ivythink

[ivythink]

"Need saving?"

SPIDERMAN!CALEB: Skyhaven's Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman

[ivythink]

why'd u decide to make sukuna president of the us and not prime minister of japan /gen 😭

i was fantasizing about a better government

[ivythink]

colleague!satoru gojo with a reader who often gets spoken over and interrupted. ❦ cw ; gn!reader. pure fluff <33

masterlist

colleague!gojo who’s the talk of the office wherever he goes. he’s the top salesman and for good reason, his numbers outshine those of the rest of the company as he uses his good looks and effortless charm to land deals. he clearly enjoys the attention too, because wherever he goes, the office seems to follow.

still, colleague!gojo notices there’s one face that’s never in the crowd. your pretty face. tucked into the back corner of the office buried in spreadsheets, you excuse your absence from gatherings by being too busy, but don’t think that colleague!gojo hasn’t noticed the truth.

because for all his bravado, he’s more observant than he’d have you think. you’re caught off-guard when you round a corner and spot colleague!gojo speaking with a number of your co-workers in a circle. pulling the earbuds from your ears, you tune in and attempt to offer your insight, only to get drowned out by a louder voice.

colleague!gojo’s heart sinks when you try to chip into the conversation again, but are quickly interrupted. the way you dejectedly cast your gaze to the side and put your earbuds back in before slipping away leaves his sharp blue eyes trailing after you. maybe you aren’t as shy as he’d once thought, just a quieter voice in the crowd.

colleague!gojo finds his way to your desk more often after that. It’s happenstance, he tells you, that clients simply need more numbers these days. proof that the company’s formula works. you don’t question him, you don’t interact with the sales team often and you have no reason to think he’s lying.

colleague!gojo loves the way you grin and giggle when he can’t help but flirt with you. something about the cadence of your voice and the genuine care in your eyes as he talks sales has him aching for more time with you. you may fall into the background to others, but you’re the goddamn star of the office to him.

colleague!gojo who finds you lingering at the edge of conversations more often and when you finally attempt to offer an opinion only to get talked over, he doesn’t let it slide. “what was that?” he queries, speaking over the person who interrupted you. he doesn’t mind the glares he gets in return, his eyes are only on you. meekly, you find your voice and get to say your piece.

colleague!gojo doesn’t miss the way your eyes linger on him, chewing on your lower lip with a grateful expression. from that day forward, he makes a point to include you. coffee meetings and runs no longer miss your office, treats find their way to your office first and any gatherings seem to conveniently move near your little nook.

colleague!gojo’s new favorite place to sit becomes the side of your desk as he inquires about numbers. it may have started out as a lie, but the charts you provide actually do help him land deals.

leaning over your desk to get a glimpse of your screen as you explain something, colleague!gojo quickly notices the way your phrase trails off and you grow quiet. you brush him off when he asks why you got quiet, but he insists that you continue. he may come across as oblivious, but he knows you’re worried you’re talking too much. you’re not, though. and you should trust him, he’s the king of yapping and he knows what qualifies as ‘too much’. besides, he insists, you’re his friend.

friend!gojo who stops asking who in the office wants coffee and just shows up at your office with an expectant look. what starts uncertainly with you insisting you need to focus quickly becomes routine. You grab your coat and join his side.

friend!gojo quickly realizes you’re not as shy at all, you’re just a quieter presence than the rest of the office and you get spoken over a lot. he likes this side of you, the more excitable and chatty one that seems to be reserved for him and he hopes to see it more often.

friend!gojo who travels a lot for work and quickly finds himself coming to the realization that what started as passing thoughts of what you’re up to on the other side of the country has become longing. he misses you like hell.

friend!gojo who realizes just how down bad he is when he finds himself sending your coffee order to the office on the daily on one of his longest trips away. he doesn’t have your number, or hell even your extension, and he’s never felt himself blush quite as hard as he does when he needs to call the receptionist and have her patch him through to you.

friend!gojo didn’t even consider what he would say when he called, he just did it. now, sitting on the line with you, he’s stumbling through words just to ask for a spreadsheet. you giggle, and like music to his ears, you give him the confidence he needs to ask for your number.

sitting in his hotel room late that night, friend!gojo finds it in him to ask you out. he won’t be back until the end of the week and he doesn’t like the idea of not seeing you and hardly even talking to you the whole time he’s away.

friend!gojo pulls out all the stops for your date. he picks you up and even buckles you into the passenger seat, which makes you laugh as you insist it’s too much, and takes you on a drive of the outer city until you reach your destination.

friend!gojo makes his way around the car to open the door, watching the way the fair lights gleam in your eyes as he takes your hand. he keeps you close all night, making every cheesy move you can imagine. that adorable (but way too big) plush cat you point out? it’s yours on his third try (he’s just that good, he insists). the mini donuts you want to share? he would never say no to sweets. the photo booth you eye, unsure if you should say something? good luck hiding your longing stare from him, he’s dragging you inside.

friend!gojo who waits until you’re at the top of the ferris wheel to make a move. his lips are soft and sweet, with a light dusting of cinnamon sugar from the donuts you shared. you can’t help but laugh at just how cheesy the egotistical top salesman really is.

you keep things on the downlow within the company, not rushing to declare your interest in one another to the world and enjoying your time alone together, but you quickly become the talk of the office when a giant bouquet of flowers arrives one morning. no one knows who sent them to you, but they don’t need to ask when the top salesman returns from his outing and bolts to your office to capture your lips. from that moment forward, boyfriend!gojo wastes no expense sending you gifts whenever he’s away.

but most importantly, boyfriend!gojo never lets someone speak over you again.

masterlist

writing & format © starmapz. dividers © adornedwithlight.

[ivythink]

Okay. Breathe, Satoru. You can do this. It's just a sleepover. Just your girlfriend. Just the person you're absolutely, irrevocably obsessed with. Who you're trying really, really hard not to scare off.

Standing in your apartment, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep from touching everything. You’re flitting around, casual, relaxed, while he’s trying to memorize the shape of your furniture, the smell of your space, the way you hum when you walk into the kitchen.

Satoru's baby-blues locking onto the bathroom door. “I’ll, uh... shower first, if that’s okay?” like it’s the most neutral, chill request ever. It’s not. He’s sweating. His ears are pink. You nod like it’s no big deal - of course it’s no big deal - but to him? It’s a very big deal.

He gently closes the bathroom door behind him. Worries if he makes too much of a sound, he will be banned from your fine establishment. Your things are everywhere. Shampoo bottles, conditioner, your razor, a little candle half-burned on the sink, your loofah hanging from the shower knob, the loofah. He stares at it for too long.

Are we at the loofah-sharing stage? Satoru wonders, frozen in place. It’s pink. Fluffy. It looks soft, and it’s yours, and he’s fighting every stupid urge in his body. “Don’t be weird,” muttering aloud, as if he can command himself into normalcy. Still, his fingers twitch. He holds it. Briefly. Gently. Just for a second. Just to say he did.

Then comes the body wash. He squirts out the tiniest amount and rubs it between his hands like it’s precious perfume. The scent hits him and he nearly slides down the wall. You smell like this. You smell like this all the time. How is he supposed to survive? Because now he smells like you.

Pressing his face into the steam and pretends it’s your neck. He’s sick. Maybe a little pathetic. He knows it. But he’s also just so in love. What can a guy do?

When he steps out, face flushed and hair damp, he feels like a teenage boy at his crush’s house for the first time - which, in his mind, he kinda is. You’re waiting for him in pajamas, makeup wiped off, looking soft and sleepy and so perfectly you. He thinks he might pass out.

And then… brushing teeth together. Should be simple. Should be normal. But nothing is normal around you. He’s beside you at the sink, trying to play it cool while your shoulder brushes his. You hum to yourself while brushing, glancing at him through the mirror, and he nearly foams at the mouth. Or maybe that’s the toothpaste. He’s not sure.

Then he sees it.

A little blob of foam at the corner of your lips.

Something happens to him. Something dark and unspeakable. He wants to kiss it away. He wants to lick it off your mouth like a psychopath. He stares. Blinks. Shakes his head like a wet dog. Absolutely not. No. Stop it.

What’s wrong with you, scolding himself. She’s just brushing her teeth. Like a person. A very pretty, perfect person.

He spits. Rinses. Avoids eye contact. Looks at the drain. Looks at your spit down the drain. Another weird thought. One that must be suppressed.

And then it’s time. Bedtime. Final boss.

Your bed is small. Cozy. Absolutely infested with plushies. He pretends to be annoyed but he secretly loves them. Even if they are plotting to kick him off the edge of the mattress. He climbs in carefully, unsure which plush is your favorite. Unsure what you'd do if he accidentally knocked one little guy off the floor. The blanket smells like your laundry. Like home. Like the future he wants with you.

You’re already under the covers, blinking at him sleepily, smile soft and content. Wearing his shirt and not much else. The fabric rides up your thighs and he has to look away before his brain fully melts. He deserves a prize for not making a move. Deciding to lay on his back, stiff, hands folded like he’s in a coffin. He doesn’t touch you. Not even a pinky. Be good, chanting to himself. Be good. You like her. You love her. You’re not a perv, you’re not a perv.

You shift closer.

A leg brushes his. A sigh escapes your lips. Your hand settles gently on his stomach like it belongs there.

He almost cries, something between a half whimper and a wheeze leaves his throat.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his arm around your waist. You don’t flinch. Don’t pull away. You lean into him.

He swears he hears wedding bells.

You fall asleep just like that, face nestled against his shoulder, breath even and slow. And he lies there, heart racing, brain fried, blinking up at the ceiling, Satoru would be getting no sleep tonight.

His thoughts are a mess: She’s so pretty. Is she really mine? What if I kissed her forehead? No, too soon. Maybe not. God, her skin is soft. I should move in. Tomorrow. Today. Right now. No, bad. Calm down. Be cool. Be a good boyfriend. Don’t get a boner. You’re cuddling. It’s fine. Just breathe. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.

He wants to. Touch you, that is. Just your waist. Just a hand on your back. Just to pull you closer and feel your heartbeat against his chest. But he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still. He doesn’t want to push anything. You haven’t done that yet, and he’d rather die than make you uncomfortable.

Except nothing’s okay. Because he’s so in love it physically hurts. Because you’re sleeping peacefully and trusting him with this little moment, and all he wants is to stay like this forever.

How are you sleeping so peacefully while he’s over here thinking about nothing but how perfect yoh are?

[ivythink]

oohhh this was so cuteee

simply ear-resistible!

who has two floppy ears and a cute little tail? Suguru Geto, apparently!

pairing: bunny!Geto x f!Reader

content: mdni, fluff and smut, au where Geto never defected, taking care of Geto after a curse temporarily transforms him into a rabbit, teasing, multiple povs, coworker to pet to lover, Geto HATES being a bunny, pining, petting, cuddling, domestic fluff, falling in love, smidges of angst, injury, hurt/comfort, gojo being a nuisance and our favorite matchmaker, eventual smut (after he transforms back to his normal body), oral (f! receiving), back shots, unprotected piv sex, creampie, breeding kink, Geto is borderline OBSESSED

art by @aransmind + divider by @dollywons

"You got a bunny?" You giggled, bending down to get a better look at the small ball of fuzz sitting on Shoko's desk. Tufts of long black fur stuck out, beady eyes staring back at you through its mane when you squinted at it.

You never knew bunnies could glare.

Gojo laughed behind you, a big hand clamping down on your shoulder once you stood back up as he leaned in to hum in your ear. His infinity was down for once, but he still seemed a little jittery, his foot impatiently bouncing on the tile. "Not quite."

"Then whose is it?" You tilted your head to the side, one corner of your mouth curling up trying to suppress your laugh that someone actually brought one here. One of the students? Haibara? Nanami?

Its fur was obviously well-maintained, maybe the pieces of his emo little heart leftover from high school convinced him to purchase his own stoic companion.

"Yours."

"Yeah, right," You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes at the realization he seriously expected you to take this thing home and shrugging his hand back off of you. "If you think I'm babysitting whatever animal you-"

"You haven't even let me explain," Gojo whined, tugging at your sleeve.

Between missions and the stacks of paperwork he already pushed off on you, there was no fucking way you were taking care of another one of his problems.

Or pet, in this case.

"No."

"Come on, please," He purred, pitching his voice down and skimming his fingertips over your back in an attempt to butter you up.

"Ask Suguru to take care of it," You sighed, glancing back to where the rabbit hadn't moved, perched on the edge and sitting oddly still, almost observant.

"I can't," He whined.

"Why not?"

"That's Suguru."

You blinked up at him. Then at the bunny. Then back to him. You heard his words, but they weren't setting in, all the synapses in your brain refusing to fire to give them any meaning.

"You named that Suguru?" Your eyebrow shot up, bottom lip still pushed out in a pout.

It wasn't like you were friends with Geto, or more than just coworkers or acquaintances, but you sincerely doubted he would be pleased at the tiny creature in front of you sharing his namesake. Even it didn't seem happy, a harsh thump of his back foot against the table as if he was making a point of his annoyance.

"No, like, that's literally Suguru," Gojo insisted.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Or just gullible.

You'd been the subject of Gojo's jokes before, used to the punchlines pointed at you. But this was a new one.

"Suguru, help me out here," He huffed, talking to the bunny. Who actually nodded.

God, you didn't get paid nearly enough for this.

"I swear if this is another joke-" You mumbled, leaning down to get a better look. The bunny, Suguru, was watching you back just as intently, beady eyes staring straight into yours.

"I'm not joking," Gojo protested, as if offended by the thought alone.

You stuck out a finger, wondering if it'd be rude to pet him or even just poke one of his paws, struggling to accept what you were seeing. But the second your finger got close enough to his face, he nipped you.

"Hey, wait-" His warning was a little late when Geto's freshly-sharpened incisors had already sunk into the pad of your finger.

"He bit me," You frowned, pulling your hand back and holding it close to your chest, little red droplets pooling over the broken skin.

"You stuck your finger in front of his mouth," Gojo said it like it should be obvious. "It's, like, an instinct or something."

"How am I supposed to know that?" You blinked, wiping away the blood on your shirt with a disgusted huff.

Suguru stomped his back paw again, irritated with one or maybe both of you for bickering while he was stuck like that.

"What even happened?" You grumbled, muscles pulled tight in your jaw.

"Dunno," Gojo shrugged, readjusting the blindfold over his eyes and pulling it up just enough to peek again at his best friend on the table. "He swallowed the curse one second, and the next, poof!"

He talked with his hands, exaggerating the motion and cocking his head to the side.

"Poof?" You repeated, barely holding in your eye roll.

"Shoko says he should be back to normal in a few days," Gojo just kept on going, ignoring your strained stare. He did pause though, tilting his head from side to side sheepishly. "Or a few weeks."

You half-expected Geto to pop out from the hallway, a wry smile on his face and that annoying know-it-all crinkle of his eyes. Leaning against the doorframe murmuring something about you falling for another one of Gojo's tricks again.

Sure, they'd grown up from the teenagers who used to tease you at every sister school exchange, but ever since you transferred and started working with them as adults, you'd been swept up in their bullshit enough times that you were having trouble shaking your suspicions.

"So you want me to take care of a bunny, I mean, Suguru for weeks? While you do what, exactly?" You grimaced when you corrected yourself, looking back at the door that the real Geto still hadn't walked through.

Once upon a lifetime ago, you actually had a crush on him, doodled his name in notebooks and dreamed about confessing your feelings in some cheesy way. But you'd grown up too, enough to recognize that even as adults, he paid much attention to you outside of polite 'hello's and whatever schemes Gojo roped him into.

"Who do you think has to handle his missions now?" Gojo hummed, ruffling your hair before you could smack his hand away, a cocky smile still on his face.

Unbothered to pick up the slack from his best friend's situation.

You weren't sure what was worse.

Being the one to handle Geto's workload or taking on the workload of handling him.

"I might need you to cover some of his classes too," Gojo added.

"Gojo," You groaned, having a hard time glancing over at the bunny astutely observing your conversation for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Just if, you know, he's like that for more than a week," Gojo gestured back again, like the black ball of fur could speak for itself.

There was no way it'd last that long.

Or you told yourself as much, snagging the pet carrier from the passenger seat of your car and slamming the door shut behind you as you glanced up at your apartment.

You were pretty sure Geto shared your sentiment judging by the faintly audible little grunts from inside the plastic cage, the sound of his nails scratching against the sides.

Oddly enough, you were nervous.

Stomach hurting and twisting with each step you took forward, unable to shake your discomfort and anxiety. He'd never been to your apartment under normal circumstances. Never seemed to see you as anything other than a semi-competent coworker to help Gojo tease.

The latter had been to your place before.

A few times, actually.

Finding excuses to show up at weird hours on his day off, sometimes bringing souvenirs from his missions or just to bother you when he was bored and Geto didn't want to hang out with him.

At least it meant he knew your address, boxes waiting for you by the door, the pet supplies Gojo mentioned having delivered before you left stacked up.

You had to nudge them over with your feet to have enough room to unlock the door and push it open.

"So, uh, this is my place," You cleared your throat, setting the cage down on the floor. Geto was already scratching at the door of it, little claws scraping over the metal bars.

You glanced around your very much not animal-proofed apartment, the dishes still left in the sink and the blanket wrinkled on the couch from where you'd stayed up late watching tv the night before.

