world got too big. before he became the very center of right and wrong, justice and injustice, guilt and innocence.

it was at an annual law convention that law students were encouraged to attend. he found you at a neighboring booth, tabling as an intern for another firm he had heard of in passing, and in the midst of the day's hectic buzz, the two of you ended up sneaking away to grab a drink after sharing a few rather striking conversations.

your mind is intriguing. that is what first pulled hiromi to you, but what he found beyond that was your ability to shed your professional air to expose your more human side in his privacy. you're quite social, personable, and full of smiles, and with the week hiromi had been having, your company had proven quite refreshing. you weren't stuffy. you didn't seem to be hiding any tricks or secrets up your sleeves. you merely existed in your own space, and the attention came to you, whether you had asked for it or not.

and when you smiled, hiromi smiled. thus beginning your rather close friendship.

you and higuruma do most things together. in your early days, you were often found cooped up together in the library, studying senselessly for the bar. you'd quiz each other, spitballing debates, bouncing ideas and theories and arguments off of one another to the point where it felt like a game, where the most stressful time in your lives was momentarily treated like a challenging, engaging activity.

you made everything feel easier, lighter. caught in a whirlwind of dedication to justice, you often found higuruma in a dissociative state with his pen flicking restlessly between his fingers as he stared out of a nearby window with distance eyes and a blank face. you'd sigh, for you knew this burden all too well. you saw it sag in his shoulders, watched as the weight over his posture built and built with the coming days, as he climbed higher and higher, and filtered his mind with more knowledge.

with the expansion of hiromi's natural intelligence, his light threatened to dwindle. he's a prodigy after all, far beyond anything that you could have dreamed to become, but he was still your best friend at the end of the day. when he withdrew, you were there to pull him back. until study sessions became cooking dates at your apartment, where flashcards were eventually discared after hours of memorization and muttering terms under one another's breaths. you'd say something like: "you can't retain a single thing if you don't give your body nutrients, no matter how smart you are!" and you'd force him out of the cocoon he'd built on your faded leather couch and push him into the kitchen.

stubborn with conviction, hiromi would give you an earfull at first, griping about how the bar isn't a game. about how law is the future, his future, your future, and you can't afford any moments to slack as long as injustice continues to run rampant just outside your window. and you'd hum mindlessly as you move about your cramped kitchen, for you'd heard this lecture countless times, before shoving a red onion into his palm outstretched - mid sermon, and ordering him to dice it into cubes.

"(y/n)," he'd call your name, weary, aggravated. "i was talking."

"shush," you'd hush him, unaffected by his feigned anger with you. hiromi would stand and glare at you in defiance for a minute longer each time, before eventually giving in and dicing the onion as you'd ordered, murmuring under his breath.

he certainly found no reason to complain when the two of you were eating out of chipped china over your dining room table in silence, hunger having finally been satiated after hours of unintentional starvation. thick books lay forgotten just for a moment on your coffee table as the two of you enjoy the silence and satisfaction of a home cooked meal.

you were often the reason he saw the light of day, as you'd drag him to study outside in a nearby park, picnic blanket layed out under a great oak as sun poured through the cracks left in the leaves, a gentle breeze tossing your pages back and forth. you'd lay on your stomach as hiromi sat upright with his back pressed against the bark. against hiromi's better judgment, he'd let his eyes leave the page of his textbook upon registering the sound of a nearby dog barking. he'd find that your attention had already strayed, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you watch life flourish around you, the little dog off in the distance yapping excitedly at a flock of geese gliding across the pond.

and then his chocolate eyes would fall to you, the way you lounge with your elbows caging around your thick book, eyes full of the sky's light and your dream of capturing this peace for those wronged by the justice system, for those abused by the unpunished.

your eyes would eventually snap away, finding hiromi's, and he'd look back down at his book casually, muttering that you need to stay more focused. you'd roll your eyes, nudging his knee playfully.

