Luna

"Hi, baby. How was your day?" you ask him softly, threading your nails in his soft hair.

"Mmm." Good. After more than a year of dating, you perfectly understand the translations of whatever syllables he mutters when he's tired.

You smile into his hair, leaving a kiss on top of his head. He squirmed a little, pressing his hands in your sides, which means that he's blushing now and he's not lifting his head until the redness of his face is gone.

"Did you miss me today?" you say, trying to hide the smile on your face as you keep playing with the short hairs at his neck.

"Mhm." Yes.

"I missed you too, you didn't text me all day." You tug on his hair, knowing damn well that it doesn't hurt him at all, but it's enough to tease him.

"Sorry," he mumbles, leaving a soft kiss behind your ear as an apology like he always does when he messes something up with you.

You giggle, scratching his back. "I wasn't angry, Toshi, jus' joking."

"Oh." You didn't even realize he was tense until he relaxes again, letting his whole weight press over your body.

Some minutes pass, you ask him soft questions and he intertwines his hand with yours at some point, he mumbles something so you keep scratching his back. It's all so calm and simple, and suddenly, you start to be uncomfortable.

The problem with your boyfriend is that he's huge. He knows he's tall but he doesn't know that he's strong as well, that he takes up space. Right now, his feet are dangling off the bed while he's fully on top of you, restricting your breathing. You think about a way of telling him to not get him pouty.

"Toshi," you whisper after kissing his temple again, now you have him flustered there's no way he's going to get sad. "You're crushing me."

"No." And he buries himself deeper into your neck, if that's possible.

Oh, great!

"Baby, you are. You're heavy," you say slowly, pushing lightly with one of your hands because he has the other locked with his forever.

"I'm not heavy."

You blink, biting down a laugh. Is he gaslighting you on accident? You shift under him again, but it's like trying to move a breathing wall. His chest presses so solidly against yours that each breath you take feels smaller than the last.

"Toshi," you try once more, keeping your tone light and sweet, fingers still tangled in his hair. "Baby, I can't breathe properly. You're gonna turn me into a pancake."

He makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat, in complete denial that he is that heavy, and nuzzles closer. His hand squeezes yours a little tighter, thumb brushing circles over your skin. It's so gentle it almost makes you forget how heavy he actually is.

You smile softly against his temple, pressing another kiss there. "If you don't move a tiny bit, I'm gonna die of drowning right here in my own bed."

That does it.

Ushijima goes completely still for a second, the words take a moment to sink in, then he lifts his head just enough for you to catch the wide-eyed look on his face. His cheeks are still faintly pink from earlier, but now there's a flash of real worry there. Without another word, he pushes himself up with those strong arms, careful not to jostle you too much, and rolls all the way to the very edge of the bed.

The sudden rush of cool air on your chest makes you inhale deep and you can't help the quiet laugh that bubbles up. He's lying there on his side now, as far away as he can get without falling off, one arm hanging awkwardly off the mattress. His hair is even messier than when he arrived, sticking up in every direction and he won't quite meet your eyes.

"Sorry," he mutters, it sounds so small coming from someone his size. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Your heart melts right there. You turn toward him, reaching out to tug gently at his wrist until he scoots just a little closer. Not enough to crush you again, but close enough that you can trace your fingers along his jaw.

"Come back here," you whisper, soft as a secret. "You didn't hurt me. I just needed some air, that's all. You're my favorite weighted blanket, even if you're too good at it sometimes."

He finally glances at you, the awkward furrow between his brows softening. Slowly, letting him test the waters, he shifts back toward the middle of the bed. His hand finds yours again and he carefully brings it up to press a shy kiss to your knuckles.

You pull him in until your noses brush. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"Mm," he hums, the sound vibrating between you. His free hand comes up to rest lightly on your waist, thumb stroking the edge of your shirt. "Me too."

a/n: don't ask me why but he was such a complicated character to figure out. thank you @fancy-possum for helping me with this<33

"Itachi," you say again, your voice coming out softer than you meant it to,. You run your fingers through his long dark hair, smoothing it back from his face even as you pretend to be annoyed. "Come on, baby. I really have to go this time. I missed three classes last week because of you."

"Mm… five more minutes," he mumbles, his voice sleepy and rough. His fingers lace together over your belly, locking you in place with that quiet strength of his.