"Sorry, I, um, guess I should set up your stuff first," You sighed, opening the door again to start dragging all the boxes back in and tearing them open. Settling onto the floor next to him, legs crossed as you started to take out the pen you'd have to put together, the bags of hay and pet bowls before tugging out toy after toy.

You wondered if Gojo just ordered express-delivery for anything marked bunny in the pet section.

"Sorry," You absentmindedly apologized again to Geto, not even sure what you were saying sorry for. Maybe for the fact he was stuck with you in the first place?

Was it weird to talk to him like that? As if he'd really be able to respond?

You thought it'd be weirder to act like it wasn't still him, to ignore the cues he was still trying to send.

He was shaking his head no inside the cage, displeased with your decision.

"You want out now?" You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek as his head bobbed back up. You glanced around your place again before hesitantly reaching for the latch to unlock it. "Promise you won't like, chew on any wires or anything?"

You were pretty sure he was internally rolling his eyes at you.

Feeling even more like an idiot, you unlatched it, holding it open so he could hop out. He was sniffing the air, nose twitching. You couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

Whatever he decided, he was quick to sprint away, disappearing around the corner to assess the rest of his new surroundings, where he'd be living for the time being.

You tried not to let the discomfort stew too much, tried to dismiss how nervous you felt at having him here too, distracting yourself with putting together the pen and moving all your furniture to fit it against the wall, filling up a bowls with water and setting up a box with hay for him.

Just throwing in the chew toys with the rest of the stuff made you feel weird, icky treating him like he was your new pet.

Would he think it was pity rather than sympathy if you tried to express that to him? Or would he hate both?

You frowned, breaking down the last of the boxes and tossing them in the trash while you glanced around the floor, searching for a flash of black anywhere.

"Geto? Um, hey, I've got everything set up now?" You called out, peeking into the kitchen and not spotting him there either.

You'd daydreamed a few times about Suguru Geto being in your bedroom.

You just hadn't imagined he'd be chewing up your favorite fucking shoes.

"What the fuck?" You huffed, going to pick him up just for him to scamper away at the last second, growling at you. "You're buying me a new pair, asshole."

That little prick.

It wasn't like you did this to him. Like you even wanted him here.

"We can just fucking pretend none of this ever happened once it's over, okay?" You gritted your teeth, picking up your now-wrecked shoes and walking over to the small trash can in your connected bathroom. "That's what you want, right?"

The black ball of fuzz in front of you made a sound. What exactly it was, you didn't know. Didn't fucking care. But you were pretty sure it was as close as he could get to agreeing.

"Fine then," You huffed, chucking the once beloved pair in the trash can and fixing your stare back in the petulant beast by your feet. Acting out as if you weren't doing him a fucking favor to begin with.

But it was hard for the anger to hold when you were looking at the new him in front of you. Knowing it was probably torture to be trapped in something so small, so helpless he had to rely on a coworker he barely knew to take care of him.

Your frown softened, letting out a soft sigh as the lid for the trash can shut again.

"Once you're you, we can just go back to how it was before. We won't even have to talk again."

This was perhaps the most humiliating week of his life.

Suguru Geto was a man who could stomach almost anything. He had to. Forced to swallow curses, bite back the bile in his throat and learn to live with the taste of it.

But really, hay?

All he could fucking eat was hay? A piece of romaine lettuce? A few carrots? Blueberries if he was lucky?

The taste was fine, good even, to his changed taste buds and the way his brain was currently rewired, but you feeding it to him? Biting your lip and frowning while your fingers held it out for him to take? Like you felt sorry for him?

He hated it.

Hated being trapped here. The stupid pen where you put chew toys for him, the brush you tried to use to comb his fur no matter how many times he managed to wiggle free from your grip, how quickly you bunny-proofed the place, closing doors and putting up gates to keep him contained to the living room and your bedroom. Although, you kept your closet shut now after he'd taken out his frustrations on your shoes in a moment of weakness.

The first few days consisted of feeble attempts at communication, your face scrunching up when you tried to get him to blink once for yes and twice for no before you realized that was stupid. Then came the papers, your almost illegible scrawl in big letters to ask him if the food was okay, if he needed anything, your pout returning when he kept thumping over and over again on the one marked no.

He didn't know if he should be annoyed or appreciative when you returned home from a mission the next day with those push-to-talk buttons people supposedly trained their pets with.

The rational part of him understood how hard you were trying to help.

It didn't make the idea you were trying to tame him feel any less dehumanizing, training him like he really was your pet.

Forced cohabitation was bad enough. He wished you'd just act like he wasn't there. Leave him to eat the hay and watch the tv you never seemed to turn off and wait it out until he got his body back.

You even tried to put him in a fucking harness one afternoon when you came home earlier, cooing softly about taking him outside to get some sun and go on a walk. You gave up after he accidentally bit you when your hand got too close to his face while he squirmed his way out of it.

"Hey, um, Geto?" You called from the bedroom, voice muffled despite the open door.

His head snapped up to the sound automatically, nose twitching. That was another thing, how easily his prey instincts took control at the first hint of danger, reduced to feeling even more like a trapped animal by his own body.

He still found himself staring at you though.

You were dressed up.

Not in your usual work uniform or one of the casual outfits he'd seen you in whenever you tagged along with Satoru somewhere, but in a dark little dress and heels.

"I'm heading out for a few hours, um, sorry to leave you by yourself again," You apologized, when really all he was thinking was thank fucking god for some peace. "Do, uh, you want the tv on or-?"

Suguru thumped his back foot, the best he could do for a no without going through the series of questions that'd inevitably come if he showed an ounce of interest in those dumb buttons.

"Oh, okay," You nodded, jaw tensing as your eyes swept back over the room, looking for something. You didn't find it, returning back to your room and coming out a few minutes later with a purse hooked over your elbow. "Well, um, I'll be back in a bit."

Suguru watched the door shut behind you.

The silence was strange, the quiet he used to enjoy back in his own home drowning him here. Time took longer to pass, no phone or books or movies to distract him.

He missed reading. Missed reclining in his own bed, missed warm baths and washing his hair.

He didn't miss you.

Okay, that was sort of a lie.

Your company was comforting, in a strangling sort of way, weighing down on his conscience in your absence. All his needs were met. Food, water, entertainment. But he was still bored without you.

A bizarre itch that his hind legs couldn't scratch, one he couldn't run from, pacing pointless circles, paws leaving tracks on your soft bedroom rug.

Your scent was everywhere, on every surface, clinging to the clothes you'd left on the floor in your rush to get ready.

He was thankful you weren't here to see him burying his nose into a dress you discarded in a pile next to your half-empty laundry basket, sniffing and rubbing his cheeks and chin over it. Suguru didn't even fully understand why - one of those stupid instinctual urges that he couldn't resist.

"Geto?"

Shit.

He scurried back out to the living room before you made it past the couch, your heels already kicked off as you tossed your purse on the coffee table. You reached up to cover your mouth while you yawned, steps wobbling a little, like you'd been out drinking. He noticed it then - how the hem of your dress was rolled up on your thighs, clinging to the skin, eyes glossed over and tired.

Drinking? Or a date?

He didn't think you had a boyfriend.

Satoru would've known, would've pestered you about it or complained to him about you having a social life outside of work. He'd even tried to set the two of you up a few times, although Suguru usually shot down the idea. He'd never been that interested in having a real relationship with anyone - assumed you were the same way. But that didn't mean you couldn't hook up, have casual flings on your nights off.

It bothered Suguru.

Much more than he cared to confess.

He stared while you half-collapsed on the couch, curling up on your side and reaching for the remote on the table to turn the TV on before sighing and shutting it back off. Rolling over onto your back to just blink at the ceiling overhead.

He was tempted to actually use the buttons for once, to smack the one that said where to see if you'd actually tell him how you spent your night away from him.

To convince himself that the only reason he was so irritated was the fact that you could leave and he couldn't.

"Hey," You murmured, turning your head to glance over at him.

Suguru wasn't sure what he'd say even if could reply.

Just staring at you when you sighed again, sitting back up and shuffling off the couch, disappearing down the hall into your bedroom.

Usually, you'd stick around, hang out in the living room and kitchen, absentmindedly talking to him while you went about your evenings. He waited for you to come back out, eyeing the empty spot where you'd just been.

You didn't come back out though, no soft hum of your voice talking to yourself or the quiet pitter patter of the shower running either.

And yeah, he hated to hop, but he was hesitantly hopping through the hall until he reached your cracked open door, poking his head through and scanning the room for you.

You had changed into a tiny pair of shorts, a loose t-shirt, sprawled out in your bed and reading with your head propped up on a pillow.

It was easy to imagine you spending your nights like this.

An uncomfortable feeling was settling in his stomach, mouth dry at feeling like an intruder, an interloper in your home.

You sensed him there, maybe heading the quiet creak of the door, glancing over your shoulder.

He expected a frown. Or even just a blank expression, something polite.

But you smiled instead, one corner of your mouth barely curling up, features softening. Warm. As if you were actually happy to see him.

"Bored?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. Suguru took a small step closer, nudging the door open further. Your smile grew at the affirmation. "Want up here?"

He bobbed his head just once. The most his pride would allow. You were quick to hop off the bed, scooping his off the floor and plopping him down on the bed.

Your touch was delicate, careful. Hands that held him like he was something precious, or breakable.

It dawned on him that it wasn't because he was. That it wasn't because you were looking down at him. But because you respected him enough to care he was comfortable.

The realization didn't help how fast his new heart was beating.

You flopped back down next to him, holding out your book and flipping back to the page you left off on.

"Satoru said you like to read," You commented, eyes on the words ahead rather than him. It was true, but for some stupid reason, he was stuck on the fact you could so casually said Satoru, when he usually only ever heard you use Gojo in front of him. The only time he ever heard you say Suguru was when you thought he wasn't there, only overheard in your conversations with Satoru as if he was a frequent topic of conversation.

He never thought he'd want to know what you used to talk about before as badly as he did now.

He tried to make a humming sound, to actually reply to you for once, wondering if you'd smile again.

You did.

"I can, uh, read out loud if you want? Or pick up some audiobooks for you to listen to while I'm on missions?" You offered.

He nodded again, taking a small hop next to you, his fur brushing against your skin as he laid out next to you, nose twitching at the sweet scent of your perfume. Just your perfume.

And secretly?

Suguru was glad you didn't smell like someone else.

The you from a few weeks ago wouldn't have believed it.

Somehow, someway, Suguru Geto had slowly started to settle into his role of a spoiled house pet. Your spoiled house pet.

He'd wait near the door for you to get back, although, your started to cut a few corners to get out of missions as soon as possible, wrapping up lessons early and sending the students for treats or shopping to give them a break so you could return to him faster. You'd set up audiobooks for him to listen to, buying a speaker just for him to be able to hear it properly and connecting it to an old tablet so he could listen during the day. He'd been more willing to communicate, letting you carry him up to the TV to pick out shows and movies to watch together or picking out what fruits he wanted from the fridge.

It was nice to not be alone.

You guessed he felt the same.

Sniffing at your clothes, his nose twitching when he picked up on the faint scent of Gojo clinging to your shirt just to rub his chin over it. Sitting on your lap and letting you stroke his soft fur while he made a quiet sort of purr to let you know he was content.

He'd even started letting you brush him without protest, let you check his sharp little teeth poking out, not that you really knew what you were looking for despite how many articles you read and videos about bunny dental care you watched.

"Pretty boy," You murmured, scratching behind his ears how you knew he liked.

It was easy to forget sometimes that your precious pet was really a fully-grown man and your former coworker.

What would happen when he transformed back? Or what if he didn't?

You were pretty sure he had to. An inevitability.

Each day brought new doubts, concerns that were getting harder to hide when you woke up and he was still this furry version of him.

You couldn't read his mind. But you suspected he'd gotten used to it the same way you'd gotten used to him.

Started looking forward to you coming home in the evenings while you spent your days thinking about being curled up on the couch with him, his comforting weight on your chest while he let you pet him.

Even with your new routine, you were still painfully aware your rabbit wasn't one.

"Long day, huh?" You muttered, yawning as you continued to stroke his fur. "Me too."

Gojo had left on some mission last night, leaving you to juggle his students and Geto's, dragging them with you to take care of lower grade curses across the city before returning them to the school, scuffed up and dirt-stained.

There was a knock at the door, loud enough you jumped, and Geto did too. Little nails scratched at the bare skin of your thighs below your shorts, scurrying off your lap to your side. You swallowed hard, glancing down at him before reluctantly standing up.

"Probably just food," You mumbled, picking up a slice of the apple you'd cut up for him earlier, holding it out for him to nibble on before you walked over to answer the door and get your own dinner for the night.

Technically it was.

It was just in the hands of a white-haired imbecile.

"How's my favorite two people, er, friends?" Gojo corrected himself, stepping inside and past you before you could stop him. He half-tossed over on your coffee table, squatting down to look at his best friend turned bunny.

"You could've called," You frowned, sighing as you shut the door behind him. "Or texted."

The disruption made you nervous. Convinced you that it was some sign of change, that for all you knew, it'd go back to before, getting the cold shoulder from a fucking rabbit.

"Can't I just check in on you two?" Gojo whined, reaching out like he was about to pick Suguru up by the scruff of his neck.

"Don't grab him like that, it could hurt him," You huffed, stomping over just for infinity to stop you before you could pull him back.

"Fine, fine," He groaned, and you didn't need to see his eyes to know he was rolling them under the blindfold. "So protective."

"Whatever."

Suguru stomped, letting out a soft little growl at how close Gojo was. But you weren't sure what annoyed him more - Gojo's proximity to you or him.

"You got anything sweet?" Gojo didn't let the topic linger, distracting you as he started pushed aside the plate with apples and pulled out your to-go box, lips curling down at its contents.

"I dunno," You shrugged. "I'll look in the kitchen."

You ended up scrounging through most of the shelves in your pantry and half your fridge before you finally found an ice cream bar in the back of your freezer, sighing as you went to return to the living room.

But you paused before you entered at the sound of Gojo still talking, holding Suguru up in the air while he tried to kick his paws and free himself. You almost giggled at the sight, already thinking all the different ways Suguru would surely find to get him back for it later.

"I bet you don't even wanna go back to normal, huh?" Gojo teased, cocking his head to the side while Suguru just let out another little bunny growl at him.

"Hey," You announced your presence, barely keeping the grin off your face as you stepped inside and Gojo quickly returned Suguru to the couch, attempting to look innocent.

Suguru was quick to hop back in your lap the second you sat down as you handed the ice cream bar over to Gojo, despite the fact it felt a bit like rewarding a baby for bad behavior. You grabbed another apple slice to make up to Suguru for it, automatically smiling when he started eating it.

"He lets you feed him?"

For the first time in the past few weeks, the idea of what came next didn't feel quite so scary. That it didn't have to be awkward or unfamiliar.

It wasn't so insane to think you weren't just coworkers or awkward acquaintances anymore. Things didn't have to be weird when this was over, or you'd have to go back to pretending you didn't notice him in every room you were in together.

Still though, you couldn't shake the small part of you that hoped for something more.

Where were you?

You'd shown up late a few times, but only ever an hour or two. Suguru was too short to see the clock on the stove, but he'd watched the sky shift outside from the fading pink of sunset to pitch black, with only the glow from the tv and the tiny lamp you'd forgotten to turn off in your bedroom to cut through the dark of your apartment.

The show you switched on for him earlier shut off at the end of the season, stuck on the same loading screen waiting for someone to press a button on the remote. Which, unfortunately, you'd left on the kitchen counter in your rush getting ready this morning, just out of his jumping height if he even wanted to try.

He'd been a little annoyed at first. He knew you'd feel bad about it when you got back, probably pick him up and apologize with a cute pout, nuzzling him against your chest or cuddling on the couch to make it up to him. He just wanted you to show up already so you could. Absentmindedly stomping his foot waiting for the click of the key in the lock, for you to shuffle through after the door swung open.

But it didn't come.

It didn't help that ten minutes felt more like an hour in this body. That with no way to measure time other than the episodes auto-playing and changing daylight from the window, the seconds stretched out, the hours dragged on until it felt more like days since he'd last seen you.

He tried to remember what you were rambling about this morning, if you mentioned anything about being late. But nothing stood out. You were teaching his students today, then a mission, right?

You mentioned that Nanami was supposed to come along, so surely, between the two of you, you could take care of even a special grade if you had to.

Or maybe you had, and you were out getting drinks with him. Maybe you were in the backseat of his car, letting him undress you and pull you onto his lap. Fiddling with his belt or running your fingers through his short hair-

The lock flipped.

Suguru had already made himself mad though, stomping his back feet before you even pushed the door open, uneven footsteps stumbling through. Haughty as he held his little bunny head up high, planning on giving you the silent treatment until he heard your shaky breathing.

His heart was beating too fast, blood roaring in his ears frozen in place listening to the slam of the door behind you, your footsteps pausing as you leaned against it, holding your side with one hand.

"Shit, Suguru, sorry," You mumbled, your voice weak. "Just, fuck, give me a few minutes."

Your body was shaking, from adrenaline or anxiety, taking uneasy steps forward and bracing yourself on the couch once you were close enough.

He wished he could see you clearer, all the wrong colors and the slightly blurrier bunny vision he was confined by made it hard to tell how hurt you were, how much blood was on your already dark clothes other than what had seeped through to stain your hands.