"lighten up a bit, romi. you can't try to protect the world if you don't look around at it once and a while. see what's actually going on."

and you, of course, are the only reason hiromi ever stepped outside of his apartment past the hours of 09:00. you'd call him up, telling him that a few of your classmates invited you out to trivia night at a nearby bar. he'd click his teeth and tell you that he'd pass, only to find that you're already standing outside of his door, dressed in knee high boots and a leather coat, scarf wrapped around your neck and lips painted dark.

the brunette would open the door to reveal your image and frown at your expecting grin and open arms. he'd give you a flat look before turning to find a coat, for he always knew that you weren't leaving without him. after all, he could never say no to you. not when you refuse to leave him stewing in the intellectual misery that this profession has already imprinted upon him. not when you're constantly reminding him to bring his head up from the water. he'd certainly drown without you.

and without fail, at every outing you'd drag him to, in every space you found yourselves with other people in, some guy you're both acquainted with would tap him on the shoulder and lean in to inquire about you.

"yo, are you two dating?"

and every single time, hiromi would raise his drink to his lips and answer plainly. "no."

you're hiromi's best friend. you have been since the moment you met. you spend every waking moment together, and you hound him like an overbearing mother, but you are not romantically involved. you never have been. and he does not understand why that's so difficult for people to understand. so what, you're the only person he goes to about anything? so what, you can singlehandedly clear the grey skies of his cloudy mind? so what, you're his favorite person to be around, to talk to, to spend time with? you're friends. friendship isn't a crime.

"so you've hooked up?"

"no."

"you haven't even kissed?"

"no."

"but you're attracted to each other, right?"

"no," a vein would bulge over hiromi's temple as he'd growl into his glass. "we're close friends. that's all."

and every time he'd repeat so with such finality, inquirers would lean back with a whistle and the shake of his head, as if being platonic with you was some sort of unfathomable notion.

and then, like clockwork, the question will come. "then... she's single?"

hiromi's eye would twitch, and he'd grumble some kind of affirmation. for it's true, you are single. you don't belong to one another, and you can certainly do as you please. while hiromi has no interest in such affairs, that doesn't mean that you should close yourself off to them as well.

nevertheless, every guy that's come your way after hiromi has confirmed that you are not his girlfriend has always met your rejection. it surprises the dark haired man every time, for you aren't like him. you're brighter. you enjoy people more. you should have fun, but when he asks you about it, you just shrug him off.

"i'm not gonna start fooling around with anyone while studying for the bar, romi. that's just asking for failure."

"that's a little unhealthy. someone could make you happy."

"says you," you'd nudge him. "why don't you listen to your own advice?"

"it's different."

"it's not at all actually."

you've been evasive in regard to relationships for as long as hiromi has known you, and he doesn't know why. your excuses continue to shift as well depending on the time, for after the two of you pass the bar, you say that you're too focused on building your career. after your career has been build, you say that you're too busy with work. hiromi has not even heard of you engaging in one night stands or little flings, much to his relief if he were being honest. he thinks you're far better than something as casual and shallow as that.

still, you've shied away from topics of romance, catching a strange look in your eye every single time he asks. he doesn't understand why, nor what that look has meant as it developed over the years, but he swears he knows you well. he had been confident that, no matter the time or place, you would continue to stubbornly refuse romantic advances.

therefore, the attorney is a bit floored now that you are in your thirties, and after years of watching you turn down advances, you suddenly turn up with a new boyfriend.

higuruma's chopsticks freeze midair, sushi squished between the wooden sticks, and his eyes widen just a smidgen as you stand before him after hours in his office, an excited glint in your eyes.

the sushi drops back down to its container as silence floods the empty space, and you await a reaction. "what did you just say?" he asks slowly.

"i said i met someone!"

"...as in..."

"as in, i have a boyfriend, romi. and i want you to meet him soon!"

the words echo through his mind like some kind of curse that he struggles to digest. slowly, he lowers his chopsticks to his desk and folds his hands before him, adjusting himself in his seat as he processes this odd revalation. he eyes you carefully, brain working overtime to decipher whether you're messing with him or not. your smile dwindles and your hand finds your hip, your brow raising.

"what the hell? what kind of reaction is that? aren't you happy for me?"

"i'm... why... is this the first time i'm hearing about this? a boyfriend?" he echoes, despising the way the word tastes on his tongue. "that's a big step. how quickly are you moving?"

"not that quickly, hiromi, we started talking like two months ago."