You tilt your head down to look at him. His face is half-hidden against you, but you can see the peaceful curve of his lips, the way his lashes fan out on his cheeks. God, he's so pretty it should be illegal.

"You said that twenty minutes ago. I have a quiz today, you know how much I need to pass this class."

He shifts then, slowly lifting his head enough to rest his chin on your stomach. Those big dark eyes blink open, and fuck. His pupils are so wide and soft, swallowing up most of the deep obsidian color until they look like endless pools of warmth. He stares up at you with this perfect, innocent puppy expression, the thought of you leaving him even for a couple hours is the saddest thing in the entire world. His lower lip juts out just a tiny bit, not quite a pout but close enough to make your resolve crumble.

"But you'll come back right after, right?" he asks quietly, kind of purring. One of his hands slides up your back under your shirt, tracing lazy circles on your skin that make goosebumps rise everywhere. "I wanted to make breakfast for you."

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too wide, because you know he's doing this on purpose. Itachi is never this openly clingy with anyone else, but with you? He's like a big cat and you're his favorite human.

"You're impossible," you whisper, cupping his cheek with one hand. Your thumb brushes over his smooth skin. "What happened to my cool and mysterious boyfriend who used to act all aloof? Now you're just a giant teddy bear who won't let me out of bed."

He turns his face into your palm and presses a lingering kiss there, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I only act cool when other people are around," he admits softly. "Stay a little longer? Please? I hate waking up without you next to me."

You lean down and kiss his forehead, then the tip of his nose, because how can you not when he's looking at you like that? "Baby, I love you so much, but I seriously need to go. My professor already emailed me about attendance. If I miss this one, I might actually fail."

Itachi lets out a dramatic little sigh, but he doesn't loosen his grip. Instead, he rolls over slightly, pulling you with him until you're draped across his chest. Your notebook and laptop are forgotten on the edge of the bed now, his arms wrap around you fully, one hand cradling the back of your head so you can hear his steady heartbeat.

"Just ten minutes," he negotiates, his fingers playing with curls of your hair. "I'll make it worth it. I can help you study after class too."

You laugh quietly against his shirt, burying your face in the fabric because his scent is so comforting it makes you want to say yes to everything. You know damn well he isn't going to help you in anything.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes! You know what they do to me."

"What eyes?" he asks innocently, but the way he widens them even more, tilting his head like a lost puppy, tells you he's fully aware. His hand rubs soothing circles on your lower back. "I just want my girlfriend here with me. Is that so bad? The bed feels too big when you're gone."

You peek up at him, your chin resting on his chest. His hair is all messy from sleep, falling around his shoulders in silky waves. "You're so dramatic." You make a little pause, looking away and then right back at him. "Five minutes."

"Ten."

"Seven. And don't push it or I'll leave right now."

He pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head as he tucks you against him perfectly. You snuggle into him, breathing in his warmth, knowing damn well that these mornings are some of your favorite things in the world.

"You're lucky you're so cute," you mumble against his neck.

"And you're lucky I love you this much."

a/n: first time writing for itachi, sorry

taglist: @ryoride @liahcharms @munji-tunji @mumumu-chuu @vcmpirus

The meeting he had just left was running late, his afternoon had been disrupted and the chaos he had yet to dispel was surely about to be unleashed on some unsuspecting intern.

"I've worked here far too long for superiors to still be unable to summarize a damn meetinggg~" Gojo hummed around a mouthful of croissant he had stolen from the client table. The editor that typically sat beside you would have flinched at Gojo's current gesticulation mid-rant.

You missed the peace she brought you when Gojo came around. Crumbs fell as the man licked his fingers. "Wasting my time like that, someone's gotta let them go."

You spun in your chair, looking back to see if Yaga, the company's publishing editor-in-chief, the very man Satoru Gojo was badmouthing over a sip of smoothie, was hearing his insults.

You didn't even blink when the very 'superior' exited from the conference room, waving Gojo off. The interns seemed even more worried. "The office doesn't revolve around your snacking schedule, Gojo. If you want perfect synchronicity, you might as well quit."

The apprentices looked between each other and you smiled them off, silently telling them to get back to researching the projects they were supposed to be putting together.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Satoru squinted, judging your very existence with his gaze.