"It's not that bad," You said it like you weren't wincing, choking down the lump in your throat as you walked towards the bathroom. Suguru couldn't do anything except follow. Couldn't steady you, couldn't hold your hand or help you sit and clean up your wounds the way he wanted to.

Shit. Why the fuck hadn't you gone to Shoko?

Why hadn't Nanami dragged you back to her?

Suguru would've.

It slipped his mind that you weren't as strong as him. That you didn't have RCT. Watching you swallow the pain, forcing yourself to keep moving until you were shoving the door to the bathroom open, eyes glazed over and exhausted as you gripped the counter hard and rumbled through the cabinets for a first aid kit.

Half-collapsing on the closed lid of the toilet seat and rummaging through for gauze to press down on the wound through the torn fabric of your shirt.

It was almost funny, he thought Gojo was full of shit before. Of course, he wanted to turn back, of course he wanted everything to be normal again.

But his best friend knew him better. Was right for once.

He hadn't wanted that - he liked being with you, liked this limbo of long days spent in the comfort of your home and nights spent in your bed.

Suguru liked you.

It just hadn't struck him until now, when he was ready to throw all of that away to be able to help.

He needed his body back.

Needed to do anything other than watch every excruciating wince and flinch as you wiped it clean. You made a small noise when you went to pull off your ripped and blood-stained shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the sink to soak so you could examine the slash across your side better.

"It looks worse than it is," You spoke so quietly it was hard for him to hear. Trying to comfort him when he should be comforting you.

He should be carrying you to Shoko, cradling you against his chest and wiping away the tears brimming at your lashes.

You wiped them yourself though, swiping with the back of your hand just to leave a streak of blood across your cheek.

"I'll see Shoko in the morning," You excused, steadying your voice as you went through each step. Popping a few painkillers before disinfecting it, struggling to patch it up, hands shaking through unsteady stitches before you finished bandaging it up.

You didn't look at him.

Suguru wanted to know what you were thinking.

He had to make himself hop himself forward, rubbing his head around your ankles to forced your attention down to him.

"Hey," You muttered, balling up the plastic wrapping of the bandaid and tossing it in the trash can. "You don't have to feel bad. I'm okay."

You weren't that convincing when you couldn't even bend over to pick him up or pet him.

He stayed by your feet while you cleaned up the first aid, filling up the sink to soak your shirt before you walked back to your bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and preemptively wincing at the thought of finishing changing. Suguru pulled at your shoelaces to untie them for you, loathing just how little he could do to help.

You laughed, something short, sweet, leaning over to pull your shoes off, carefully lifting him up and placing him on the bed. Even the simple movement seemed to hurt, your face scrunching up as you sucked in another breath.

"Thanks, Suguru," You sighed leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.

He needed you to kiss him again - the real him.

You felt him first.

Someone's arm was wrapped around you, your cheek pressed against something firm and warm, smooth skin and hard muscles practically suffocating you. The blanket was still pulled up around your, your limbs tangled in the fabric while the weight of him kept you there.

Him sleeping on top of you was fine when he was like, eight pounds. He weighed a lot fucking more as a human.

Blinking back surprise, trying to squirm free just for Suguru to grumble something incoherent in his sleep and hold you tighter.

"Sugu, shit, Geto," You groaned as you corrected yourself, managing to pull your arms free to start pushing him off. Your side still hurt from yesterday, a dull throb that ached with every movement.

He just readjusted instead, moving down to nuzzle his head back into your neck, long dark hair splayed out and tickling your face, still too asleep to realize he wasn't a small bunny anymore.

"You're heavy," You complained, and he stirred, his body going stiff the second it hit him why.

"Fuck."

His voice was hoarse and raw, like it hurt to use. It took him a second to start moving, every motion slow, sluggish while he untangled himself from you. You tried not to stare, sitting up in your bed while he stood, but your eyes had a mind of their own, raking over his body to realize he was very much naked.

You made a small noise, immediately looking away and throwing the blanket at him to cover up.

"Um, okay, well, I'm, uh, gonna call Gojo so he can get you some clothes," You rambled, covering your eyes with one hand and fumbling for your phone where you could've sworn you left it on the nightstand before you fell asleep.

A warm hand brushed against yours, goosebumps going up your arm as sturdy fingers skimmed over your skin. It took you a painfully long second to realized he was holding your phone out for you to take.

"Thanks," You choked out, grabbing it and crawling out the other side of the bed so you wouldn't accidentally bump into him. "You can just, uh, use my bathroom to shower or take a bath or whatever."

You were scurrying out before he could reply clutching your phone like a shield to save you from the sheer awkwardness.

In your hurry, you hadn't realized you'd torn your sloppy stitches until you felt something damp through your shirt as you slammed the door behind you and started frantically thumbing through your contacts for Satoru.

"Shit," You muttered, hitting the call button and tucking it between your ear and shoulder and hurrying to the other bathroom to clean it back up, choking down a few more pain killers dry as the phone rang.

"Good morning, princess," An annoyingly chipper voice answered right as you perched yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter.

"I need you to come over," You cut straight to the point, hoping he didn't hear the tremble to your voice when you pressed down on your wound with a fresh piece of gauze. "Suguru's back to normal. And, um, naked."

"I'd never say no to you, but a threesome at nine in the morning is a little early, baby."

"Please just bring him some clothes, idiot," You gritted your teeth, bracing yourself as you disinfected it again.

You really just needed to go see Shoko, but you wanted to make sure Suguru was fine first.

"So no-"

"I'm hanging up now, be here in the next five minutes before I have to maim you," You warned, ending the call before he could say head.

Your side fucking hurt, grinding your molars just replaying the memory of that stupid curse catching you off guard after you thought you killed it.

Nanami had tried to convince you to call Shoko, but it was her night off, and she was out on some date. You didn't want to drag her away unless you were actually actively dying.

Although, you might need to interrupt her morning after now.

There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door, and you forced yourself back on your feet.

Gojo probably fucking teleported straight into your living room.

You glanced around the bathroom, pulling a bathrobe off the door and wrapping it around yourself, tying a bow around the waist.

But when you swung the door open, Suguru was standing there, sculpted chest on display, one of your towels slung low on his hips and his hair damp and long.

Your mouth fell open, but you couldn't find the words when your eyes met his.

His face was pulled tight, jaw clenched as his dark eyes assessed you.

Your heart sank.

Punctured and peppered with holes, disappointment flooding in and drowning you with just a single stern expression from him.

Before you could linger on it, before he could really shove your head under, the energy in the room shifted, and Gojo popped in behind him.

"Sup, Suguru?" He casually greeted, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

Geto twisted around to scowl at his best friend. Gojo just chuckled, pushing the change of clothes he'd brought against his chest before glancing over at you.

"Cute bed head," Gojo commented, stepping around his friend to ruffle your mused hair.

"Shut up," You huffed, smacking his fingers away.

Suguru slotted himself between you before Gojo could do it again.

"She's hurt," Suguru spoke slowly, still frowning. "Take her to Shoko."

"God, you're both so bossy this morning," Gojo complained, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him, peeking out from beneath his blindfold to squint at you. "How bad is it?"

"I can drive myself," You grumbled, cutting a glare at Suguru.

Really? You'd taken care of him for a month and the first thing he did was rat you out to Gojo?

"Whatever, I'll just take you," Gojo shrugged, slipping his blindfold back down and tugging you closer so you could teleport together.

You were staring at Suguru though.

Forced to look up at him now, all the softness gone, replaced by sharp lines and harsh edges. You didn't know what sort of face you were making, didn't want to when you were sure it was probably tinged with hurt or worse, longing. Caught somewhere between devastation and desire when you couldn't tell what new box he'd put you in now, or if he'd just returned you to the one you'd been stuck in before, barely more than coworkers.

That was what you promised him, right?

What you kidded yourself into thinking wouldn't be hard, no matter how much you liked his presence, how much you convince yourself there was some silent connection you shared.

You couldn't read his face anymore.

And then it was gone, replaced by trees, standing outside of the campus. Gojo was digging his phone out to text Shoko for you.

"Want me to carry you in?" He offered, shoving his hands back in his pockets to pull out loose candy and toss it in his mouth.

"No," You grimaced. "It's fine."

You could take care of yourself.

You'd been perfectly okay on your own before.

It was just a little hard to pretend it was the same when Ijichi gave you a ride home a couple hours later, returning to a quiet apartment with no one to greet you.

Stepping over a few bunny toys left out the day before, walking around empty rooms, starkly aware of just how alone you were.

Even the days felt longer, the silence louder, stretching out and surrounding you.

And yeah, you were still fine, but you ended up taking more missions just to fill the time, to give you an excuse not to return back to your room. Not to the point of really exhausting yourself, but enough that you wouldn't have to think. You avoided stepping foot back on campus, no matter how many times Gojo invited you to join his lesson plans, only going to see Shoko when absolutely necessary.

It wasn't that you didn't want to see Suguru, although it was part of it.

You just didn't know if you'd be able to keep your word if you did.

He probably just wanted to forget.

Didn't want to be dragged back to how it felt to be so small if he saw you.

The first time you bumped into him was when he was in the middle of arguing with Nanami in the latter's office, arms folded across his chest and that casually cold stare still on his face while they bickered about something.

"Um, sorry, I needed your signature on some stuff, Kento," You interrupted, forcing yourself to focus on your blond colleague as he sighed as pushed his goggles back up his nose.

"Sure."

You felt Suguru's eyes sticking to your back as you walked away.

There was a shoebox waiting for you when you got home that night, a brand new pair of shoes to replace the ones he destroyed.

You guessed it was just his way of upholding your deal.

The first time you talked to him was a couple weeks later when him and Gojo made an appearance in Shoko's office the second she stepped out after treating you.

"Hey," He spoke first, brows knitted together, searching your face for something.

"Hi," You echoed back, avoiding his sharp gaze in favor of the floor, the desk, anything.

"You're hurt?" His once silky voice still sounded raw, too low, not quite as smooth as it used to be.

"Not anymore," You shook your head.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," He frowned again, stepping closer. You hopped off the table you were sitting on, brushing past his broad chest to get by.

"Thanks for the concern," You muttered.

Obligatory concern wasn't of any interest to you. Whatever debt he might feel towards you, you didn't care to cash in. But a clean slate felt impossible when he'd stationed himself in every corner of your mind.

You'd started considering transferring back to Kyoto, started wondering if it was even worth staying when you just felt so weird about everything now.

Stopping a pet stores on the way home, scooping up bunnies and playing with cats and debating on if you really needed a companion. Or maybe just a date.

You'd been lounging on your couch and swiping through apps for the latter when someone started pounding impatiently on your door.

"You look like you could use a drink."

It was a stupid idea, every one Gojo had was, but you begrudgingly accepted, getting changed into a short dress and letting him drag you down the stairs to your car. He pretended to be a gentleman enough to open the driver's door for you before proceeding to be the passenger princess he actually was, sliding into the shotgun seat and flipping the radio stations on the drive to the bar.

You should've known better.

Because who else would be waiting in a booth for you when you got there?

Really, you should've left.

But you stayed, letting Gojo tug you over to join his best friend, ordering drinks and shots, careful to only drink enough for the warmth to set in, to feel the fuzz in your chest but not get too tipsy that you wouldn't let anything slip.

Gojo on the other hand?

It only took him one drink to dredge up everything you'd been avoiding for the past few weeks.

"C'mon, you'd take care of me if I got turned into, I dunno, a dog, right?" Gojo whined, slurring already, his infinity switching off as he flopped into your lap. He rarely drank - a sight you probably would've savored some other time, snapped some photos of to blackmail him later. He readjusted so his head was reclining on your thighs, fingers pulling back his blindfold so he could blink his big blue eyes up at you.

"You'd probably be a mouse, if anything," You teased, flicking his forehead.

"Nuh-uh," He argued, catching your wrist, small little flickers of energy tingling your skin that he couldn't control, pulling your hand until it was resting in his hair.

"Uh-huh," You giggled, combing through the soft short strands with your fingers.

"I'd take care of you if-"

There was loud thud, almost a heavy stomp, and it took you a second for it to click that someone had. Another to realize who.

You supposed some of Suguru's bunny brain was still there, a few little habits left he hadn't kicked.

"Satoru," Geto scolded, his whiskey glass hitting the table with a harsh clink. You glanced up to see his mouth set in a polite smile you knew was pretend. Fake and forced on, trying not to crack or twitch. "Get off."

"Fine," Gojo huffed and groaned, almost rolling onto the floor in his attempt to push off the booth and your legs to get up.

But you were busy watching his best friend, who, if you weren't mistaken, looked distinctly jealous?

You were torturing him.

He finally had his body back and here you were, torturing him.

The unsure glances you'd toss his way when you thought he wasn't looking, your soft words now addressing him politely, all the intimacy in them removed. The worst part was you weren't even avoiding him, just adhering to the stupid agreement from that first day and pretending the entire month never happened.

He didn't know how to make it more obvious he didn't want that.

But every time he stopped by your apartment, you weren't there. You were never at the school anymore either, always on some mission or with your nose buried in paperwork.

He left the shoes by your door, hoping to hear something, anything, just to get more of the same silence.

It took suggesting to Satoru that the three of you go out for drinks to get you to even come within five feet of him.

And watching this almost made him wish he hadn't.

You let Satoru plop himself down on your lap, giggling with him, petting him. Playing with his hair, fingers sifting through it how you used to stroke Suguru's fur.

Okay, he hadn't meant to thump his foot, just a leftover reflex. But it was better than grabbing Satoru by his collar and dragging him back to a sitting position.

He was only half-aware of what he was saying, if he even offered an excuse, only relaxing once Satoru sat up. His best friend yawning and stretching, digging his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

"Oops," He chuckled. "Ijichi's been waiting outside for me. You want a ride, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, but your eyes flickered over to Suguru, waiting to see if he reacted to Satoru's offer. Or maybe hoping he'd counter with one of his own.

"I'm okay, thanks though," You replied, lips pressed in a thin smile.

"Suit yourself," Satoru sighed, practically pushing Suguru out of the booth so he could get out. He tossed more than enough to cover the bill for all three of you in the table before lifted up one corner of his blindfold again, winking at Suguru before he started to turn. "Make sure she gets home safe, alright?"

The second he was gone though, you were flustered, shrugging before he even said anything.

"Could I buy you another drin-"

"You really don't have to," You accidentally interrupted, blushing and looking down at your hands in your lap. "I meant, about Satoru said, but, uh, to the drink too."

"I want to."

"It's fine," You insisted, but your smile was forced, practiced. "It was nice seeing you tonight though."

"Just nice?" He baited, barely able to keep a straight face when yours turned into a pout.

You pushed off the table, slipping out of the booth, tilting your head to the side with a conflicted expression. "Good night, Geto."

Suguru was following you out with a small frown this time.

"Suguru," He corrected. How many times had he stomped and grunted to get you to call him that in bunny form? Just for you to go back to his last name the second he was a sorcerer again?

"Good night, Suguru," You hummed. There was a hint of teasing there, a faint smile on your face he barely got a glimpse of before you walked a little faster out the exit.

"You're tired?" He asked, fresh air hitting him first as the door thudded shut behind him as he followed you outside.

"Not really." You probably only acknowledged it because you knew he'd been around you enough to know it'd be a lie otherwise.

He wanted to ask you to stay, or to leave with him instead.

"I should probably head home now," You swallowed, glancing between your feet before back out to the street ahead.

"Where's your car?"

"It's like a ten minute walk from here, I, uh, couldn't find parking," You mumbled, still not looking at him, putting yet another step between you he immediately bridged.

His hand grabbed the hem of your shirt, pinching it in his fingers lightly, just enough to get you to stop before you could slip away again.

"You wanna ride?" Suguru offered. Flying over the city at nighttime on his dragon was romantic, right? He could wrap an arm around your waist (to keep you steady, of course), watch the twinkling lights below and feel the cool breeze on your skin.

"I'm sorta scared of heights," You sheepishly admitted, shrugging your shoulders apologetically. "But thanks."

"Let me walk you there then," He insisted.

"Figured you'd probably want to just crash at your own place," You dismissed, staring straight ahead rather than looking at him.

"I wouldn't mind going back to yours," He smoothly answered back, letting go of your shirt to see if you'd try to break away again.

"Yeah?" You were cautious, eyes flicking up to his.

"Yeah."

He walked next to you, the quiet break in conversation comfortable, studying your side profile while you lead the way to your car.

"I'd take care of you," Suguru murmured under his breath. He wasn't even sure he actually said it, or if he had and the quiet footfalls on the pavement and the passing cars drowned him out.

"You'd, um, what?" You finally said, stealing another peek up at him. Your hand brushed against his, just barely, and it took everything in him not to hold it, not to interlock his fingers with yours and refuse to let go.

"If it ever happened to you," He replied, completely serious even if you were staring at him like you understood him better as a bunny.

He could practically see the gears turning in your head, like you were trying to decide how to interpret it before you landed on a joke.

"Yeah, you'd save me from being neglected or overfed at Gojo's?" You hummed, looking back at the street ahead.

"Sure," Suguru said.

"How kind of you," You laughed a little, folding your arms across yourself as a brittle breeze cut through the air, fighting back a shiver.

He took his jacket off, and you paused, staring at him with your face scrunched up, mouth parted like you wanted to tell him it was yet another thing he didn't need to do, no sound came out. He took the opportunity to help slip it on you himself, brushing your hair out of the way as you pulled it around your shoulders.