"and you never told me?"

"i didn't wanna bother you while you were in the middle of dealing with that one case. you were so stressed!"

"what case?" his brow twitches.

"the saito one."

"that case was forever ago, (y/n). you could've told me when it was over."

"yeah, but - i don't know, it felt stupid - and anyway, i still just didn't wanna disrupt you. you know how you are, you constantly jump from one thing to another like a lunatic."

the brown eyed man exhales, turning to face you fully in his office chair. his left elbow remains propped on the table while his other hand rubs at his forehead. "we tell each other everything," he eventually says.

"i know. i'm sorry. that's why i'm telling you now," you shrug. "what if things went badly? i wasn't gonna tell you about the guy if he ended up being an asshole."

"two months is still hardly enough time to know if he's an asshole or not."

you scrunch your face. "what is with you? i thought you'd be excited for me. you're always telling me that i need to put myself out there."

"yes, i know, but - " hiromi stops himself, his grim attitude on the subject suddenly dawning on him. you have a point. he is always telling you to put yourself first, to find someone to make you happy, but this? this is so abrupt. he had at least expected you to give him a heads up whenever you began seeing someone. he would have liked to learn the journey of how the two of you even got to this point, to be a part of that with you, but instead you spring this on him like he shouldn't feel excluded from that area of your life, the area you've always left so grey. what changed? why, all of a sudden, are you happy to be with someone else - with someone, now?

still, you're his best friend. you're right. he should be happy for you, and put his cynicism aside.

"i apologize. i'm just surprised, is all," his voice softens. you fold your arms across your chest, shifting your weight with a pout. he catches your attitude and rolls his eyes, chuckling tiredly. "i said i'm sorry. i am happy for you. you deserve to be happy."

"jeez, was that so hard?" you grumble. "and... it's fine. i guess i do owe you an apology for not saying anything. i really, honestly just didn't think you'd - wanna hear about it. with everything you've got going on."

"if it's about you, (y/n), i would like to hear about it. you know this. i'm never too busy for you."

you purse your lips, softening. "...yeah. neither am i."

he raises a brow. "are you sure?"

you click your teeth, whacking his knee with your handbag. "yes, i'm sure," you groan. you reach back and pull up another nearby office chair, and plop down in front of him. "at least let me make it up to you by catching you up now," you grin cheekily.

hiromi exhales once more, turning his attention back to his dropped sushi. "i'm listening."

the defense attorney viciously fights the sinking feeling in his stomach when you pull out your phone and show him pictures of the tall, strapping, chestnut haired man who has finally managed to tie you down. you chatter with a giddy tone about where you met, the dates he's taken you on, the flowers he's purchased you, and how he asked you to be his the night before.

a light smile graces hiromi's features as he listens to you talk, for he's never seen you so openly lovestruck over someone, and a lump molds itself in his throat with the realization that this is the first time he's seen you with another man.

and while he tries to be happy for you, while he tells you that he's lucky to have you, while he lets you flaunt pictures of your hand in his and his lips on your cheek as you beam at the camera...

he doesn't fucking like it.

in fact, he hates it, seeing his best friend so happy in such a way. and he doesn't understand why, for he doesn't know the man. he has no personal vendeta against him. from what you've told him, the guy has only passed every test you've thrown his way and treated you nicely. he has a solid job, makes a good living, and he's not bad looking. not at all. in fact, he fits beside you aesthetically, pairs well with your beauty.

but the image makes him sick. the thought of him kissing you, holding you, keeping you in the intimate spaces, late at night, early in the morning, has hiromi souring with something foreign and detestable. he does not like it.

and it feels even worse when he finally meets the guy. when you arrive at the cafe you told hiromi to meet at with your arm linked in his and a smile so bright it blinds him, your hand waving enthusiastically above your head as you approach.

hiromi's eyes flicker to your boyriend. he's tall. muscular beneath the frame of his cashmiere sweater. an easy smile is plastered on his face, one hiromi could never wear in the whirlwind of his cluttered mind.

his arm is locked in yours like you belong right beside him. like you're his.

and you are.