He sighed theatrically, lounging himself across an open swivel chair of the empty editors cubical as if sitting through an assembly was the greatest waste of his precious- "They should know how important my time is-"

You roll your eyes, cutting him off, "Oh yes, so terribly important that you're spending it eating and bitching to me."

If you were being wholly honest, the shareholders in that meeting should be grateful. You'd never say it aloud, but Satoru Gojo wasn't just a writer. He was a cultural phenomenon. In his early twenties, he had already been revered for his reporting and interviewing skills, his name had graced more publications post-grad than you had even after building your portfolio.

His rate per word was outrageous as well as his schedule: a true nightmare. The Tokyo Times was beyond lucky to have been able to keep him on the team for as long as they had.

He sighed, rolling his eyes, the drama queen. He reached across you, stealing one of your pens and spinning it around amidst his fingers. "'The only reason I haven't jumped ship is because it brings me." He glided out of the chair and leaned against your cubicle, sliding the pen along the decor you had there, observing it, "so much pleasure", you wince at his seductive tone, "to bring you…annoyance." You smack his hand before he can poke the fat of your cheek with the writing utensil.

Satoru grins, spinning away with your pen, scraping up a donut before making the way back to his office. His very own, if you were curious.

One of the trainees from earlier was watching this interaction. He had a look of shock on his face as if he couldn't imagine someone smacking The Satoru Gojo.

You'd like to imagine he just couldn't fathom such a well-revered writer being so immature, but alas, that was less likely.

If it was possible for someone to be more critical than yourself when it came to work, it was Satoru. He had this sadistic urge in him that made it impossible to not call out the mistakes of others. It stung. That was the truth, but you would rather he tell you his thoughts then lie to your face and laugh behind your back.

Working with him was more of a challenge than a motivation most days. The salary was a great motivation, though. Yaga and his team paid you well. More than that though, was the rage to outlive that white haired tantrum of a man.

You could see it in the way he smirked at you, in the way his eyes found yours when you would slip up, the way he never seemed to take you seriously. This might just be the worst aspect of your personality; you just couldn't help but want to impress people, even if they didn't respect you.

"He seems like fun to work alongside." One of the interns had left the side of his fellow novices. Making small talk, telling a joke.

You shrug at the young man, "Most can't tolerate him for longer than a fiscal quarter. I hope you have what it takes."

He looked down at his shoes suddenly, "Me too."

He was tall, or taller than you at least, sweet, and earnest. He dressed up for every day at the office, he was never late, and he greeted every employee by name - to put it simply, he made a good impression. You turn your chair to him, "How are you liking your internship, is it the experience you hoped for?"

He smiled again, and his eyes practically twinkled. "I'm very grateful for the experience, I'll continue to work hard."

"I have no doubt." You nodded encouragingly at him and turned to face the screen before you. You figured he would move onto his fellows, go work on his project maybe, but he stayed standing there for a moment too long.

He heaved a breath as if steeling himself to say something risky. "Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you."

He looked suddenly shy, "I've read a lot of your stuff, you've been a real inspiration to me, and being able to work here has been-"

You know where this is going, you give him an understanding nod. Reading off the name on his chest, you lean in conspiratorially, whispering "I'm sorry, I won't be able to sway the decisions on who gets offered jobs after your program is up. But you're a hard worker, I'm sure y-"

He startles suddenly, waving his hands frantically, "No! Oh, no, no, I'm not... asking for anything like that... I'm sorry I came off that way, I was just... well," He swallows, and you attempt to track his eyes as they wander, confused about what he could possibly want from you.

"I just... I admire you a lot. You're bright, and...you're beautiful...and I was actually wondering if I could buy you a meal sometime?" He sounded so unsure of himself but he was standing up straight, breathing through his nose.

You weren't sure what to say. You knew you weren't unattractive but to be completely frank, people didn't ask you out. You chalked it up to being intimidating or perpetually busy, or a control freak. Whatever the cause, you were not accustomed to people liking you in that way.

You flush.

"Oh..." You had to replay his words over and over again. Your mouth opened and closed, and you tried to weigh what he was asking. He was cute, but also… he was an intern at the company you worked for.

Before you could even formulate a response, you were jerked back to reality when the gentleman who had just so adamantly confessed his feelings made an "aagh!" noise.

Yaga was tugging him by the ear. "You, young man, better get back to work before I deduct points from your final presentation for fraternization."