"Thanks," You blushed.

He wished he'd just listened to Satoru the first time he suggested you would make a cute couple a year ago, asked you out himself, wished there wasn't all this time wasted when you could've been his.

He refused to waste any more.

Opening the car door for you when you finally made it there, getting in the passenger seat and watching you scramble to turn the radio station to music you remembered he liked, adjusting the temperature and chuckling when you asked again if he really wanted to go to your place.

You still came up with a cute excuse after he said yes, claiming you had a book you thought he'd like, to pretend he was coming over just to borrow something.

As if it was too hard to believe you were what he liked, you were what he wanted.

"It's a little messy, but I guess you've seen it look worse," You muttered, lips pursed together as you rummaged through your bag for your key. He leaned against the door, one corner of his mouth quirking up as you threw him an apologetic look.

You found the key, turning it in the lock and pushing the door open, letting him in first.

The first thing he noticed was the bunny pen still up. Although the bowls were empty now.

"You kept everything," He commented, unsure what the weird feeling in his chest was. It was cloying, some thick nostalgia that clouded his judgement when everything was almost the same as he left it, although it all felt much, well, smaller.

You kicked off your heels, laughing a little when Suguru automatically started helping you shrug off his jacket, his fingertips grazing against your skin.

"I've been thinking about adopting a real one," You casually answered, a faint blush flooding your cheeks like you were embarrassed about it. Jealousy? Annoyance? Whatever it was, he felt absolutely territorial and entirely idiotic over the panic seizing inside him at the thought of you replacing him with a new pet. "It's been kinda weird adjusting, you know?"

"Oh," He murmured, attention sweeping back over your living room. It still smelled like you. Your perfume lingered in the air, but it was more than that, or maybe he was just more sensitive to it now. "It's been hard for me too."

"Really?" You breathed a sigh of relief, glancing back over your shoulder at him with that small smile he used to fall asleep next to.

"Yeah," He confirmed, pushing down the lump in his throat.

"Being alone-"

"I miss you," He interrupted before you could keep skirting around it, before you could find another excuse to pretend you didn't hate his absence the way he hated yours.

"I, uh, you what?" You squeaked, sounding just like the mouse you accused Satoru of being.

"I miss you," Suguru repeated, a tentative hand on your waist to twist you around so he could see your face in full. Watch your eyes widen and pretty lips part in surprise while you tried to work out if you meant it how you hoped he did.

"I missed you too," You quietly admitted, as if it was something to feel guilty for.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you," Suguru continued, tracing up your sides with long fingers, then back down to your hips.

He wanted to hold you this time instead of the other way around.

"I-"

You stopped yourself when he pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, sucking in a sharp inhale.

But you broke eye contact, glancing away sheepishly. He followed your stare over to your messy coffee table, noticing the papers scattered across the surface. One word caught his eye, transfer in big and bold letters.

"What's that?" The panic from before flared up hard now.

You wouldn't leave.

You couldn't.

"Oh, um," You paused, embarrassed. "I was just considering transferring back to help them out. It's not like you guys really need me here."

"Do I not need you?" For once, he sort of wished he was more like Gojo.

He would throw himself down on his knees and beg you to stay.

Suguru could barely stand to even stare at you, loathed the longing in his voice when he waited for your answer.

"Do you?" You echoed quietly.

"I do," Suguru admitted, feeling something inside himself crack at the honesty.

"Suguru," You said his name like you weren't convinced.

"If you go, I'll go too."

He almost surprised himself. But he wasn't going to let life take the one thing he ever truly wanted from him, not this time.

"If you're just doing this because you feel like, you owe me or something idiotic like that," You started again, clearing your throat and trying to strengthen your resolve despite how close you were to giving in, your bottom lip starting to quiver.

"I'm doing this because I like you," Suguru chuckled.

You let him pick you up this time, wrapping your legs around his waist and your wrists around his neck, so badly wanting to believe him. Looking up at him like your whole world was in his hands when he carried you back to your room.

He half-tossed you onto the bed, hands almost shaking when they hovered over your body. He was nervous, but it felt like it had when he first transformed back, like all his proportions were suddenly wrong again, struggling to control his fingers and force them to move how they once did. Not nimble or deliberate, but messy, needy.

"Suguru," You purred so prettily, propping yourself up on your elbows and peering up at him with warm eyes. He settled on caressing your cheek, feeling the flush under your skin. "If you change your-"

"I'm not changing it," He murmured, sucking a sharp breath. He'd stay where you were, or follow where you went. Nothing had been simpler.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him on top of you, and he was struck again by how different your room felt. How tiny the bed seemed than the last time you were under him.

Then there was you.

Tangling your fingers in his hair and returning his stare, wondering if the little glints of adoration were really in your eyes or just a reflection of his own. You smelled sweeter in person, up close like this, but what he couldn't stop thinking about was your taste.

Of all the things he'd forced down his throat, rolled over his taste buds and struggled to swallow, you were the first he wanted to savor.

"Stop staring at me like that then," You let out a light huff, bottom lip sticking out. He wanted to bite it.

Your eyes fluttered shut when his nose nuzzled against yours, expecting the kiss before his mouth pressed against yours, and he was barely surprising the urge to lap at your bottom lip and beg for entry.

But you were always good at anticipating his needs, already parting your lips to let him in, your legs starting to wrap around his waist before his free hand snagged one of your thighs and pressed it down into your soft mattress.

Suguru was pretty sure he found heaven in your kiss. Divine karma repaying him for every putrid curse he'd choked down, lost between the cherry chapstick on your lips and the wine on your tongue when it slid against his.

He wanted to claim you.

Make you his in body and word and mind.

He was yours. He'd scratched and stomped and tried to fight it but it was true, wasn't it? His heart had already been cut out and you had already signed your name on it, permanently stamped him with a return to: label like he could somehow get lost when there was already an invisible leash connecting him to you.

Pulling away to breathe was hard enough. But seeing your tiny smile start to curl up, you eyes glossy and bright as they locked with his, his lungs could've collapsed at how pretty he thought you looked.

"Kiss me again," You quietly requested.

He'd kiss you as many times as you let him.

Returning his mouth to yours, offering warm open-mouth kisses like promises, loyalty and love and lust all wrapped up in his soft lips sucking on yours.

His free hand snuck between the increasingly narrow space between your body and his, tugging up your dress until he could see the pretty little lace underwear you'd worn underneath it.

"Cute," He commented, pulling away so he could them down, taking his time shimmying the flimsy fabric down your thighs, despite how badly he wanted to just rip it off in one go.

Your face was flushed, watching him with wide eyes as he tossed the panties into the laundry basket before prying your thighs apart all the way. He paused, removing his own clothes piece by piece, cock already swollen as it smacked up against his dark happy trail, pre-cum beading up along his pink tip.

Satisfaction swelled in his chest to see how soaked you were, his new favorite feast sprawled out for him.

Suguru flipped you over onto your stomach, pushing your face down and propping you up on your knees, nudging them open just enough for him to fit between them.

His second taste of you had him convinced he would never be able to get enough. Licking a clean stripe up your thighs to your entrance, pushing his tongue in deeper, flattening it as it danced inside.

"Sh-shit," You mumbled, completely flustered now, and he could just picture the pretty blush on your face, your next breath stolen as he practiced more drawn-out swirls.

His fingers leaving indents in your soft skin, the pliant muscles tensing with every squeeze of his hands.

Hearing your moans and shaky breathing only made him work harder, exploring every spot he'd stretch out later, determined to hear his name from your lips again. Devote each and every ministration of his mouth to you. His pretty girl.

"You like that?" He broke away to murmur right as you started making broken little whimpers into the mattress.

"Mm, mhm," You moaned, squirming under his grip.

"Wanna hear you, sweetheart," He sighed, pulling away just enough to admire the view one more time, tempted to leave scattered bites and kisses all over your thighs to make it just that much sweeter.

"Suguru," You huffed a complaint, all whiny and adorable as you barely found the strength to lift your head. "Keep going."

Your impatient whine might've worked on another man.

But Suguru had been patient before. Had waited for you to come back around to him. He'd be taking care of you the rest of his life, but he still wanted each second to last.

He couldn't help it, bending down to plant a kiss on the back of your thigh, letting his teeth sink in just enough to leave a small hickey, continuing up to leave a trail of them along your thighs while you made muffled noises.

"I asked you a question, baby," He reminded you, spreading your thighs apart as he left another peck close enough you had to feel his breath ghosting over your sensitive clit, almost jolting at the phantom sensation.

"You know I like it, Sugu-" You gasped when his tongue slipped back inside, surprised at the sudden warmth.

And yeah, he did, but you were clueless how much he loved it.

Loved every noise he pulled out of you, how you melted in him, let him pull you in and squeezed so tightly at every grunt and groan he made.

Adored every time you said his name, listening to your harsh exhales and watching you grip the blankets underneath you like you could crumble at any moment.

When you did? Falling apart after he slipped his hand around to your front, massaging careful circles against your aching bud until you were trembling, only held up by his arms around you?

Suguru was pretty fucking sure he was in love.

All that patience had evaporated, drained somewhere he couldn't access, need of his own taking over as he climbed back on top of you, lining himself up and barely holding himself back as he sank into you.

Half the street probably heard his groan, and your neighbors absolutely heard your pretty mewl of his name when his hands gripped your hips so mean to hold you there.

"Fuck, oh fuck, you're so-"

"Sugu," You whined, interrupting him and wiggling your hips as you tried to force him in all the way.

His composure, the control he'd cling to, both were quickly unraveling.

The sight of you bent over, his cock half-concealed inside you while you clenched around him so sinfully to suck him in?

He could probably cum from that alone.

Suguru clenched his jaw, staving it off as he slowly pushed in deeper, counting out his breaths until he bottomed out inside you, your own inhales growing ragged at the stretch and burn.

He wanted to mold you to him, to fuck you hard enough and long enough to leave an impression of every ridge and vein. Not make it two pumps before finishing.

But you had a knack for making his life difficult.

The arch of your back when he pulled out and plunged back in, the intoxicating scent of your perfume that was still driving him fucking insane, the gorgeous little gasps you let out with each thrust and smack of his hips against your ass.

He rutted deeper, his cock throbbing while your insides clung desperately onto him, watching the way your fists curled up in the comforter when you buried your face into the soft cotton to muffled your whines.

"M-mine," Suguru stuttered over the growl, hardly recognizing the husk in his own voice, swollen tip stuffed up against your womb while you squeezed around him.

Really, he was yours.

Would be your loyal dog or lap animal, whatever you wanted him to be.

Something primal inside him screamed that he had to fill you up, to mark you as his and stuff a baby or two or twelve inside you. Okay, not actually that last one.

The little sliver of him that was still operating on the most basic instincts of a small animal couldn't tell the difference though.

"Tell me to pull out," Suguru groaned, his fingers pressing harder into your hip, his reason getting fuzzier the longer you kept sucking him in. Sweat pricked at his forehead as his face fell forward to rest on your back, lips pressed to your skin like a lifeline.

"N-no."

Your voice was quiet, a soft breath that was hardly audible over the sound of skin on skin or the thump thump thumps of your headboard hitting the wall.

Barely hanging on by a strand, the tremble of your thighs underneath him and the shudders sent down your spine with each snap of his hips frayed the tether to his self-control until there was almost nothing left. Trailing kisses across your shoulder to feel the gasp he tore from your throat when you unraveled underneath him, holding you together while you fell to pieces crying out his name in broken whimpers.

He hadn't meant to.

But his teeth were sinking into the scruff of your neck, a soft love bite digging in to keep you still underneath him while warm spurts of cum coated your walls white. The thick veins pulsing until every last drop took, his cock still buried deep inside until he realized he was still half-clamped down, releasing you just to keep you pinned to the bed by his body weight instead.

"Suguru," You softly whined, turning your head so he could hear you better.

"Yeah, baby?" He murmured, pressing a few small kisses over the fresh hickies starting to blossom on your skin, lips pressing against the indents his teeth had left.

"I don't want this to be just sex," You confessed. Your voice was small, strained even, like you were embarrassed to say it.

"It's not," He promised. He readjusted so he could tilt your head, grabbing you chin as he caught your mouth with another kiss.

Part of him wished he could swallow you too - keep you with him where you'd always stay by his side. Another reminded him that was insane.

He could settle on being your boyfriend for now.

"I meant it earlier," He reiterated, kissing the corner of your mouth between words. There was no way in hell he was letting you slip through his fingers again. "You know I'm yours too."

You giggled, returning a peck to the tip of his nose as you tried to squirm free from under him, like you just remembered his cock was still inside you, cum leaking out around him and onto your blankets.

He didn't want to pull out though, didn't even want to separate when you were finally his.

Honestly, he was halfway-hoping you'd get pregnant, picturing you with a cute baby bump padding around barefoot in the sort of sundress that clung to your swollen stomach, physical proof you belonged to him just as much as he did to you.

You hadn't told him to pull out after all.

So surely, you wanted the same, right?

"You're all mine?" You hummed, shifting your hips around just to get a reaction out of him, his cock already oversensitive and starting to get hard again as his hands held you back down by your waist.

"You just want me to say it again," He chided with a chuckle of his own, sighing into your skin while you let out another weak huff that sounded more like a whine.

"Maybe," You admitted.

You looked back up at him, and he was a little too aware that he'd say it however many times you wanted as long as it was true.

"You know," You started talking again, biting down on your bottom lip as you rested your head on your folded forearms underneath them, yawning softly. "I was going to buy you a little bunny collar so everyone would know you were mine, but I guess you've already outgrown it, huh?"

He laughed again, his hand sliding up your spine to trace his own bite mark on the nape of your neck. Could you really not tell you already had him on a leash?

"I think you'd looked even cuter in a collar."

[ivythink]

UGHH this is so cute

Rain Check

When the flu forces a rain check on date night, Higuruma brings "date night" to you.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x fem. reader

↳ wc: 7k

↳ notes: wrote this while laid up with the flu. it was meant to be something else, but i felt sniffly and miserable and desperately wanted to be babied (while also rejecting any and all babying offers, as nature intended).

The bedroom smelled like sickness. Not the clinical kind of sharp antiseptic and bitter pharmaceuticals, but damp and fever-thick, cloying with the sour tang of old sweat and the ghost of citrus cough drops sucked down to their waxy centers. The air was heavy with it, humidity clinging to the walls like condensation on a glass, dense enough to smother. It settled in your sheets, in the tangled nest of blankets wrapped around your limbs like a cocoon – Saharan-hot, unpleasant, and inescapable. Your bed was a battlefield, ground zero of your body’s losing battle against the flu.

Tissues, wadded and tragic, lay strewn like the fallen, a half-empty water bottle lolled somewhere out of reach, and an untouched bowl of instant miso soup perched precariously on the nightstand, abandoned after a single, underwhelming sip. Somewhere in the mess, your phone lay buried, intermittently buzzing beneath the detritus of your decline. You felt disgusting. And this did not lend itself well to what was supposed to be date night. You moaned as a sharp spear of pain lanced from temple to temple, skewering your brain. You barely resisted the urge to cry – and only because you were too dehydrated to conjure the necessary tears.

Somehow, that managed to be the worst part. Not the shivering, not the congestion rattling in your lungs, not the way your skin burned one moment and chilled near-hypothermic the next. No, the worst part was that you were missing the one thing you had actually been looking forward to all week. That you had picked out an outfit, planned your hair, agonized over which earrings best captured the effortless I-woke-up-like-this charm you were still desperately trying to convince Hiromi you naturally possessed. Now you were pale and sallow, hair matted with sweat, buried beneath a mountain of blankets and self-pity. You groaned, three-fourths delirious, and fished for your phone, each movement sluggish, leaden, fingers tingling with that strange, disconnected weight of illness. Squinting against the assault of the screen’s brightness which felt more and more like a lobotomy, you fumbled out a text with hands that felt miles away from your body.

‘I’m so sorry. A bit sick and can’t make it tonight. Rain check?’

You pressed send, then immediately regretted it. There was nothing embarrassing about the words, but still, a wave of dread churned in your gut. Maybe because you and Hiromi were still in that early, precarious stage where everything felt light and bright and thrilling. Where dates were a polished, effortful, meticulously curated portrayal of your best self. And now here you were, stripped raw to the ugly, unromantic truth of human frailty. Or maybe it was the feral kernel of deeply ingrained animal instinct that told you to hide your weakness, a wild whim to bury it and yourself deep in your den and lick your wounds until you were well enough to emerge and rejoin the world without risk of being cast out or eaten.

He responded almost instantly.

‘No worries at all! Do you need anything :(?’

You groaned again, this time in frustration. Why did he have to be nice about it? You couldn’t even wallow properly without the sting of guilt, exacerbated by imagining the furrow of concern in his brow, the way his head would tilt just a little when he read your message, the soft exhale through his nose and sympathetic cluck of his tongue before he typed his reply. The only thing worse than being sick was knowing that your sickness was inconvenient, that you’d disappointed the person you’d been pulling out all the stops to impress. You debated how to respond, but exhaustion was already dragging you under, pressing you back into the sheets. You inhaled through your nose – attempted to, anyway. It came out a congested wheeze. The idea of Hiromi seeing you like this was inconceivable. Animal instinct, you figured, better to die alone.