hiromi's stomach drops, and his mood is dampening before the two of you even reach the umbrella shaded table he's reserved. the table he'd reserved for you, because you asked him to. you asked him to book this. you wanted to introduce your new boyfriend to him, praying that he'd like him, and hiromi organized the entire thing solely because you you begged him with that lilt in your voice, the one you use any time you want to guilt hiromi into doing something. the one you used every day in law school, when he wanted to stew in his future and you encouraged him to live in the present.

because he's never seen his best friend so vulnerable and sweet before, and it kills him, but he'd rather kill himself before taking away that light in your eyes.

he'd never say no to you, to your happiness.

still, he doesn't understand his problem. he doesn't understand why he allows himself to speak with a poisonous, dull sting in his voice every time your boyfriend asked him a question. he doesn't understand why his nose curls just the slightest as he turns away to look anywhere else but at the way he drops a kiss to your forehead while you're talking. he doesn't understand why his chest is tight enough to restrict air, why it feels like a thousand tons are weighing down when he sees your knees brush under the table the way yours would against his six years ago back in that library, crowded by the sun-caught lint filtering in the window, dusty books that cursed hiromi's life, and the shoulder of the girl who saved it brushing against his as you read.

he doesn't understand why, when your boyfriend leaves to go to the bathroom and your face falls the moment you're alone, and you ask what the hell is wrong with him, his frown deepens. and he is suddenly... annoyed.

"there's nothing wrong with me," hiromi responds robotically, brows at a slight angle.

you scoff with disbelieving smile. "what are you talking about? you've been glaring at him and hardly speaking the entire morning! he probably thinks you hate him!"

"you're exaggerating."

"i'm ex - okay," you throw your hands up. "you've been acting weird ever since i told you about him. you can't keep denying it."

"i don't know what you want from me. i hardly speak to people outside of work anyway, why is it suddenly different now?"

"because i asked you to make an effort, and you're not. you haven't asked him a single question. you're brooding."

"i'm tired."

"you're always tired."

"i can't think of anything to ask."

you give him a deadpan expression. "you, the nosy ass defense attorney of the century, can't think of any questions to ask your best friend's new boyfriend?"

"why does it matter to you if i like him or not, (y/n)?" hiromi settles is chin over his knuckles, elbows propped on the table. his haunting eyes are sharp on yours as you frown, sadness swirling in your gaze and that hint of something strange he's caught so many times. he just can't name it. "you asked me to have coffee with you two, so i am. i did this for you."

"hiromi, what?" you breathlessly whisper. "why does it matter? you're my best friend, that's why it matters. because you asked to be involved, because... because you always said - you wanted me to explore. so i did, a-and i'm happy, and you're... not. and this is the only time i ever - "

you stop yourself, ducking your head, and hiromi immediately snaps out of it. his eyes catch the curl of your brow, the way your voice falters, and his vexation is suddenly melting away to make room for his concern.

he's supposed to see you happy, after all. not do this. not make you upset.

he's never made you upset before. not like this.

what is wrong with him?

"i'm sorry," he says suddenly, softness and steadiness returning. you shake your head, and hiromi reaches over the table for your hand. your head whips over to him, his warm palm resting over yours. you meet his eye, and see the remorse. "i'm sorry. you're right. i didn't mean to upset you. i'm sorry, sweetness."

your eyes flutter at that old, rare nickname. you look down at his hand, then back up at him. "what is with you, hiromi?"

"nothing."

"yes there is. i know you. what's wrong? why won't you be honest with me."

"it's nothing."

"it is something. do you have have something... to say? something that's bothering you?"

hiromi blinks, and when he stares in your eyes long enough, he sees the years you stayed by his side. the years you remained his, and only his. his best friend.

his shoulders raise ever so slightly, then deflate. you see something retreat back within itself, then watch as a thin wall washes over him. "no."

his hand slips away, and your fingers twitch. your hold one another's gaze longer, lost, until you see your boyfriend walk back outside. you purse your lips in a half attempt to smile as he sits back down beside you, his arm winding around you and pulling you into his side.

hiromi pretends to have a business call, and leavees within the following ten minutes.

that night, in hiromi's sleep, warm figments of you sweep across his subconscious. it's him sitting in your boyfriend's place, holding you close, feeling your body press to his, letting his lips dot to the corner of your nose.