He looked overcome with embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck while apologies spilled from his mouth. Yaga flicked him gently before he could bow anymore and rolled his eyes your way.

Dumbstruck, you stared at the screen of your computer for a long while. A dozen tabs were open, your task bar was still full of items you needed to get to today, even so, you found yourself cupping your cheeks, feeling the blood that had pooled there.

"Please don't tell me that was your type."

You're not sure when he appeared, but Gojo Satoru was staring at you with discernment. He had a judgmental eyebrow raised and he was tongue-ing at his cheek.

"Jesus." You huff, stretching your jaw, trying to brush off the flush you felt atop your ears. "What on earth are you doing?"

You made a brave attempt to type something onto a notation sheet. Dispelling the embarrassment that came with someone actually liking you.

"What am I doing? Look at yourself, you're all sheepish over some kid hitting on you."

You choke, "He's not a kid! He's graduated."

Satoru squints at you now, moving even closer. "Oh my gosh," he pulls a 'I'm-grossed-out-by-you-but-intrigued-all-the-same' face and continues, "are you actually into younger guys?"

"No!" You pant, your hands spread. He wasn't even that much younger than you, but being pressed about anything romantic, especially from Gojo was embarrassing.

"What's with this face you're pulling then?" He tapped the pen he had so rudely stolen earlier atop the wall of your cubicle, "I've never seen you all-" he fake gags, "-shy like this."

You huff, trying to find the words. "I'm-" you scoff, trying again, "not all of us are so used to...that sort of thing."

He straightens up suddenly, pulling his lips together, "Are you saying like... being flirted with?" He chuckles at the idea and you grit your teeth.

Breathing in, you try to laugh, trying to sound nonchalant, but it comes out annoyed. "Yes, Gojo, not everyone has people falling at their feet all the time."

Have I mentioned that Satoru, on top of being an incredibly talented creative, was a painfully striking individual to look at? Well, sure, he was very symmetrical. And tall. And he had...nice teeth. Veins too. It’s fair to say he wasn't lacking when it came to attention.

"So...you like him then." Somehow, he seemed offended at the idea.

"No, not necessarily." Was he trying to insinuate you were some kind of creep? He couldn't have been more than two years your junior. "But he was nice..."

"Nice?" Satoru wheezed. You didn't move. This whole interaction was ticking you off. Gojo's guffaws continued until he noticed you were just silently staring at him. "Are you serious?" He wiped a faux tear.

Why this was so upsetting for you, you couldn't quite place. "Yes, Gojo." You had a bit of an insulted tone to your voice, you wondered why he didn't seem to care about wasting his precious time with you suddenly.

"What... that's all it takes with you?"

Gears began to turn in Satorus' brain as he observed you now, taking in the new information.

"Normal people like niceness, Satoru, crazy, I know." You refuse to meet his gaze but he stands infuriatingly still, arms crossed, before his head canters to the side as if considering the concept for the first time.

"hmm..."

He shifts on his feet. You grow more tense by the second, waiting for his next snide comment. He clicks the pen a few times before slowly, setting it back on your desk. And then he was finally gone.

'Fuga.'

You're interested immediately. Coming to a stop outside, the meaning of the shop name is printed in white on the window. 'Fuga — One of the Japanese meanings of this is 'a way of elegance or grace'. We hope to include fuga with every order that we take; there's no rush, just sit back and enjoy.'

The opening and closing times are also unusual. They're open in time for the usual morning rush hour but unlike other coffee stores, they stay open until 9pm. You can't imagine the shifts that their staff must take and how much happens behind the scenes.

Despite being hidden, it is the morning rush hour on a weekday and through the window you can clearly see that there is a queue forming. Underrated coffee shops get discovered pretty quickly these days thanks to social media and it's not long until they'll be announcing a sister location somewhere else in the city.

Stepping inside, a bell chimes overhead but it's drowned out due to the hustle and bustle inside the shop. The scent of crushed coffee beans hits you immediately and the sound of lofi music playing in the background is just about heard over the level of conversations in the store.

Joining the queue, your eyes scan the cafe. It's pretty spacey compared to the other units that most coffee shops rent out. There's clearly more places to sit in the back and all of the window seats are currently taken. There's a handful of students and people in suits either sat working away on their laptops or taking a call. In the corner an old man is sitting back and enjoying a cup of his own hot coffee.