‘Just need some rest!’ you typed back, trying to imbue the words with a breezy, casual tone, as if you weren’t on the precipice of death.

The truth was, you were dying.

Dramatically. Theatrically. This was, undoubtedly, the end. Your body would be discovered days later, shrouded in blankets, an unsent draft of a final will and testament open on your phone, detailing the precise eulogy you deserved.

But Hiromi didn’t need to know that.

Your phone buzzed again.

‘OK. Let me know if you need me.’

You smiled a little, despite yourself, then groaned and rolled back over. The room spun. The fever tugged at you, deep and relentless, and you let it coax you back to merciful unconsciousness.

Hiromi had been looking forward to tonight.

Not in the nice dinner, casual plans sort of way, but in the way a man who has spent too many years thinking of romance as something for other people looks forward to the one thing that has, recently, rewritten his understanding of the concept entirely.

Because your presence in his life was warm. Feather-filled. It had kind eyes and a pretty laugh, hands that had learned him too quickly, adapted to the sharp angles of his face too well – cradling his jaw in playful moments, tapping his chin with an audacity that should have knocked him off balance, but instead left him floating. You had carved out a space for yourself somewhere he never intended to lease out, and it should have been unsettling, it should have made him hesitate, but instead—

Instead, it felt like relief. When was the last time he’d laughed before you? The last time he’d taken a moment to breathe of his own volition and not when his tired lungs screamed at him to do so?

He hadn’t walked into your first date with any expectations. Not because he wasn’t interested – but because he had long since tempered the part of himself that dared to hope for things. He had let himself want before, and he had been let down before. So he told himself he was prepared for a perfectly fine evening. Maybe a few laughs. Maybe a polite conversation. Maybe he’d even go home and think: That was nice. Instead, he left feeling like a man half-starved and only just realizing how long it’d been since he was full.

You were quick-witted, sharp, you built upon his dry humor instead of letting it evaporate in the air between you. He would say something wry and expect the usual polite chuckle, or god forbid that tight-lipped nod of pity he was so accustomed to, but you fired back without hesitation, tossing the joke back into his lap harder, razor-edged, funnier than when he first laid it out. And that was dangerous, because it made him want more. More conversation, more of your thoughts, more of your laughter – not the socially polite and etiquette dictated pressed-lipped one, but the real one, the one that cracked open your ribs and shook your shoulders, the one that made you lean into him like gravity had given up on its usual rules just between the two of you, blessing him with the opportunity to support you until you straightened.

So he asked for a second date. And then a third.

And then he stopped counting, because by then, it was already too late for him. Somewhere between dinner and drinks, between needle-point banter that led to soft, sleepy whispers beneath the cold sheets of his bed, he had started looking forward to you in a way he never meant to. You had become a rhythm in his week, something as natural as breathing, as necessary as sleep, and the part of him that should have been alarmed had long since been sedated by the part of him that just liked you too much to care.

You had him standing in front of his closet for far longer than any reasonable man should, holding up nearly identical dress shirts in varying shades of white – ivory, eggshell, cream – the back and forth had him squinting at the fabric and failing to tell the difference, he started over. Was the left one cream? No, no that was eggshell… only he thought the eggshell shirt was the one in his right hand, not his left— And he never used to check his phone like this. Never used to anticipate – not dread – the buzz in his pocket that heralded social interaction. Never used to hope for one specific name to light up his screen, nor experience the slack-sailed disappointment whenever it was anyone else. But now he did. Now he caught himself thinking about you between consults and arguments, during the brief stretches of quiet in his long, exhausting days.

Because he needed this tonight. It had been a week. Seven days since he’d seen you, which was not many in the grand scheme of the newness of this engagement, but texts and calls and even the occasional facetime could hardly whet the appetite you’d roused in him. Dry exchanges with his colleagues did nothing for him, nor the trace interaction with cashiers or other passersby, because none of them gripped him quite like you.

By midweek, he was exercising every ounce of self-control not to reach for his phone and ask for more – not to betray the fact that one week already felt like five, and he had to physically stop himself from finding excuses to see you sooner. It’s pathetic.

Hiromi thinks he’s a bad boyfriend – is that what he is? He’d never been much good with posture and pretense, he hopes that’s what he is – because he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be keeping things casual, but he’s also pretty sure he’s in love with you. He doesn’t let himself think about it too long. He won’t dwell on the weight of it in his chest, or how it tastes on his tongue when he rolls it behind his teeth and cracks it under his molars just to keep from spitting it out. He doesn’t know how you’d take it, if you’d pull back the moment you realized he’s already a good few steps ahead of where he probably should be.

Being needy is unattractive. Hounding at your heels for scraps of attention is a turn off, one he wouldn’t fault you for, and so he resists. Even when his work week was awful, the sort of familiar twitching frustration he wore like a second skin that left his shoulders tense and heavy and patience frayed at its translucent edges, he settled for phone calls, even when he’d much rather go home – to a shared home – and collapse into you. Just to hear your voice and tell you about the sheer absurdity of some of the shit that landed on his desk; to let you make him laugh about it, and forget why he was irritated in the first place. Hiromi felt like a boy again.

Except, even as a boy, nobody ever set his heart affluter or made his stomach flip the way you do. The world was evermore tinted the same shade of rose as the tip of his nose whenever your lips brushed his cheek in thanks for things as simple as opening a door, or helping you in and out of a coat. You made him ridiculous. So when your text came through – short, simple and apologetic – he wilted like a sad houseplant. And of course he understood. You weren’t feeling well.

But understanding and acceptance were two different things.

The thought of you sick, curled up somewhere miserable, missing the same night he had been quietly clinging to all week made his stomach twist. You were probably just as disappointed as he was – missing dinner, missing the late-night movie that he would normally never agree to, that you had insisted was better past midnight in a near empty theater. He had even resigned himself to the fact that he would get home at an indecent hour, that he would be wrecked in the morning, and that you were absolutely worth it anyway. So he did the only thing he could do. He stopped at a store. He picked up tea, a box of overpriced honey-lemon lozenges that you’d never buy for yourself because the storebrand was good enough, a pack of chocolate-covered cookies, and a pre-sliced fruit tray because he wasn’t sure what you’d be able to stomach.

And then, for the first time in his entire adult life, Hiromi lingered in the chilly produce aisle. Not out of obligation. Not because of some nagging reminder from his physician that he should really cook something with nutritional value before his dietary habits caught up to him. But because he was irreparably undone by the simple fact that you weren’t feeling well, and he couldn’t stand the thought of you being unhappy and alone.

There was no recovering from this, this terminal affliction of affection. And he didn’t care to fight it, either. He would deny treatment. It might not be the full course experience he hoped to treat you to tonight, but he’d bring a little bit of it home to you.

The evening air spun itself into gold, stretching long and low across the pavement as Hiromi jumped the familiar steps up to your door, a bag slung from one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his coat to occupy his fidgeting fingers with jingling keys. The sky above was painted in the hazy black bruise that came before twilight, a slow bleed from orange to indigo, the last gasps of sun swallowing the buildings whole and creeping dark from alleyways and side streets. You’d be sitting down for dinner around now, had the evening gone to plan. He’d probably be pulling out your chair at that very moment. It was a far cry from the night he imagined, and yet he still effused a quiet happiness as he approached your door.

Part of him thrilled at the opportunity to see you anyway – to play the part of something good and steady, and bring you warmth wrapped in plastic packaging and a sloping, dimpled smile. There was something deeply satisfying in the thought of you bundled in blankets, just a little worse for wear and flush with a cold, blinking up at him surprised but pleased and letting him fuss over you like a mother hen. He could prove himself as a provider, a caretaker, a man worth keeping around. All things he never cared to be before, but you made him want.

He knocked on your door, and rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting with a smile already twitching at the corners of his lips that he was trying his best to keep a lid on. He could picture your surprise already, maybe you’d be relieved, maybe you’d even be feeling better and well enough to go out after all. No answer.

The smile on his face was stubborn, but the sediment settled into an expression more subdued when he adjusted the bag onto his hip and knocked again. The only response was the wall-muffled barking of a neighboring dog roused by his presence, but neither of which seemed to draw you out. It does occur to him that you may be asleep – taken something that knocked you out good and proper. But in the chance that he might catch you, he persists. His phone was in his palm before he had time to think, thumb tapping out a quick message. ‘I’m outside, don’t mean to bother you. Let me know if you’re awake.’

A minute passed. Then another. Then he noticed a neighbor across the street peek through her blinds, making direct and awkward eye-contact with him. He hesitated a moment before raising his phone in an awkward, stilted wave. Seeming reassured that your caller was not in fact a burglar, the old woman snapped her blinds closed. His breath curled in the cooling air, ribboning up, up, up into the quiet awning of your darkening porch. His eager fidgeting now served the dual purpose of keeping him warm when he tried calling.

He dialed, head cocked and phone pressed tight to his ear like he might hear you through the static and shrill rings, and finally hung up on the final tone before it would click over to voicemail. Hiromi sighed, pocketing his phone and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Did he look crazy? Was this too much? You were just a little sick, you’d said so yourself. He didn’t need to do all of this, and in the face of rejection by silence – however inadvertent – insecurity crept its insidious fingers into his brain. He was absolutely doing too much.

He would just leave the bag at your door and text you that it was there. That would be normal – a simple care package, and probably better received than his unexpected and uninvited visit, now that he finally thought about it a moment longer, many moments too late. With hands a little numb from the cold, and certainly not at all from disappointment, he stepped to wrap the paper handles around your doorknob, affixing it where you wouldn’t even have to stoop over when you finally came to retrieve it—

Only your door knob turned with no resistance, nudged open with the slightest pressure of his palm and the weight of the bag. You were always good about locking your door.

He’d born witness to your many small rituals, always double checking that your stove was off, all unattended candles blown out and snuffed, and he’d watched – more times than he could count – you twisting your door knob once, twice, thrice, testing for any give before stepping away and into him with a pleased smile and chirpy “all set!” A practiced precaution that he always found himself quietly, irrationally proud of. Worry sank razor-sharp claws deep into his marrow, tugging at his bones and drawing him through the doorway.

“Hey—” he called, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind him. The lock slid into place with a dull snick for good measure. “It’s just me! Your door was open!” The apartment was dark with lights untouched. No TV murmuring from the other room, no warmth of any sort of activity. Still, save for the spiraling dust motes that hovered and sunk, floating without purpose with not the slightest ripple of movement to disturb them in the slanting orange beams that sliced through your blinds.

Your shoes were by the door, your coat draped over the back of a chair, a single slipper kicked off in the hallway – its twin wedged haphazardly beneath a bookcase, as if you’d stopped halfway to retrieve it and never did. Little traces of you, proof of your presence, but no you.

Hiromi flicked on the lights, illuminating your kitchen in all of its unoccupied, untouched glory. He set the bag down carefully on the counter, mindful of its contents and the rustling of its paper in the silence, listening, sweeping the space with a wary frown.

His voice was softer when he called your name again, cautious and questioning in the dead, unanswering air.

No answer or movement, no startled shuffle to investigate the unexpected visitor in your home. Just the blanketing stillness of empty space and the staticky ringing of tinnitus in his ears that strained to hear anything at all.

Hiromi checked the bathroom – it was logical. Maybe you’d gotten up for water, or medicine, maybe you’d fallen asleep with your cheek squished against the cold porcelain of the tub the way he sometimes did after a rough night. Empty. The couch – vacant, a blanket slipping off the edge to pool on the floor, a shallow dent in the cushions where a body had been, once. He rubbed at the tension between his brows, willed them to unknit. Your bedroom was next.

The air was thick there, heavy with the sticky scent of sleep and sickness. The curtains were drawn, the room wrapped in a murky personal twilight a few steps ahead of that outside, and for a moment, he almost didn’t see you at all. Then, in the dark, a raspy gurgle of pinched nostrils struggling for breath and the roaring snore of a sore throat forced to breathe from a gaping mouth. Your hair splayed against the pillow, a just barely visible nest over the duvet pulled up high to your ears, as if you sought to sweat the fever from your bones with stubbornness and layers alone.

Relief softened the chokehold on his lungs, and he felt a smidge guilty for how easy it was to breathe when it was so obvious how you struggled. You were here. Safe. His worry had not been unfounded, but at least it had not been warranted. He took one step closer— Even at that distance, he could feel the heat pour from you like an open convection oven.

Hiromi knelt beside the bed, reaching out to graze your forehead with the backs of his fingers. Heat met him like an open palm laid upon an active cooktop. His jaw ticked and his lips pursed to silence the sigh that gathered in his mouth. This was just a little sick to you? This was something to recover from with just a little rest? He could feel the sweat dampening your hairline, curling the strands of fine baby hairs to your temple. He retracted his hand long enough to scrub his palm over his mouth to loosen the tense bunching of his lips and sighed into his palm.

“Ridiculous woman,” he murmured, softer than the press of his palm against your clammy and fever-flushed skin. He’d known you were proud. Stubborn, too. But not like this – not to a fault and to your own detriment. Not when you had people – had him – all too willing to drop everything and care for you. But he didn’t move away. Didn’t stop the slow sweep of his hand as it continued past your cheek and forehead, over your hair to brush it back and away from your face, gently manipulating the sticky flyaways off of your skin. His touch lingered, long enough to settle his own worry as he stood back up to regard you.

You were here, and now he was too. And, he hoped, that was significantly better off than how you started – he could work with that.

The bed swayed beneath you, a slow, nauseating lurch, like a ship lost in stormy seas. The fever had drawn you into its undertow, dragging you down into a strange, liminal space where time stretched and folded then folded again, where reality slipped through your fingers like fine seabed silt. You dreamed in fever heat, in the suffocating weight of tangled blankets, in the ghosts of voices at the vestige of your consciousness. Then – real noise.

A muffled clatter, a distant sound spit with the venom which could only have been a curse. A shifting presence wandered beyond the walls of your delirium. You drifted, mind syrup-thick with cotton and fog, before another sound – the metallic scrape of something, the thump and ceramic click of things lifted and placed on tile. For a long moment you simply lay there, waiting for the dread to settle heavy as stones in your gut, for fear to bloom in your phlegm-y lungs. But all you felt was exhaustion seeping deep into your bones, rooting you to the mattress like creeping ivy curling to a brick wall. You peeled open your eyes. The room was dark, muddled with shapes shifting as your vision adjusted, but nothing seemed amiss.

If someone had broken in, you could only hope they’d be merciful. Perhaps they’d take pity on you, a tragic creature lost to disease, and put you out of your misery before they ransacked the place. It took a few tries to drag yourself up, the room tilting precariously as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet kicking for slippers you couldn’t find. Your limbs felt detached, boneless, your joints grinding and stuck like rusted machinery as you shuffled forward, blanket still clutched around your shoulders like a burial shroud.

A scent reached you – warm and vaguely edible, tasted more on your exposed mouth-breathing tongue than in your clogged nose. You didn’t remember ordering food. You didn’t remember much at all. A burglar, then. A very considerate burglar, stopping to make you a meal before robbing you blind. You hoped, at the very least, they’d be efficient about it. Leave you to your final meal before taking you out. End your suffering.

The hallway swam in and out of focus as you shuffled down it, one hand bracing the wall as the other clutched at your blanket, pulling it tight around your shoulders like armor, your vision haloed with the sickly glow of streetlights cutting through the blinds. And when you turned the corner, there he was.

Hiromi stood in your kitchen, sleeves pushed up, an old shirt loose on his frame, stirring something over the stove like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like he belonged there. Like he’d always been there. Your breath hitched, horror settling in sluggish as you took him in – the softness of his posture, hip cocked against the counter, the domestic ease with which he handled the wooden spoon, the way the light from the range hood cast a warm yellow glow over his face.

And then you remembered yourself. The sweat-damp face, your nest of unruly hair plastered and flattened every which way, and – your fingers trembled and shook as you swatted at your face – a tissue fluttered down to your bare feet from where it was glued with drool. You wrapped your blanket tighter in a tragic facsimile of dignity. You were a creature dredged up from the depths, a relic of sickness and suffering, a ghoul appeared to haunt the man who’d only ever seen you at your best.

You swayed, your hand slapping for the doorway to hold yourself upright for support, your fever-pickled brain conjuring a single, resounding thought: You were going to have to kill him. Or yourself. Probably both. Hiromi turned at the sound of your clammy fingers against the lacquered wood, bright-eyed and easy-smiled, as if he weren’t standing in the absolute wreckage of you.

“There you are,” he said, as if you had simply been misplaced, like he hadn’t already found you burrowed in your bed hours ago, burning up and tangled in your own sheets and misery. He held up a bowl, cradled carefully in both hands, as though presenting you with something delicate and precious. “I made soup,” he announced proudly. And then, as though remembering the reality of what he’d actually made, he sighed, tilting the bowl to inspect its own dubious contents. “Well, I attempted soup. Chicken, allegedly.” You blinked, slow, molasses-brained.

Hiromi, in your kitchen. Hiromi, in his sweatpants and rolled up sleeves, barefoot in the soft glow of the stove light, holding a bowl of— You squinted.

The soup was a color that nature never intended. A concerning beige-grey hue that no poultry-based dish had any right to be. If there were vegetables in there, they had long since disintegrated into anonymity.