you walk hand in hand back to that library, and before you sit down, he hovers over you, pressing you against the side of the table, his hand on your jaw, the other caging your hip, pressed to the wood surface of the table. your hands melt over his cheeks, and he melts, lips curving into a tender smile as he looks into your eyes.

he brings you closer, your sweet breath wafting against his lips, and the gasp you take before his lips touch yours is what wakes him up in a cold sweat with a snap.

his eyes pierce his bedroom ceiling, his heart hammering in his chest, and breaths heavy. hiromi takes a moment, adjusting to his surroundings, turning to read the alarm clock on his desk that reads 3:05 am, and he realizes that he was dreaming.

the ache of loss comes quick, your warmth tugged away by the mercilessness of his consciousness, and suddenly he feels his chest tightening, his browl furrowing, his mouth running dry.

it all pieces together in the darkness of hiromi's bedroom after years of friendship, years of watching you turn guys away, years of telling you that someone was out there to love you before he realized it was himself.

he's in love with you. he has been this whole time. like an idiot.

and he let you slip away to someone else, like the version of you he just woke up from.

When the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the noise, Sukuna was sitting alone on the low bench. His fight shorts hung low at his hips, exposing the sharp v-line of his torso, and his broad chest was already slick with a sheen of pre-fight sweat. In the dim atmosphere, the black tattoos covering his wide shoulders and ribs flexed with every deep, slow exhale he took. The fighter looked up, dark eyes locking onto yours, his messy salmon-pink hair damp against his forehead.

You didn't say a word, just stepped up to him with a fresh roll of thick white cotton gauze in your hands. The moment you slotted yourself perfectly between his thick thighs and sank into his lap, those muscular arms instantly wrapped around you. One heavy forearm locked across the small of your back—trapping you securely against him. The scent of your perfume immediately cut through the sharp, medicinal tang of liniment and deodorant filling the space between you.

The silence held fast—broken only by the slight rustle of fabric. You grabbed Sukuna’s big, scarred hand and grazed his blistered knuckles. Slowly, you pulled the white cloth taut over his calloused skin, smoothing it down.

As you focused on the final turns, Sukuna leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The heat radiating off his body was scorching, his damp, pink hair scratching lightly against your skin as he pressed a slow row of warm kisses against your throat. “You done?” he asked quietly against your skin, flexing his fingers beneath the fresh gauze—testing your work.

You giggled as the short strands and his warm lips tickled your skin. You pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, your thumb lingering over the finished wrap. “Keep your hands steady,” you whispered, smoothing out the white gauze.

“Are you nervous?” you asked softly.

Of course he had to be, you thought to yourself. This was the championship finals. The highest stakes imaginable. In less than ten minutes, he was either walking out there to claim the gold belt, or he was coming back to this exact room with a bruised face, a busted lip, and the bitter taste of defeat. The pressure was enough to crush anyone.

“Nah” he said softly, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I've already won.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips at his playful confidence, and before you could tease him back, Sukuna’s wrapped hand slid down the back of your thigh—his fingers sliding right beneath the hem of your denim skirt. With a strong grip, he lifted your leg up and guided your thighs wide, moving you so you were fully straddling his lap.

The movement instantly bunched the stiff denim fabric all the way up to your hips. Your bare thighs and the plump, soft flesh of your ass were left entirely exposed on his lap, with your simple grey cotton panties serving as the only barrier between you.

Sukuna didn't give you a chance to speak, his other hand instantly coming up to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair as he pulled you down into a deep kiss. His mouth parted yours easily, his tongue sliding inside with a hungry rhythm that tasted faintly of copper and mint.

A soft gasp escaped your throat—completely swallowed by his lips as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling yourself against his chest.

Unable to help yourself, you shifted your weight—your hips instinctively rolling forward. You grind your clothed cunt right against him, the grey cotton of your underwear rubbing directly over his aching cock.

Sukuna let out a low and rough breath into the kiss, his hand sliding up from your thigh to slide over your bare, exposed cheek. His rough fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing it with a grip that anchored your hips right against his. His other hand trailed down to grip your hip—rocking you back and forth.