There's three people currently manning the counter and you worry whether that means service is slow but on further observation you notice they work well, weaving in and out of each other. There's a man situated at the till, tall and large you first notice. Then you see that he has pink hair and it's only when you inch closer to being served that you notice he has an array of black tattoos. They're printed on his face as well as around his wrists and you start to wonder how many baristas you've seen with face tattoos.

He seems to be the first.

Behind him seems to be a white haired figure with a plum pink stripe dyed into their hair. It's clear that whoever employs these people are very laid back with how they are presented. The figure moves quickly but also with caution pouring and making drinks before bringing them to the collection section and calling out a name.

You've been so caught up in studying the new environment of the cafe that you don't even realise that it's your turn next. You haven't had the chance to look at the menu so when you finally do, you're left with your mouth open in front of the tattooed man. And on closer observation you find that he's rather intimidating.

"Good morning." you greet.

"What do you want?" he asks in a monotone tone evident that he's been repeating this question for a while. You brush off the fact that he hasn't greeted you back and you simply hum as you stare at the menu.

It's evident that you're irritating the barista by not even knowing what you want, the bored expression on his face and his finger impatiently tapping the counter. Your eyes are scanning the menu until he finally says something that in all of your years of going to local cafes have never heard in your life.

"Can you hurry up?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said," he draws as if it's painfully inconveniencing him to repeat himself, "can you hurry up? There's a queue behind you." It's evident in his tone that he's not asking but rather ordering you to do so and for a split second there's a moment in which you forget that you are in fact the customer.

"I'm aware." you say, "I'm deciding."

"You had two minutes to decide." he retorts.

"I've never been here before, of course I'm going to take my time looking at the menu." you keep a calm tone making it clear that you don't want any misunderstandings.

"Do you want a medal? What's your order?"

Fine. You think to yourself, you're gonna give him the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe it's been a long morning, maybe he wasn't supposed to be on shift today but then got called in, maybe he's just an asshole. You don't care. But what you do care about is getting your morning coffee as usual.

"Vanilla latte with oat milk please."

"We're out of oat milk." he announces keeping his tone flat with enough space to add some frustration into it as if this was your own fault.

"Really?"

He doesn't reply, keeping a blank face that silently asks 'do I look like I'm joking?'

"Uhhh, could I get an iced strawberry matcha then please?"

"We're out."

You hold back a sigh, forcing a tight lipped smile on your face. "Fine. A cappuccino. Any milk you have. Please."

The barista doesn't look up, tapping onto a screen. "Regular or large?"

"What's the difference?" you ask.

He points to the side where the size cup differences are shown and as usual the large is 50p extra.

"Regular."

"Name?"

After giving your name, he mutters something under his breath and if you were in a bad mood this morning then you would have asked him what his issue was but instead you keep quiet, silently wishing he spills lukewarm coffee all over his disgustingly attractive face. Somehow. If it was logical to spill coffee on one's face.

"Four fifty. Tap your card and stand over there." he orders without any patience.

You don't even think twice before tapping your phone and moving immediately. In your mind you continue to curse him forever whilst watching his back muscles move swiftly as he makes your drink. Him and the white haired figure switched places with him making your order and his co-worker now at the till.

You expected a long wait but it takes less than five minutes before he's yelling out your name with impatience.

And he pronounced it wrong.

Whether it was on purpose or he wasn't listening to you at all, you'll never know but you go ahead and take your order. You can't even say thank you directly before he's rushing off and completing another order. Deciding to get out as soon as possible, you grab as many sugar packets you need, a stirrer and you head on out.

"How fucking rude." you mutter to yourself, opening the lid to your cappuccino. There's no latte art and you wouldn't expect there to be given the rush. You pour your sugar in and stir until satisfied, slowly making your way to the office building.

Sure, you know baristas are sometimes not the most welcoming people given the high stress level of their jobs and you've come across some reclusive baristas before but this one…he's just plain rude. You don't usually complain about how people do their job but this one has really struck a nerve.

How was he hired in the first place? Does the manager know he speaks to customers like this? How did he even pass an interview to get hired for this place? Does he act like this with all his customers?

Those are the questions that you continue to ask yourself whilst on the way to work, you get a little distracted after taking a sip of your coffee and coming to find out that your cappuccino is actually pretty good. Usually some cafes don't do cappuccinos the right way but there's something about this cup that makes you wonder what exact type of coffee bean they use.