He must've seen the suspicion on your face because his smile turned apologetically lopsided, crooked as the shredded piece of what could’ve been chicken floating near the spoon. “I’m banking on your taste buds being so dead you won’t even notice if it’s awful, to be frank with you,” he admitted, wry but earnest, shifting his grip on the bowl to offer it out to you. It might have been funny if you had the capacity for humor. If your mind wasn’t still trying to claw its way through the mud of mortification and illness, if the sight of him standing there so casually, so unbothered by the absolute state of you, wasn’t making your chest feel unbearably tight.

He took a step closer, and instinctively you shrank back. “How are you here?” you rasped, raw and nasal. Hiromi had the sense to pause in his approach, looking for all the world guilty and contrite. “I wanted to bring you a few things and check in. Your door was unlocked, so I was worried.”

Processing was a monumental effort, slow-moving glaciers melted in the cauldron of your skull. You frowned. “Oh…” you mumbled. “I didn’t realize…” That you’d left the door open. That you had been so out of it, so careless, that he had been able to walk right in without resistance. That you had been vulnerable enough for it. That you were lucky it was just Hiromi. And worse – that he had seen you like this.

You weren’t supposed to let anyone see you like this. Not ever. Not before month six at the very least. Not before you could safely unveil the inevitable truth that you were not always put together, not always effortless, not always charming and composed. That sometimes you were pitiful and weak and driven to your knees with sickness. But here Hiromi was, watching you watch him like a wary animal, looking at you like— Like nothing. Like he hadn’t even noticed. Like you weren’t standing there with your hair a ratty mess, your skin damp and wan, your nose and cheeks red and drippy. Like you were just you, still you, always you.

Something thick lodged itself in your throat. Because this was uncharted. Unfamiliar. You didn’t let people take care of you. You had spent years, an entire lifetime, making sure of it. You prided yourself on it, in fact. You could be independent, self-sufficient, sturdy on your own two feet. You didn’t need this. You had half a mind to bristle, every remaining instinct that hadn’t been boiled to a crisp whined for you to do so. To snap and snarl, to tell him to get the hell out of your house, because you hadn’t invited him.

Except.

Except.

Here was a man who had let himself into your home – because your door was unlocked, because he was worried, because he cared – and he had made you soup. Bad soup, terrible soup, soup that might send you to a hospital even if your illness doesn’t, but he had made it for you. That first, awful tug of emotion clawed its way up your throat like a hell beast, thick and swollen, a molten and uncontainable chrysalis spawning inside your ribcage. You swallowed it down, stubborn – but it surged again, hotter and heavier until it filled the hollow of your chest cavity with pressure unbearable, pressing against your lungs, curling around your heart like a fist.

You weren’t someone who cried easily. Not in front of people where it could be seen and turned over in someone else’s hands and inspected like a foreign object. Your face crumpled. “Oh, shit,” Hiromi blurted, panicked.

Your breath hitched, a fractured, watery sound, and before you could steel yourself, the dam cracked. The first sob broke loose in a shuddering quake, splintering through your fragile frame like a fault line giving way, the house of cards of your body collapsing inward.

Hiromi fumbled for somewhere to set the soup down, his head jerking side to side, searching, his movements sharp and uncoordinated in his frantic attempt to find a flat surface. He spun in place before practically hurling the bowl onto your now cluttered countertop.

The moment his hands were free, they were on you. He pulled you in without hesitation, firm but careful, gathering you against him like something breakable. One hand smoothed over the trembling line of your spine, the other curled over the back of your head, tucking you into the dark warmth of his neck.

You tried to hold yourself together. To choke it back and swallow it down, to wriggle out of the arms that were stronger than you even on your best day. But he was warm, and quiet, and steady, the steadfast certainty of his presence— The weight of it all dragged you down, your fingers fisting weakly into the dampening fabric of his collar, your body wracked with those awful, stuttering sniffles that made your breath catch, and your chest feel like it was caving in under something heavier than nausea. It wasn’t dignified, it wasn’t graceful, but he stayed, held you tighter, wrapped himself around you like it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t just the sickness. Not just the fever or exhaustion or embarrassment. It was him. The patient care. The fact that he was here, unasked, unprompted, cradling you in the warm wreath of his arms in the middle of your kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world. The fact that for once – for the first time – you hadn’t had to ask for help. You hadn’t had to prove that you needed it. And you didn’t know what to do with that.

His chin dipped, the slope of his nose brushing through your hair, like the mess of you didn’t faze him at all – he welcomed it, in fact. His breath was warm against your ear as he murmured something soft and low, something you couldn’t quite catch over the humiliating crack of your own nasally weeping. “Brutal review,” he sighed. “Tears before you’ve even tried it, sweetheart?”

You sniffled, hiccuped, curled further into his chest. Your voice was watery but you managed to choke: “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.” Hiromi scoffed, the sound warm with exasperation, like what you’d said was patently absurd.

“Like what?” His palm smoothed over the tangled wreckage of your hair, fingers threading through the knots, careful in their slow combing – not because it bothered him, but because it clearly bothered you. “Sick? Human?” He was deliberate in the way he nuzzled into your ear and skated his nose over your temple, like he had every intention of reassuring you through sheer stubborn affection alone.

“You’re beautiful, even now,” he said simply. “Actually—” a hum, low and thoughtful, but still coy “—maybe even more now. You might be a little less intimidating like this.” You let out an affronted, congested scoff. “Intimidating?” “Mmh,” he confirmed. He tipped his head back as if in contemplation. “A little.”

“How?” You pulled back just enough to peer up at him, bleary-eyed, tear-streaked, your lips trembling around the words. Hiromi really doesn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful than you, with your lashes weighed down with crystals and your face splotchy and wet. Hiromi smiled. That slow, lazy curve of his mouth, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as if to say, once again: There you are. And then – without ceremony or hesitation – bluntly he said, “You’re obviously out of my league.”

A laugh punched out of you, wet and miserable, but startled into sincerity. “Nuh uh,” you objected. “Am I?” He nodded solemnly, unshaken. “Devastatingly so.” It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. And yet, somehow, impossibly, you could feel the tight ache in your chest start to ease. You swiped at your face with the wet sleeve of your sweater, groggy and sniffling, weakly you pawed at Hiromi trying to push him back toward the door. “You should go. I don’t want you to catch this.”

Hiromi clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

Before you could blink or protest, his hands framed your face, long enough to cradle you in your entirety. His thumbs smoothed over the heat of your fever-warmed cheeks, swiping away the tear tracks there, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead – warm, solid, and deliberately sloppy, he was making a point. “You see,” he whispered gravely, lips still resting against your skin to where you could feel his smile rather than see it, “I’m afraid I’ve already been exposed.” He drew back just enough to look at you, still cupping your face like you might bolt – or shamble – off if he let go. He was smiling that easy, lopsided smile that made your stomach flip, even now and even like this.

“If I catch it, I catch it,” he said it like it was nothing. His thumbs traced one last, final arc beneath your eyes. “Worth it. I can think of worse things than being stuck in bed with you.” And really, what was there left to say to that

You exhaled, unsteady, too exhausted to argue, too wrung out to push him away. Your body had given up fighting long ago, and now, so had you. You let your forehead tip forward until it rested against his collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a quiet reassurance, the warmth of his hands still cupping your jaw an anchor against the dizzying swirl of sickness and sentiment lodged deep in your chest.

Time unraveled after that, stretching and looping in lazy, meandering circles, dissolving at the edges. Minutes, hours, yesterday, tomorrow – you weren’t sure where one ended and the next began or that it mattered, only that Hiromi was there through all of it. He insisted you try the soup. You did. It was terrible. You grimaced, he laughed – head tipping back, eyes crinkling at the corners, full-bodied delight at his own failure – and still he looked unreasonably pleased with himself for having tried.

Later, when your stomach rebelled, he was there, crouched behind you on the hard bathroom tile, one hand firm between your shoulder blades, the other gathering your hand in gentle sweeps away from your pallid face. He murmured comfortingly into the back of your neck, and pressed a kiss to your temple once the worst had passed.

You barely remembered being guided to the sink, or the cool drag of a washcloth over your face, or the sting of mint in your mouth as he coaxed you through brushing your teeth – only that, by the end of it all, you felt cleaner. And then – finally – you were cleared for couch recovery. You melted against Hiromi, bundled in a nest of blankets, your cheek pressed to the warmth of his chest, slack-jawed and droopy-eyed. And oddly enough, you no longer cared. At this point, he’d seen much worse.

The movie on the screen flickered dimly, sound low, more backdrop than entertainment. Hiromi hadn’t moved except to shift you against him, tucking you tighter into his side. His arm was a steady weight along your shoulders, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns where they rested against your upper arm. Your head lolled slightly as you peered up at him, bleary-eyed and sluggish, still tucked into the warmth of his chest. “You should go,” you croaked. “I’m wretched.”

Hiromi exhaled through his nose and gave your shoulder a firm, pointed squeeze. “Nope. We’ll be doing none of that.”

His palm skimmed up, tucking a stray curl behind your ear with the same ease he did everything – with the same quiet, unwavering patience he’d shown all night… and well before tonight when you truly thought about it. That empathy had always been there. “I like you. Messy hair, soup critic, flu monster—you.”

A sound bubbled up from your chest, too weak to be called a proper laugh but a close approximation of one. “Flu monster?”

“You should hear yourself,” he teased, gaze soft but amused. “It’s like a death rattle.”

You groaned, burying yourself deeper into the folds of the blanket. But it was hard to stay embarrassed when his arm curled around you again, when he squeezed the heat of you into his side like he would simply graft your hip to his if afforded the choice.

His voice rumbled somewhere above your head. “I’m staying, by the way.”

You slumped, your body had long since given up on full coordination and was far too weak to wage the war you wanted. “Hiromi—”

“Not up for debate,” he said simply, adjusting the blankets around you both to stake his claim – wordlessly declaring: deal with it. “I’ll take the couch. Or the floor. Or the kitchen, if you really want me to suffer. But I’m not leaving.”

You stared at him, groggy, and rheumy-eyed. “Why?”

He huffed, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes slipping shut as though already digging in for the night. “In case you need something, obviously.

Your heart stumbled in your chest, stuttering somewhere between protest and a much softer place. You hadn’t asked him to stay. You hadn’t even thought to. But there was no hesitation in his voice, no question of whether he should – only that he would

Hiromi was a steady presence in your life, in ways you hadn’t noticed until now. His name lit up your phone screen with casual check-ins even when you knew he was too busy for such frivolousness, he lingered at your door a minute extra after dropping you off, making sure to see you inside, and now – now he was here, willing to trade his bed for your couch just because he thought you might need him.

You thought about telling him no. You thought about insisting.

You didn’t… and why would you, when you wanted him to stay, too?

You made a soft sound of agreement, already half-asleep and slipping into the quiet pull of exhaustion – but it was much brighter than before. You thought, dizzily, that you might love him. It was too soon to say it, of course… if seeing you like this hadn’t scared him off, then surely a premature confession would. Maybe one day you’d tell him. Month six, maybe, you quietly plotted.

For now you let that warm bloom soothe you, green roots chasing away the sickly dark planted in your body. Your eyes slipped shut, and your fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve enough to hold on. Hiromi hummed, wordlessly pleased with your agreement, before his hand fished for yours beneath the blanket. He laced his fingers through yours and gave them a firm squeeze. “Next time,” he murmured, “we’ll do it the regular way. Perfect date and all.” You grunted in response, the last dredges of consciousness slipping from you to the soft orchestral repetition of the movies credits. “But for now,” he continued, dropping his cheek to the crown of your head, “this isn’t so bad, hm?” Your fingers twitched in his hand, barely an acknowledgment. No, you thought. Not bad at all.

[ivythink]

No Rest For The Wicked | mafia!sukuna x maid!reader

summary: in which a certain mafia leader executes your employers entire clan, yet instead of killing you along with all the other house staff members, he decides to spare your life and makes you his own little maid. how fucked up would it be if he ended up falling in love with you too?

genre: MDNI, mafia au, modern sukuna, afab reader, angst, hostage/forced labor type situation, sukuna does have his silly moments and can be surprisingly gentle, bittersweet ending, he's a slight masochist w/ a big phat 10 incher, reader is a reader and he buys her lots of books

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood, guns and alcohol, smut, piv sex, fingerfucking, cunninglingus, romantic turned rough sex. 10.4kwc!

Life is undoubtedly cruel.

One day you’re in grad school, struggling to make ends meet, working as a maid for a family that doesn’t even believe women should be able to read–

The next, you are essentially the property of quite possibly the most sadistic and also the most annoying man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Awful doesn’t even begin to describe a man like Sukuna. He’s someone that’ll rip your fingernails out one by one while begging you to scream and cry even louder for him. 

In hindsight, you should’ve known the Zenin’s dabbled in illegal activities of some sort, no one got that rich by just working hard. You have to leave some of your morality behind somewhere along the way to get to that point, whether it’s from exploiting others or just straight up dodging taxes. How else would they have pissed off a mafia lord enough to get their entire bloodline wiped out? You wouldn’t be surprised if he came for their distant relatives as well, he might as well be the fucking grim reaper.

Guilt washes over you each time you wake up in the shoebox of a room Sukuna put you in. Maybe if you hadn’t abandoned your own morals for a check, you wouldn’t have gotten caught up in the crossfire the day he decided to raid your previous employers compound. He happily wiped out everyone that was there, except for you– for a reason you have yet to know. You aren’t even sure if you want to find out anymore. You just want to go home, but you’re starting to doubt that’ll ever happen.

You tried to put up a fight, you really did, but it was all just a waste of time and energy. 

You offered to sign an NDA, to which you got laughed at by Sukuna and all of his men. NDA’s protected secrets like affairs, not criminal activity. Not that you’d know, you weren’t a fucking law student.

Then you tried crying– saying you were just trying to get by and that you had no reason to go off and snitch on him. You just wanted to live a peaceful life, you didn’t bother anyone. You quickly sucked it up after realizing he enjoyed watching others cry. He even encouraged you to keep going, all while there was an evil twinkle in his eye, the biggest smile on his face showing off his perfectly straight and glittering white teeth.

And how could you ever forget the hunger strike? That didn’t last long either. Sukuna found out you were refusing to eat, going as far as throwing away all the meals you were served in the same minute you got them. He woke you up that night by barging into your room with multiple boxes of take-out. 

This is where the annoying portion of his shitty personality comes in– he sat across from you and began to slowly eat, not holding out on expressing how good the food was after each bite. The room was excruciatingly quiet too, you heard each crunch and he eventually heard your stomach growl. 

He got you to eat in the end, just not any of the take-out he used to persuade you with. 

“Sorry sweetheart, bad girls don’t get rewarded,” is what came out of his mouth when he handed you a plate of dry chicken and rice. You wouldn’t be surprised if he cooked it himself too. 

You are going to die here.

It's harsh reality that eventually settled in for you. You do your best to accept it, knowing you’ll perish in the home of someone who playfully taunted you once with food. It’s almost laughable, it would be if you didn’t have to circle back to the fact that he’ll probably be the one to watch you take your last breath.

Each time you clean blood up off the floor, you hope it’s the final straw that makes your brain finally realize just how traumatizing it is. You hope it goes into overdrive, just so that the next time you have to stand before a presumably innocent person’s blood, you are numb and dissociated enough to clean up his mess without a thought.

But nothing ever changes, it’s always just as filthy and disgusting as the time before, holding back on a gag or several when you first get started with mopping his white marble floors. His home was too beautiful for all the bloodshed that happens in it, the only reason why it’s not riddled with angry spirits is because he has a shaman come in frequently to spiritually cleanse the place. 

You spend most of your nights trying to figure out why he keeps you here, he has plenty of unpaid maids already. He has more of a reason to keep them instead of you, he’s saved them from their lives one way or another and they are more than happen to serve him. Not that you didn’t need to be saved, you absolutely did, you were drowning in debt from student loans. 

But still, you’d take your old life any day over being a literal modern-day slave, at least you would’ve been able to still go to the liquor store and grab a bottle of vodka to wash your worries and pain away. 

But now you are painfully sober, mainly by choice. You’ve declined Sukuna the couple of times he’s offered you a drink, you didn’t trust him enough to believe that he wouldn’t slip something in there. Except there’s something that tells you he was the type of person to use a psychedelic over something else, just so he could watch you have a bad trip and laugh about it the whole time. 

Some days you’re convinced that he just wants someone to tease and make fun of while he’s home, kind of like an extra source of entertainment for when he gets bored of scrolling through tiktok. 

Like a pet. 

He ignores most of the workers, but you? He makes it his life’s mission to get under your skin, he taunts you for sport. 

He’ll come up behind you, childishly flicking your ear, poking the side of your waist, lightly pulling your hair. Then there’s his favorite, dropping a random object on the floor or counter when you think you’re alone in a room, just so he could startle you. He laughs at your pain and frustration everytime he does it, yet you can’t say anything because he’ll probably torture you.

“Mr. Sukuna is requesting your presence.” One of the many staff members knocks on your door and says. 

More like demanding, but you had no choice either way. So you drag your feet down the long, cold hallway and into his office filled with many books that you doubt he’s ever touched, let alone read. To no one’s surprise, he’s been patiently waiting. As always, he's leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the table, absolutely no care in the world.

“Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t ya’?” He says with a smug look on his face. 

“Of course not.” You respond dryly. “May I ask why you requested my presence?” 

“No you may not.” His tone is even drier. “Have a seat.” He says, gesturing at the leather chair in front of him.