The fabric of his fight shorts offered no cushioning, letting you feel every rigid inch of his heavy length straining hard beneath the flat velcro waistband. He continued to rock you, pulling you harder against him with every roll of your hips. You whined into his mouth, your hips rolling desperately against his hard bulge until your core throbbed.

Sukuna broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his lips dragging across your cheek to your ear, his chest heaving against yours. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, a rough breathless laugh catching in his throat as your desperate grinds threatened to break his control before the bell even rang.

He stood up with you trapped against his chest. And in two heavy strides, Sukuna laid you onto the high training table. The short denim skirt rode all the way up your hips, with the cold wood biting into the bare skin of your lower back and thighs.

His hands gripped your knees and guided them back, flexing your legs wide as he stepped deeply in between them. Sukuna pressed his hard bulge against your clothed cunt—letting you feel exactly how thick and hard he was for you under his gear.

Slowly, his large hand slid down between your thighs, his palm flattening over the front of your plain, soft grey panties. He didn't pull them down yet. Instead, his fingers began to trace the shape of your damp folds through the fabric, outlining the plump, aching shape. Pressing his thumb hard against your clit, circling it—making a pathetic whimper catch in your throat.

As his fingers worked over the damp grey fabric, Sukuna leaned his weight forward, slowly driving his thick bulge straight into your clothed heat. The sleek material of his fight shorts slid against your soaked panties, pinning you firmly to the wood with every slow hitch of his pelvis.

Your excitement had completely soaked through the material—the grey cotton was almost translucent, darkening from the moisture and sticking directly to your sensitive, swollen folds. Every time he shifted his weight or rubbed his thumb over you, the damp cloth dragged intimately against your clit.

Sukuna leaned down, his eyes locked on yours, watching your expression fracture. “Look at you” he said with a smirk, as his thumb took one more slow dragging stroke along the damp seam before he finally hooked two fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He slid the wet grey fabric down your legs with an impatient pull—letting it drop to the floor.

Sukuna dropped to his knees, broad shoulders wedging your thighs even wider, pinning your legs back until you were completely spread out for him.

“So fucking wet already. The only lucky charm I need.” He let his breath coat your swollen, slick folds, watching the way you shuddered just from the heat of him. Your core was oozing onto the wooden table, the wet skin glistening under the lights, and a low satisfied breath escaped his chest at the sight. And when his tongue finally made contact, he slid it from the very bottom of your opening all the way up through your slick folds to your throbbing clit in one slow, deep lick.

A sharp gasp caught your throat, your teeth immediately sinking into your lower lip as your hips twitched against the hard table.

“Stay still for me,” he mumbled against your heat, lips flattening against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud entirely into his mouth. Sukuna rested his heavy forearms over your thighs as he lapped your throbbing cunt heavily, his tongue working in aggressive upward swipes through your slick folds, that mirrored the pace of a hard, dirty fuck.

He dragged it out—taking his time to torment you, his tongue flattening to lap broad strokes from your opening to your clit, before narrowing to swirl his wet tongue on the sensitive bud until you were whining, the sound echoing in the concrete room.

Suddenly, rushed footsteps and raised voices echoed right outside the door—the loud, frantic calls of his manager and officials checking the halls. Panicking at the noise, you instantly clamped a hand over your mouth, stifling a loud cry as his tongue swirled over your clit.

Sukuna paused for a second, looking up from between your thighs with amused eyes. He gripped your wrist, firmly pulling your hand away from your face and pinning it down against the table.

“Tryna be quiet?” he murmured.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the voices faded down the corridor. “They’ve heard you before.”

“Sukuna, please, someone's gonna—” you gasped out, your words dissolving into a broken moan as his tongue slammed right back into your wetness.

“Mm…yeah, you like that?” Sukuna hummed with a grin.

Your eyes fluttered back, vision blurring as you looked at the dim ceiling “M-mhm…I do…please…” Fingers instantly tangling into his damp salmon-pink hair, gripping the short strands tightly as you tried to pull him even closer against you. “F-fuck…” you gasped out as your back slightly arched off the wood, your lip digging into your teeth again trying and failing to stifle the ragged whimpers escaping you.