You make a mental note to check later in your free time and it's not long before you start to feel rejuvenated by your coffee. Despite your bad customer service, you still manage to get a good cup of coffee to support your day and it's almost enough to forget your bad interaction.

*** Almost.

That cup of coffee was good.

Good enough to make you check their company website and check their 'about us' page.

And of course it just so happens that you stumble onto their google reviews.

Fuga Coffee Shop | reviews (54)

Naturally, your laptop cursor clicks onto their reviews. They only opened two months ago so it's understandable why the reviews must be so low, they're just starting out. The reviews are automatically filtered to their top reviews, which is from just over two weeks ago.

ihatemonkeys009

The grumpy tattooed barista is a little anti-social but he makes the best lattes ever! will be coming back again! four stars.

"A little?" you say aloud to yourself, "give me a break."

The review that follows under that is also highly popular.

ghostsarerealiswear2334_67

free wifi and they open early and don't close till late?! best study place ever! (please like my review!) five stars.

kentoforwork89

A nice and newly established restaurant under the Japanese name 'Fuga', the name is fitting for its elegant service and high quality coffee. They have a wide range on the menu and serve food too. The cafe is spacious, plenty of space to study or work and if you use electronics they have power sockets dotted around. Good prices for the service and highly reliable. I will be coming here again as it is not overwhelmingly busy or loud like some other places. I highly recommend. four and a half stars.

ilovesweetssooooooooooomuchhhgojo9838

tHE tattooed barisSta maybe be cold hoever his coffees are the warmest!!!!! xoxoxoxo peefect date location (soz for typos idid this fast on my phone so i coulget fre emochi) FIVE STARTS

You let out a sigh reading the reviews, it's a little cheesy but you get the point. Reading all 54 reviews you've come to find that a lot of people find the same tattooed barista annoying but miraculously all is forgotten once you've tried a coffee from him.

There isn't one totally bad review — maybe from an AI bot who says that the location is in a whole other city but other than that it's clear that this cafe is a new and upcoming contender as one of the best spots in the city.

And that doesn't sit right in your soul.

Taking this personally as someone who runs a company, you understand that if people were talking about your employees in this manner then they would be subject to being fired. You're confused on how this man is still employed even after fifty reviews, surely the owner must be reading them.

You sit in silence for a while as you contemplate.

Should you?

Or shouldn't you?

Hesitant, your fingers hover over your keyboard, testing out a sentence.

i tried this cafe as a new customer — no, no, too cliche, you backspace your sentence entirely.

Thinking for a moment, you reflect on what you want to say. You start typing slowly before it all flows within your fingertips, a mini paragraph forming on your screen. You're writing in the heat of the moment, out of pure frustration and embarrassment. Most people would be able to forgive and forget but well…unfortunately you're not most people.

anonymouscapybara45

this place is relatively new in this city and as a coffee lover i was extremely enthusiastic to try this place out. my high hopes for this cafe were quickly crushed once i was (not even greeted) but completely mistreated by the tattooed barista.

i did not like this service, no matter how good the quality of the coffee was.

i do not think a barista should be talking to customers like this. i felt severely unwelcomed and i am having second thoughts on returning to this place.

there's better and kinder staff in other cafes in the city who i will gladly give my money too.

1 out of 5 stars.

Sure, it's a little…Karen but you feel petty. Highlighting all the adverbs makes you think that your english teacher from high school would be proud. There's a small feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach as it dawns on you that your review will be the first one star review the company has ever had.

But this is not a baseless review. You actually felt this way at the time. It's a little exaggerated but who cares, they don't know you and they never will because you're not stepping foot there ever again.

There's not much satisfaction in the world that you can get other than pressing post on your review.

***

An hour later you've moved on with your life. You've settled into your home, following your post-work routine and you're now sitting on your couch. Your phone lights up with a notification and your eyes land on the screen.

You get a notification from your gmail that someone has mentioned you in a reply and with your thumb clicking on the message your eyes slightly widen.

The owner has replied to your message.

And for the first time it seems because they haven't seemed to reply to all the other positive messages on the site.

You'd forgotten that this was an option for them, simply thinking that your review would just get the employee removed. Your eyes skim over the reply.