You continue to look at him reluctantly, all while he continues to encourage you to take a seat. His words blend together in your brain, translating to one big ‘pspspspsps’ because that’s how he makes you feel at this point, a fucking pet.

What could he possibly want this time?

He says nothing at first and just continues to stare you down. It’s not uncomfortable anymore, you got used to it after a month of staying here. You’ve been here for 7 months now, what used to be a painful silence accompanied by your racing heart and barely contained fidgeting has turned into a waiting game– sometimes he’ll speak after 3 minutes, other times longer. One time he didn’t say anything at all and just had you sit in front of him for a whole hour– once the timer was up, he excused you. 

You really thought about saying something to him about it that day, but decided to hold your tongue. It’s not like you had anything else to do, your life revolved around him and his orders. 

“Did you miss me while I was gone?” He smirks as he asks. He already knows the answer to that, but wants to watch you struggle as you lie straight to his face.

You try your best to hold back a scowl, apparently he likes it when women look at him with disdain and you do not want to give him that pleasure. “I don’t think a week is long enough to miss anyone, Sir.” 

“Yes it is.” He refutes, sitting upright in his chair. “My girlfriends usually start to miss me after 2 days.” 

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head when he says that, he treats those poor women like shit and they just eat up. “Must I remind you that I’m literally one of your victims, not one of your girlfriends.” 

There she is, he thinks to himself. He likes it when you get all sassy with him, especially when he’s trying to be nice to you. “You are neither.” He corrects you, then plops a wrapped gift on to his cherry wood desk. “I would’ve never gotten you these if you were.” He adds, sliding the mystery gift toward you. 

“What is it?” You ask, not as excited or pleased as he’d like you to be over his kind gesture. 

“Maybe if you opened it, you’d find out.” He says condescendingly. “Go on– don’t let my efforts of trying to be a better boss go to waste.” 

“More like my abductor.” You mutter to yourself, making the man chuckle because he knows it’s true. You slide the gift closer to yourself and pull the ribbons string, quickly undoing the shitty bow that he most likely tied together himself. 

Under the wrapping paper is a collection of books, you don’t know if you should be happy or even more disgusted by him. There’s a part of you that feels excited, you’ve missed reading. You’ve never asked to read any of the books he has, because fuck him, and you didn’t have a phone that you could go online and read free books from. 

But on the other hand, “Did you get me a collection of Dostoevsky books just so I could be in even more despair?” You’re quick to accuse him. 

“What? No.” He grimaces, you can’t tell if he’s lying or not.

“Then why did you get me these?”

“You were a student before I took you in, no?” He clasps his hands behind his head. “Just thought you’d like ‘em.” He simply says. 

You turn your attention back to the books, there’s 5 of them and it’ll probably take around a month to read through all of them– not bad. But you still don’t trust him. “What do you want?”

“Well, right now I want you to stop asking all these stupid questions.” He answers sourly, clearly a little offended that you weren’t showing more joy over his gift. Who knew the man could be this sensitive, you watched him cut someone's fingers off last month for fucks sake. “Do you want them or not? ‘Cause I can toss them in the fireplace right n–”

“No need.” You chirp out, grabbing the collection and plopping it on your lap. “You already got them, might as well read them.” You casually say, biting back on thanking him because that was the last thing you wanted to say. 

“Great.” He begins to look at you expectantly.

“Mhm.” You respond through shut lips. “Well– I should uhm… probably get back to work.” 

He nods and agrees, “You probably should.” You move to get up, but are quickly stopped when he continues to speak. “Buuut if you say thank you, I’ll let you take the day off.” He offers. 

You almost want to laugh at him for that, “Seriously?”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’. “C’mon, I know you want the day off, just say it.” 

“..Thanks.” You mutter under your breath. 

“What? Sorry, didn’t hear that.” 

“Thank you.” You say a little louder and it puts a smirk on his face. 

He leans forward, planting his elbows on the desk. “Knew you could do it, guess I just had to talk you through it a little bit.” 

It sends a slight shiver down your spine, he’s never been that suggestive with you, ever. Before you even get the chance to process it, he goes back to his cold, distant demeanor that he presents to the world and excuses you from his presence.

—

Your wish of wanting him to leave you alone more was surprisingly granted. Work is still as difficult as always, but ever since he gifted you those books, he’s moderately toned down the daily torment towards you. No longer poking you or tugging at your hair. 

But the sly, unsolicited comments still persist. You’re used to them though, they’re more like background noise to you at this point. 

Your duties for today were dusting and polishing the wine glasses that literally nobody uses. You decide to go with your first task– there was something about ruffling the feather duster that was oddly satisfying to you. Or maybe you were just going stir-crazy in this place, who knows. 

“Oh- sorry.” You mutter after realizing you had just intruded in on one of Sukuna's meetings. He usually has them in his office, not the entertainment room. 

“It’s fine.” He dryly mutters, not bothering to spare a glance towards you. “You can continue.” 

You nod in response before making your way to the corner shelf. The only good thing about him was that he generally didn’t berate his workers in front of others unless it was called for, which was great since his actions usually set the precedent for how his guests treated them.

Aside from the frequent blood spillage, the mansion was honestly pretty clean, so you didn’t have to put that much work into tasks like dusting. You doubt there was any dust on the shelf or the items on it to begin with, so you worked quickly but quietly– drowning out the voices that filled the room until they morphed into muffled sounds in your focused state. It was almost kind of nice, until one of the men in the room directed his attention toward you.

“I think you missed a spot sweetheart.” He says. You’ve witnessed enough of these meetings to know that he’s not one of the big guys in charge– most likely a newbie, a little henchman. 

Even if he was a new face, you still weren’t used to any of them directly speaking to you, so you stopped and looked up at Sukuna. It wasn’t an act of defiance this time, you were more so just looking at him for direction. 

"Keep cleaning." Sukuna murmurs, still not bothering looking your way. He decides to ignore the whole thing, hoping that was just a one and done comment. He trusts Akiro will deal with his little recruit later, just not now when they’re trying to handle some business. 

But sometimes things don’t go the way you want them to, even he isn’t prone to situations like this. 

“Nope– still haven’t quite gotten it, maybe you should bend over a little bit more, I’m sure that’ll help.” He smirks and comments again, because that’s how untrained dogs are, they continue their bad behavior until you correct them. 

You don’t even look at Sukuna this time and continue to clean despite how shaky your hands start to become. Anger begins to slowly boil up in your chest. It was like being back with the Zenin’s all over again— the harassment, the small degrading comments. 

Sukuna notices that– he also notices how the little fucker won’t stop eyeing you up and down, eye-fucking you, thinking about you in ways that he shouldn’t. Doesn’t matter if you’re not with Sukuna romantically, you’re still his– you belong to him. 

As fucked up as it may sound, only he’s allowed to do that to you. And even then, he doesn’t.

Since Akiro refuses to train his new dog, he figures it’s his job to do so, which is why he takes it upon himself to grab the nearest vase and breaks it over the kids head. Before anyone could blink, there were shards scattered all across the floor. Around everyone's feet and just inches away from where you were standing.

Everyone of course flinches, because he did that shit without a warning, not even changing the bored expression on his face once. It’s that one quality that’s made him so successful in his line of work– his unpredictability. There’s no point in guessing what he’d do, you just pray he’s not feeling extra self-indulgent that day. He’s a glutton for violence and enjoys what he does– worse than his father who just wanted to get the job done. 

No one in the room makes a sound– especially not you. You stand still in place, watching the blood begin to trickle down the guy's forehead as he laid over the shards, groaning over the pain that began to kick in. His head stung more and more with each second that passed, he needed a vicodin or something the moment he got home. 

That’s if he even makes it home. 

Sukuna cuts the tension by directing his attention back to Akiro, who can’t help but bow his head down, out of fear of being next. “Why did you bring him here?” 

“Just moved up in the ranks, Sir. We made the mistake of promoting him.” Akiro’s quick to take responsibility for the decision. Taking accountability like that will more likely increase his chances of getting out of here unscathed.

Sukuna lets out a low laugh, an insulting one. “Recruiting him was the real mistake. My men would still be standing if I busted a vase over their heads.” He then turns to the half-conscious man on the ground. He stands over his body and without bothering to kneel down, says “Apologize to her.”

He forces himself to get up, which takes a good amount of effort, and bows before Sukuna instead. He expresses his deepest apologies for acting out of line, and everything else you’d expect someone to say towards a man with a murder count that was unmatched. The words have no meaning to Sukuna, but his lips do quirk up for a split second, he loves it when people bow down to him. But it wasn’t about him this time, it was about you. 

“No.” Sukuna finally says after letting the guy ramble for what seems like forever. “Apologize to her.” 

He then reluctantly turns to you, with his eyes glued to the ground, and mutters an apology that was half of the one he gave to Sukuna. He didn’t like that and kicks the kid in the stomach. “I didn’t hear you. Again.”

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy heaves. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have done that.”

You don’t acknowledge it and continue to clean. He didn’t mean it, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he wished you were dead right now since he couldn’t get away with being a fucking pervent towards you. 

“Now get out.” Sukuna harshly orders. He watches the man get up from the ground and stumble out of the room with his head down, with the rest of the men following suit. You wait a bit for them to leave before making your exit as well, wanting to avoid them when you finally do so. 

“I didn’t say you could leave.” Sukuna mutters, pouring himself a glass of scotch. 

“Right.” You say in response, slightly shaken up from the scene you had just witnessed, it never gets easier. You watch as he slowly fills his glass, unable to tell what he was thinking right now. 

“You okay?” He finally asks, putting the crystal decanter back down onto the mini bar.

“Uhh– yeah.” You usually have something smart to say in response, but you’re kind of at a loss for words right now over why he did that. “Not that big of a deal. His words I mean. Not that disrespecting you is okay, but I’m not– sorry, I’m fine.” 

For once he patiently listens to you as you struggle to come up with a response, more so because he’s pretty sure you’re scared of offending him right. He surprisingly doesn’t want you to feel that way right now. 

“Alright.” He shrugs, taking a sip from his glass. He’s honestly starting to feel bad right now, it’s bothering him. He’s quick to cut off the thoughts brewing in his head and gestures at the shards sprinkled all over the floor, “Clean this up and go take the rest of the day off.” He orders, but his tone’s softer, less demanding than the last one he just gave to the group of men.

You nod, “Alright. Yeah– I can do that.” 

Without another word or taking another look at you, he walks out, leaving you to clean up his mess once again. 

You slept earlier than usual tonight. 

If you had to be honest with yourself, aside from reading the books that Sukuna had randomly gotten you, sleep was the one thing you looked forward to the most. It was quiet, away from everyone else. 

You try to get the most out of your sleep, it’s how Sukuna’s able to get away with sneaking into your room tonight without getting caught. He just wanted to see how you were doing, but you fell asleep before he got the chance to.

So now he's here, sitting at the edge of the shitty bed he’s been forcing you to sleep on for months. Gaze fixed on your form, listening to the sounds of your shallow breathing. He’s never really gotten the chance to see you like this, for the most part you have a distressed look on your face whenever he’s around, it makes him wonder if this was how everyone else saw you.

He also wonders why he’s even sitting next to you now, watching you. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat it, it was creepy, he felt like a fucking weirdo. But he pushes that thought aside– not like he was going to do anything to you anyways. You’re safer with him more than you’d ever know, maybe that’s why he ended up feeling bad over the way you were scared of saying the wrong thing to him earlier. 

But he couldn’t lie, the longer he sat there and stared at you, the more he wondered what it would be like if he just… reached out? Ran the back of his knuckle down your cheek or something? 

No, that’s weird as fuck, don’t do that. 

He keeps his hands to himself as he continues to get lost in his thoughts, letting them take a darker turn. He could end this– end you, if he wanted. But he doesn’t feel like it, nor does he feel like setting you free so you can go back to living a normal, relatively safe life. How shitty of him. Even as you sleep, you still don’t look at peace. Maybe his mistake all along was not killing you that night. 

But just as quickly as the foreign feelings came, they vanish, making him wonder what the fuck he was even doing with his life right now. He could be getting drunk, or better yet, getting laid right now. But he’s here, watching a girl that loathes him sleep. 

Sukuna exhales slowly and quietly gets up from the creaky bed, the last thing he needs right now is you waking up and freaking out– you already hate him enough as is.

He successfully does so and leaves your room, gently closing the door as well. 

Which easily became another regret after realizing he’s never closed a door so carefully in his life.

—

Things between you two went back to “normal” after that. Normal as in, annoying you at every chance he gets and calling out for you whenever he needs something cleaned. Eventually he summons you back into the abyss of sorrow and despair– his office. 

As always, he’s waiting for you, ready to mentally torment you for however long he pleases. 

“How can I help you?” You sigh and ask. 

He just gestures towards the seat in front of him in response. Once you finally sit down, he takes a second before speaking, using that time to get a good look at you. 

When it comes to him, getting a good look at you means just that. He’ll look you dead in the eye and try to gauge how much you’re hating your life at the moment. Sometimes his gaze will drift to your lips or your hair, but that’s about it. Even then, you don’t feel like it’s in a predatory way.

“Did you finish your work in the sunroom?” He asks. 

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Mhm.” Is all you have to offer, your mind’s more on what he wants because you know he didn’t summon you just to ask that.  

He leans back in his chair. “Have you gone through that collection of books I got you yet?”

“I did. Finished the 5th a couple days ago.”

“Good to know.” He leans to the side to pick up another box and sets them down on the desk. “I heard Murakami books were a good read.”

You look at the collection, this time it’s a set of four rather than five. “Who’d you hear that from?”

“Google.” He mutters. 

“I see.” You want to laugh, but receiving a second set of books makes you feel just as unsettled as it did the first time around. 

You slowly reach for them, but in his typical asshole fashion, he nudges them back.

“Say, ‘Thank you, Lord Sukuna.’” He laughs as he poorly mimics your voice, he sounds like an idiot and you hate that you can’t make fun of him for it right now. 

You just stare at him in return because you’d rather not call him that and he starts to become visibly annoyed. If you weren’t so scared of him deep down, you’d think watching his demeanor shift is hilarious. It’s a silent tantrum. His lips thin, his pupils shrink, a vein or two pop out because of the way he holds his breath. 

“Tell me, do you like having a tongue?” He eventually asks, since you won’t say anything. 

“Can’t put it to full use anymore, but yeah I guess.” 

“Yeah, I fuckin’ thought so– wait what did you just say to me?!” He’s stunned and honestly, so are you. You honestly don’t know why you said that, it’s probably just from the months of pent up frustration. You obviously didn't have the best life, but you could’ve fucked more people– the past 8 months have made you realize that. 

Now you don’t have that choice because you’re stuck here, with a “boss” that pisses you off every waking moment and “coworkers” that follow him like he’s some sort of prophet. 

“I said I like having a tongue, please don’t cut it out.” You respond, hoping he just leaves it at that. 

“I never said I was gonna cut it out.” He quickly says, still looking at you like you’re the crazy one. 

“Then why did you bring up my tongue?”

“Are you actually talking back to me right now?” He scoffs before pointing at that door, “Outta my sight. You don’t deserve my attention right now.” 

You stare at him a little longer and notice he’s holding back that annoying smile of his. Who knew talking like that would actually get the man to leave you alone. 

“Don’t forget your books too, you little nerd.” He barks out right before you walk out of the room. 

You want the books, so you turn around to grab them. His head’s cocked to the side while he watches you walk back in amusement. 

You're not sure why he even excused you in the first place. He’s not done toying with you, that much is known when he nearly slams his hand down onto the stack of books and moves them a little closer to him. Sukuna looks quite pleased with himself when you don’t bother hiding your emotions this time and look at him with pure disgust. 

“What’s that little look for?” He purrs, voice dropping an octave. 

“You’d hold anything hostage.” You answer truthfully, watching his finger lightly tap on the cover. His nails are painted black today, he usually does that whenever the blood stains are too stubborn to be scrubbed out. 

“I know.” He’s not afraid to admit, he sounds neither proud nor ashamed to say it. “Doesn’t mean you can’t read in the backyard or sunroom, probably better than your room.”

“I would but I’d rather not spend my leisure time in an area where someone’s probably died.”

He chuckles, “I’m surprised you went this whole time thinking nobody has ever died in your room before.”

“Didn’t have to tell me that.” You murmur. 

“My bad.” He finally slides the books over to you. “Sunroom’s safe though.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” That piece of information does nothing to help your new fear of your room being fucking haunted. “They didn’t die in my bed, right?” 

“The mattress was replaced right after.” 

“So they kind of did?”

“No more questions.” He hates when people ask too many questions, it’s annoying and he’d like to keep this interaction as light-hearted as it is.

“Fine.” You finally take the books and he doesn’t stop you this time. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah.” He’s not really sure what to say, never been much of a ‘you’re welcome’ guy. At least he didn’t bother making you repeat yourself, even though you said it as quietly as last time. 

—-

“Shoulda suggested this place to you sooner since you use it so much.” He walks in with his usual glass of whiskey, interrupting your reading time. You really should’ve gone to bed hours ago, the clock on the wall says 3:14 AM. “Or are you scared of being in your room now?” 

You avoid the question because it’s true and you’d rather not have him make fun of you for it right now. You’ve been here every night until you can barely keep your eyes open since he suggested it.

“Have you been spying on me or something?” 