The booming chant of the crowd outside blended with the wet, squelching sounds of his mouth devouring you. You could smell his deodorant, his sweat sticking onto your skin, feel the scratch of his short pink hair against your lower stomach, and the burning touch of his wrapped fingers spreading your wet folds wide so he could dig his tongue even deeper into your pulsing core.

Then, he pushed two thick, gauze-wrapped fingers inside of your cunt.

The rough texture of the tape dragged against your sensitive walls—the friction so sharp it made you sob, your walls clamping tightly around the texture. Sukuna let out a low grunt, immediately taking advantage of how your tightness was sucking his fingers in. He began to pump his fingers hard and fast, the rough gauze dragging in and out of your oozing heat, perfectly hitting your g-spot with every thrust while his tongue continued to lap and suck your clit.

A ragged chain of whines and moans slipped out of your lips while your hands desperately tightened their grip on his hair. The contrast of his rough tape inside your cunt and the soaking wet heat from his mouth against your folds was driving you over the edge. You could feel yourself building, the pressure pooling heavily in your lower stomach until you were trembling from head to toe.

“Sukuna—please, I’m gonna—”

“Give it to me” he murmured against your core. “Right here. Let me taste it.”

He accelerated the pace, his fingers shoving deep and fast, your internal walls contracting violently around the tough gauze. The intense friction snapped the last of your control and your orgasm hit like a physical blow, your back arching off the cold table as your eyes fluttered shut. Your internal muscles were completely squeezing and spasming around Sukuna’s wrapped fingers.

And finally your wave of release flooded out, soaking his hands and spilling directly onto his fingers, the gauze soaking it in as you whimpered, your toes curling slightly and thighs trembling against his broad shoulders as you came hard against his knuckles.

Sukuna didn't back off—he stayed put there, drinking you down greedily, swallowing every drop of your release while his fingers continued to slowly pump inside your wet folds, wringing out every last, fading spasm of your climax, letting his knuckles coat themselves completely in your wetness. He didn't stop until your frantic breathing finally began to slow to a ragged wheeze, his tongue giving one you one final, heavy swipe over your throbbing core.

When Sukuna finally pulled away, a thick, silver string of saliva connected his lips to your wet skin. He stood up, towering over you with his face completely flushed, his lips glistening and wet with you. He used the back of his wrapped wrist to swipe the wetness from his chin—flashing a satisfied look at the mess he made out of you.

Sukuna grabbed his mouthguard off the counter, shoving it into his jaw, and adjusted the waistband of his fight shorts over his aching length.

He gave your warm inner thigh one last reassuring squeeze, smoothing the edge of your denim skirt back down over your legs.

“Shouldn't take long.”

bf!toji becomes totally obsessed with this—knowing he can make you lose control just by touching you makes his ego go through the roof. the sweet boyfriend who hates to see you cry in public completely disappears behind closed doors. in bed, your tears mean he's doing a good job.

bf!toji gets really smug and loves to tease you about it. he’ll purposely slow down, touching the exact spot that makes you crazy, watching your eyes fill with tears while he smirks.

"look at you," he’ll whisper, wiping a tear away with his thumb. "crying already? you're so sweet for me. keep going, let me see how good it feels."

bf!toji loves to push you over the edge by building the friction until you can't take it. he’ll pin your wrists above your head, spreading your legs wide so he can look right at you while he slides all the way inside. every time he thrusts deep and hits your sweet spot, a fresh wave of tears leaks from your eyes, and he just stares down at you with a dark, heavy grin, loving how loud you gasp and sob under him.

bf!toji who will change positions just to make you cry harder. he'll flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up high so he can slide in from behind. the angle is deep and intense, and as he grips your waist hard enough to leave marks, you're burying your face in the pillows to muffle your crying. he'll lean down, his chest pressing against your back, and talk right into your ear.

"baby, let me hear it—turn your head and look at me—god, look at how wet your face is just because i'm stretching you out like this."

bf!toji decides that if you aren't crying by the end of the night, he didn't try hard enough. it becomes a game to him. he will deliberately push you over the edge, using his dick and his dirty mouth to keep you completely overwhelmed until you're shaking and crying in his arms.

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”