From the Owner of Fuga in reply to anonymouscapybara45

Hello valued customer,

we apologise that you have had this experience recently, it is never our intention to make our customers feel this way. Our company and brand relies majorly on the respect and communication with our customers which is always taught and trained to our employees. We apologise for the actions and behaviour of our barista and on behalf of the company we would like to invite you to have any item on our menu free of charge over the course of the week. We would like to give you a seven day voucher and invite you back to a better atmosphere of our cafe to show you truly how we treat our customers.

Please pop into our cafe at your convenience. We look forward to seeing you and we apologise again for your experience.

Kind regards,

Fuga Owner (Jin Itadori)

Your mind is baffled.

Free drinks…for a week? Because of your bad review?

Not even the other low starred reviews have had this level of response from the owner. You're the first one star review they've had and they haven't even responded maliciously. You can't pass up on this good of an opportunity to have free coffee for the next week? You could be saving a ridiculous amount of money.

You re-read the review a few times to make sure that it still seems real to your eyes.

Maybe it will be the last time that you'll see that barista again.

**

You try your luck the following day. You're a bit more hopeful walking into the coffee shop the next day. It's a little less busier than the previous day and the queue is a little shorter.

But most important of them all, you don't see that tattooed jerk around.

This time serving the till is the white haired figure you saw making the drinks the last time you arrived. Behind them works another person that you haven't seen before who has their back turned making orders.

Soon enough it's your turn to go up to the till.

"Hello." They greet and almost immediately you feel comfortable that you won't be shunned for simply being a customer at this cafe.

"Good morning," you greet back with a smile before explaining your situation. "This may be a bit awkward but uhm, I was the customer who wrote a review of this cafe and uh— the owner said I was given a voucher as some sort of compensation."

For a second you thought you were scammed or that the entire thing was a lie just to catch the poor customer who's written terrible reviews but you watch as the wave of recognition hits the barista.

Instead they nod and say, "one moment" before turning around to head to the back. You shift from one foot to the other, patiently waiting and in the meantime thinking of what you'd want to get as your first free drink.

Your smile soon drops once you see the figure that follows the person that you were speaking to at the till.

That tattooed bastard.

His eyes widen slightly at the sight of you before turning into a miserable frown, clearly he wasn't expecting you to be the customer who wrote the review but there's also something that tells you that he's not totally surprised.

The white haired barista makes their way back to you, "If you go over to Sukuna he can help you with your voucher."

Sukuna. Now you know his name. And now you know he's somehow still employed by this damn coffee shop.

You walk over with hesitation and you can't help but notice Sukuna's eyes watching you as you make your over to a quiet area.

"It was you." he says but there's no bite to his tone. It's merely a statement he's making but you don't miss the judgement in his eyes.

"I was being honest." you shrug, holding your head high. You have no regrets whatsoever, you were merely giving constructive feedback about an environment that felt hostile to you. About a certain someone who was hostile.

Sukuna leans in a little closer to you, one hand placed on the counter as he speaks to you. "Because of you and your stupid review I have to serve you free drinks for a week, which is coming out of my pay by the way."

"Maybe it'll teach you how to speak nicer to customers." you retort back.

You notice his hand turning into a tight fist, gripping the counter, clearly holding back on responding to you. With his other hand he slides over a piece of paper. "Here's your damn voucher and, no I didn't write it, so what do you want?"

You tilt your head a little at him.

Sukuna corrects himself and in a deadpan monotone he starts over. "Hello. Welcome to Fuga. What would you like today?"

A satisfied smile reaches your lips. "Much better. I would like an iced strawberry matcha with oat milk please."

"Regular or large?"

"Hmm since it's on the house, large please."

"It's not on the house…" he mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Hmmmmm."

Sukuna disappears, diving into the hustle and bustle of his other colleagues making your own personal drink. As he makes your drink you look over your voucher, Sukuna's written today's date already and the expiry date is set seven days from now.

Once again, your order doesn't take him long and you spot your green and pink drink in his large hands. Approaching he hands your drink over to you which you thank before taking a sip.

On your tongue, the grassy flavour is immediately sedated by the sweetness of the strawberry at the bottom. There's the perfect amount of ice and matcha in your drink for you to enjoy and it takes everything in you not to fall to your knees and praise Sukuna on how great he's made this drink.

"Not bad." you murmur, downplaying your enthusiasm. "Can I get another free drink?"

"One per day stupid."

"The voucher doesn't clarify that, it's handwritten."

"I don't care."

"Would you like me to write another poor review?"

Now this is what gets Sukuna clenching his jaw together. He takes a pause, calming himself down before speaking to you again. "No anonymouscapybara45 I wouldn't like that because you got me in a lot of shit for this."

You don't flinch when he mentions your username. Ah, so he's read the review then. You quip back, "Your boss fire you yet?"

"No," and there's a slight pout, "he's just annoying the shit out of me at the moment."

"Hmm right, if you make me an iced vanilla latte with oat milk to go I think I might just refrain from writing a bad review about you for today."

You watch as he clenches his jaw in frustration. "Just this once. For the rest of the days you get one drink only."

"And a sweet treat!" you chime in.

Sukuna pauses, mulling over your suggestion. He lets out a sigh.

"A free drink and a snack." He offers.

"Deal." You outstretch your free hand to shake on.

Sukuna looks at your hand in pure disgust like you've just offered to spit in his mouth. "Deal. Just don't make my job harder than it needs to be." he mutters.

"I don't think I can promise that." you reply and you watch in pure satisfaction as he walks away mumbling to himself.

you loved every aspect of it, when he would be fucking so deep, the low drag of his dick pulling out from inside you till just his tip remained and he slammed back inside of you.

it was mesmerizing how heavy he was everywhere. how he didn’t need to do much barely lifting a finger or flexing a muscle to move you in any position he wanted.

but it was perfect watching him in missionary his long, bulky figure sweaty above you, his arms anchored at the sides of your head.

steady for him and a reminder for you of how fucking strong he was. how he could hold you in a armlock and fuck you how he wanted.

or he could bend you over anywhere, anyhow and take you cause you were his.

you’d imagine that’s your favorite position anything that demonstrated his otherworldly strength. the slight cut off of your airflow turning your moans get lighter and breathy while he fucked you on his lap.

or maybe a full nelson, feeling the stretch of your legs as sukuna forced you past what you thought your limit was, feeling the burn as he huffed only focusing on cumming and not the desperate squirm of your body with the new found angle.

but no.

your favorite position was missionary, missionary since you can wrap your legs around the sturdy expanse of his waist as he pressed back inside of you.

your arms could wrap, and scratch around his back and pull his large frame over to give you another kiss.

but your favorite part was when you’d press your hand firmly in the middle of his large back, catching him off guard and pressing all 280 pounds of muscle in top of you until you felt your chest constrict.

some might assume you’re a masochist, torturing yourself like this, feeling your body fight underneath your boyfriends as you chased your orgasm.

or maybe feeling the dark tingle in your lower abdomen as he nipped at your neck, eyes slightly wider than usual watching you heave below him but not wanting to stop.

and how hard it was you came when he finally accepted his fate and lessened the weight in his arms to lie fully on you, hearing the breathless gasp escape out your mouth while you scratch and cum helplessly under him.

but even regular life wasn’t much better.

sukuna could chalk it up to a kink, a sick desire you had or a underlying urge to be close to him.

but he couldn’t understand this.

on the train you’d always push to get on the crowded one, even with another a few minutes begin.

insisting that you stood at the door and he covered you, and every single time without fail he crushes you.

his hard body swinging from the influx of people or the harsh curve of the train, pressing you further and further to the door. and it’s not like you would move away, or that you could.

but he would observe your gleaming eyes, the tight hold you’d have on his dress shirt and the bite of your lips as you finally took a deep shaky breath when he would finally get to back an inch away.

though he was also concerned when it was time to sleep.

“c’monnnn kuna” you’d whine spread like a starfish out on your bed while he you watched your shirtless boyfriend at the end of the bed.

whose arms were folded, his eyebrows scrunched as he watched you almost scared.

“this is concerning even for you.”

“please baby, i’m always on top of you anyways.”

“no.”

“no?”

“no.”

yet and still he found himself, not even ten minutes later, laid out on top of you his heavy chest crushing yours again as you hummed underneath him pleased.

“there is no way you’re comfortable under there”, his muffled voice answered as you basically purred, rubbing his back.

“very.”

“and no way you can breathe.”

“gotten used to it.”

you’re unreal. but still he couldn’t be too bothered watching your light breathes when he turned with his bed head and see the small smile splayed out in your face.

and you?

this wouldn’t the last time you’d want sukuna’s full weight.