“Or something.” He smirks and takes a sip. You’re not sure if ‘friendlier’ is the best word to describe him when he’s having a drink, but there’s for sure a change. “Kinda hard to miss when I gotta walk by after getting home.” 

“Never noticed.” You fold the corner of the page you were on and set the book down. 

“That’s ‘cause I'm as light as a feather.” The dry humor starts and you struggle to keep a straight face from how ridiculous that statement sounds coming from him. 

You bring your knees up to hold and to lean your head against, before humoring him just a little. “I’m sure you are.” 

“That’s all? You’re allowed to laugh y’know.” 

“Ha-ha” You say in a monotone voice.

Instead it’s him that bursts out laughing, maybe harder than he should from his little drink. You actually end up laughing a little from that though, it’s contagious when it’s not an evil or manic one.

“There she is.” He husks out. There’s a moment of silence after you two finally settle down, with reality inevitably settling in for the both of you. 

Aside from making jokes and picking on you, there’s nothing to talk about. What’s there to be said to someone who’s life was ruined by him? The world thinks you're dead, it went on without you. 

You know that, he knows that too. 

But he’d still like to try to talk to you, even if it is the alcohol speaking. Though he doubts it, he feels this way when he’s dead sober. It’s kinda why he pushes your buttons to the point where you begin to consider if telling him off is worth losing your life over. 

“Sputnik Sweetheart.” He reads the title of the book out loud. “Weird name. What’s it about?”

“It’s about this guy who’s in love with a girl, but she doesn’t love him back because she’s a lesbian and is in love with an older woman. But the older woman doesn’t love her back either.” 

“So what is it, like a reverse love triangle?” 

“No— maybe. I don’t even know if that’s a thing.” You end up laughing with him, more so because he sounded like a fucking frat boy asking that. He probably would’ve been one too in another life, a less violent one.

He nods at the pen next to the book, ignoring the fact that he’s never supplied you with one before. “You taking notes or something?”

“Here and there, only on the parts I like.” 

“Let me see.” His eyes drift back to you, looking extremely defensive. “Oh c’mon, you act like I’m gonna go off and tell someone.” 

“Fine.” You nudge the book towards him. 

He figures you fold the top of the page to mark where you left off and the bottom folds are the pages where you’ve written them. He picks a random page and reads to himself what’s been underlined. 

“If they invent a car that runs on stupid jokes, you could go far.” The note for that one is simply “sukuna”. 

He ignores that one and goes to a different page. 

“After all this, I won't start to hate you.” The note? “Easy for you to say.” 

He almost laughs at that. 

“Sometimes I feel so- I don’t know - lonely. The kind of helpless feeling when everything you’re used to has been ripped away.” No note. 

That’s.. sobering.

He looks to you after reading that part to find you’re no longer paying attention to him. The moon’s shining bright tonight, it allows you to look at the perfectly manicured backyard through the glass wall. What were you thinking about? Were you even thinking about anything at all? Just looking at you right now makes you seem like the type of person that allows their mind to take a break. He wonders what that’s like.

“Are you done?” You ask after eventually realizing that he’s staring. 

“Yeah.” He slides the book back to you. If you didn’t know any better, he looks a little remorseful right now. You mostly underlined things on the sadder side, so maybe that’s why. 

“Nice to know that you bleed like the rest of us.” You say in almost a whisper, but he catches it. 

He takes another sip from his glass, acting like he didn’t hear that. Sukuna will always have his own issues, but the last person that should be humanizing him right now is you. 

He yawns and looks at the clock, realizing he definitely needed to go to sleep. You really should too since you have shelves to dust tomorrow, but he wasn’t going to kill the mood by saying that. Staying up to read hasn’t messed with your schedule so far.. not that he knows of. 

“M’gonna call it night.” His voice is raspier than usual, he sounds like he needs the sleep from whatever kind of a day he’s had. 

“G’night.”

—

A month’s gone by and Sukuna catching you reading in the dead of night has become a part of your routine. Sometimes he has a glass of liquor with him, sometimes he doesn’t, but he’s surprisingly respectful each time. 

Over that course of time you’ve grown a little more comfortable with him. Not to the point where you’d consider him a friend, but enough to where you can bring yourself to have a conversation with him without having the searing urge to leave. 

He doesn’t care to read, saying he gets a headache after a while, but he seems to like it whenever you summarize chapters for him. You tried suggesting audiobooks, but that sounded so much worse than actual reading to him.

What he enjoys the most is reading through your notes, that may or may not have gotten more dramatic just to fuck with him. 

It’s the only way you could get back at him, even if he does find a majority of them laughable. 

Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart. “no shit”

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. “i can promise you that this was not optional.”

He ends up closing the book after that, you sound like you’re arguing with the author at this point. 

“This is the last one, huh?” 

“Yeah.” You take a sip from the glass of scotch you two have been sharing. “I finished it a couple days ago, I’ve just been rereading it.” 

“Coulda gotten you more by now if you said something.” He says, taking the glass out of your hand, brushing his fingers over yours. 

You’re starting to think it's not a coincidence anymore. Not when it’s been enough times to know his hands are as rough as they look. Always the one wanting to do the dirty work, his skin’s gotten tough over time because of it. 

“I’m saying something now.” You rest your head on the palm of your hand as you watch him finish the very last of the drink. It’s better that he finished it, even with the small sips you took, you still felt it more than you should’ve from how long you’ve gone without drinking. 

Almost a whole year. 

9 months to be exact since you’ve been cut off from the world. You try not to think about it too much anymore, especially with how friendly you’ve become with your captor. Who knew the guy that pointed a gun to your head and forced you to get in a van would eventually become the same person you would look forward to having nightly talks with. His eyes have begun to soften whenever he looks at you, even during the day when you both play your roles. The tone of voice he uses when he’s asking something of you makes the request sound more like an apology, it’s sincere, hesitant almost.

“Got any requests?” He asks, setting the glass down. 

“I’m sure I do, just can’t remember any right now. Do you think you’ll let me come back with a list tomorrow when you’re grumpy and sober again?” You ask, watching a little smile form on his lips. Sometimes you wonder what those feel like, can’t be rougher than his hands. 

“You think I’m grumpy when I’m sober?”

You shrug, “I’m sure Ino thinks so with the way you had him shaking from just shooting him a glare.”

“Fuck Ino.” He clicks his tongue and knocks his knee against yours. “M’not grumpy with you– what are you rubbing your knee for? That did not hurt.”

“Maybe not for you.” You continue to complain, rubbing the spot he hit even though he was right, it didn’t hurt. You just wanted to mess with him. “My bad, you’re not grumpy, you’re just mean.”

“Damn, even after I offered to get you books of your choice?” He plays along.

“Mhm.” You try to ignore the way he leans forward and places a hand on your knee– rubbing a little circle with his thumb, looking at you as if he were listening to you pour your heart out. “You’ll probably just ask google which books are better too.”

He chuckles, “you wound me sweetheart.”

“Clearly not enough if you’re rubbing on my leg like this.”

“Nothing wrong with trying to make it feel better.” He brushes you off and keeps going, inching his hand up a little higher. He leans in closer, you can smell the liquor on him, he can probably smell it on you too. “I’d say I’m pretty nice– right now at least. Want me to stop?”

“I’d probably hate you even more if you stopped being nice to me.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually starting to kinda like me.”

“I think you’re just delusional, Sukuna.” You giggle and he rests his forehead against yours. He’s too far into this to try to back track now, so he lets himself be a little more delusional by pressing his lips against yours. 

They’re soft. Too soft for someone who spews the harshest words. He’s gentle too, even when he’s grabbing the back of your neck to pull you in closer, deepening it. Swiping his tongue across your bottom lip until you let him in. If warmth had a taste, this would be it. You let out a little hum when he swirls his tongue around yours and it makes his blood start to rush, his loose sweats suddenly start to feel tight. 

What a sweet sound. He’s sure everything else is sweet too. 

He feels you start to pull back and he lets you, loosening his grip on the back of your neck, but not letting go. There's a thin string of saliva connecting you two. 

For someone so evil, Sukuna looks almost angelic right now— warm pink brushed over his cheeks, lips slightly swollen, eyes searching for more than what you’ve given him so far. 

“Did you like that?” He asks. 

The way he looks at you almost puts you in a trance. At a loss for words, you slowly nod. 

“Want more?”

“For tonight, yeah.” You whisper, letting him pick you up and take you to the master bedroom on a select few can enter. 

There’s clothes scattered throughout the floor from you two taking your time getting them off of each other. There’s kisses in between each piece that comes off– all over his neck, all over your chest, trailing down to your exposed breasts. Your nipples harden from the cool air in the room, the way he swirls his tongue around them gives you relief, until he pulls away and the saliva he left begins to cools down with the room. 

He fully lays you down and shows some impatience when he gets to your pants, removing them along with your panties in one go.

“So fuckin’ wet.” He says in awe, slowly running the backs of his fingers up your slit. You squirm a little when they glide over your clit. He looks up and watches the way your eyes glaze over from just that. “Sensitive aren’t you?”

It doesn’t help that he adds some pressure with his thumb and slowly rubs in a small circle. 

“A little.” You mumble, holding back a little moan. 

“I can tell,” he chuckles and throws your legs over his broad shoulders. “Gonna make you cum so fuckin’ much.”

He’s not so gentle anymore when he suddenly grabs onto your hips and begins to lap at you like he was starved. He didn’t give you a chance to work up to it, you find yourself immediately gasping from the way he just attacks you in all the right places. You can feel him groaning from how good you taste when he sucks on your clit, letting out a lewd pop! when he pulls away.

He lifts your hips up and grinds you against his mouth while he goes to fucking work with you, like he was trying to make you cum as fast as he could. And at this point, it was going to be the fastest you ever have. The orgasm that's quickly brewing inside of you makes you grab onto the sheets with both hands because it’s all you really can do, he wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon. You tasted too good and the sounds you were making just made his cock throb even harder. 

“Ohmygod– fuck– w-wait.” You gasp out. This can’t be fucking happen, you don’t how this even possible. 

And Sukuna doesn’t wait, he fucking speeds up. 

He even slides two of his thick fingers into your cunt and starts curling them in, finding your weak spots immediately and still lapping your clit. It was obscene, you’ve never been this wet before and the clicking sounds he was able to make from pumping his fingers in and out of you was the proof. 

“Gonna cum for me?” He asks after feeling you squeeze around his fingers even more than you already were. 

You nod, but it’s not enough for him. 

“What’s that mean?” He laughs from how he’s able to render you speechless. “C’mon baby let me hear it.”

He goes even faster and it’s impossible to hold back anymore. You try to pull away but he just holds you down, not allowing you to run away from what he’s giving you. 

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuuck!” It’s all that comes out, you sound like a broken record, just how he likes it. You’re squealing, damnear crying from how overwhelming it is. He coos at you and tells you to just let go, but you’re honestly scared to at this point. Nobody has ever made you feel this good before.

He sticks his head up from in between your legs, still finger fucking you with precision. There’s a grin on his face from how much you're struggling to take it and let it happen. He has an idea and places a hand on your lower stomach. You already know what he’s trying to do and close your legs without a thought, but it’s already too late. He’s pressing down, his fingers that are deep inside of you press up. Your ears start to ring as the orgasm completely rips through you, you couldn’t even hear the noises that came out of you when you began to completely gush around his fingers. 

Your brain even blocked out whatever the fuck he was saying to you. You just know he’s laughing at you, probably taunting you for how much a mess you made even though it was his fault. 

You finally come to when he’s pushing your knees up to your chest, getting ready to split you open with the huge cock you figured he had. Your eyes widen at the length and girth, it’s no wonder why he looked down on most men. 

“So big,” you almost sound like you’re complaining, barely hearing the cocky ‘I know’ coming out of Sukuna. “Go slow.”

“I will, baby.” He purrs, running his tip through your wet folds. You’re even more sensitive now and nearly flinch the first couple times he slaps it against your puffy clit. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” You feebly respond, looking down at where your body’s connect and watching him slowly push into you. He doesn’t hold back on making noise, he even starts talking you through it. 

It seems like it’s more so to himself at this point from how tight of squeeze you have around him. His fingers did no justice in terms of working you open, he begins slowly rocking back and forth– bottoming out in one go was not it tonight. 

“Relax a little.” He advises as he repositions your legs, spreading them out a little more so he can bend down and cage you in with his arms.

“I’m trying.” It doesn’t hurt, you just feel full. You have know idea how he’s going to fit it all inside of you. 

He makes it happen, all from sweetly whispering filthy things in your ears while rolling his hips. He fully drags his cock out of you before pushing it back in, fucking you slowly while telling you how good your pussy feels and how he couldn’t wait to have you crying over him again. Some of the things were borderline threats, yet your walls still fluttered around him. 

“Better not run from it too.” He whispers in the shell of your ear as he begins to snap his hips against you. The tip of his cock begins hitting your fucking cervix and you’re already seeing stars. The sounds of squelching and slapping begin to pick up, he makes you look him in the eye and you already know he was fully ready to ruin you. 

Before you know it, he has your legs thrown over his shoulders as he fucks the shit out of you.

His nails sink into your hips while pulling you in, making you meet each and every single one of his powerful thrusts. He pounds every single inch into you without a care in the world, not even bothering to hide his own moans, convinced there’s nothing better than this. 

Having you under him, crying and begging for more as he aggressively works an orgasm out of you. He effortlessly hits every spot that drives you crazy and you’re a mess because of it, the pressure starts to build up again and you’re clawing at his back from it all. He groans at the scratches, encouraging you to keep going like the masochist he is.

“I’m gonna– nghh– c-cum.” You whine, clawing even more– he swears you’re gonna draw blood and he hopes you do. 

He's slamming into you harder, chasing after something that could only be found deep inside of you. “Fuckin’ do it– cum all over my cock. Bet nobody else has ever fucked you this good, huh?”

“No. J-just you.” you practically gasp out, bracing yourself for the second orgasm of the night. “Oh my fu– ohmygod— so close, m’so fucking close.”

He eventually presses his palm down onto your lower stomach again, you don’t even try to fight it again. He slows down but still gives you the deepest strokes— rolling his hips into you, hitting the spots that make you weak. It doesn’t take long before your toes curl and vision goes white again– falling apart on his cock and crying out his name in choked moans. 

Your positions eventually switch and you end up being bounced on his cock, Sukuna has the time of his life because of it. One hand’s slamming you up and down all 10 inches while the other rubs at your clit. He’s made you cum so much that he just slips right in. At some point he slips right out, you both just laugh and he shoves it right back in until the laughter turns into moans of pure pleasure once again. 

He makes you feel everything and nothing at the same time. Reality starts to slip away, but then you get pulled right back after he hits your sweet spot in a way that you love. It’s fucking amazing, the way he’s figured out your body, the way pushes it to its fullest extent.

-

You hardly remember falling asleep, you just remember him finishing on your back and telling you he’d take care of it. 

It’s not until the morning when you realize just how bad of an idea that was. 

You wake up slightly confused, but comfortable since his sheets are better than the ones he provided you. Then you hear light sounds of tapping, they eventually pull you out of your slumber, looking to the side and seeing the view of messy pink hair. 

Your heart drops at the same time he looks up from the phone and turns to you. He was already expecting to see the look of regret on your face, he wasn’t even sure what to say about it. 

He enjoyed last night, he’s also enjoyed all the other nights he’s spent with you where you two just spoke.

He enjoys being around you. 

It’s why he doesn’t talk about it, pulls you into his chest, and starts talking about something else. You follow his lead like he hoped you would, you didn’t wanna talk about it either. 

You two turn into something. 

Neither of you put a label on it, not when you already had the label as his captive— his property. You don’t even want to ask what would happen if you two didn’t work out. He’s glad you never do, the answer’s obvious. 

But even with that unspoken rule of not talking about the past or future, you two are happy. You no longer have to clean up the messes he makes. Instead, you spend your days lounging around the mansion. He’s allowed you to turn the sunroom into a recreation room, where you spend your time painting, reading, or sometimes even just napping. You no longer have to wear a uniform anymore either. He had you order whatever clothes you wanted online. You opted for simple, comfortable ones since you weren’t planning on stepping out of the house anytime soon. 

You never ask why he stands behind you or next to you whenever you do, you already know it’s to keep you from going on facebook or something to ask for help. You thought about telling him that he could trust you once, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. 

Sukuna is kind to you.

It doesn’t matter how bad of a day he’s had, it never stops him from greeting you with a soft kiss and smile. He holds your face in his hands when you tell him all about your day, the same hands that have been used to abuse others just hours prior. But he’d never abuse you, you can see it in the way he looks at you. Your days are boring, but he still cares, he still wants to hear you summarize the chapters you’ve read in a book that day. 

You two have grown so close yet still know nothing of each other. 

You don’t tell him about your family, friends or your time spent in school. There was no point, it’s not like you were going back to any of it. 

He doesn’t tell you about his friends, family or his life outside the mansion doors either. He wanted you to love him. You know enough about what he does– you’ve seen it, you’ve experienced it, it’s all you need to know.

He’s lucky enough that you’re willing to turn a blind eye, live in your own little world.

Yet there's that thought that gnaws away at him, you weren't willing to turn a blind eye. You were forced to.

-

You’re abruptly woken up one night and had your mouth covered before you could scream. It was fast, thinking about the way you were tied up, blindfolded, and thrown into the back of a van almost doesn’t seem real.

You finally stop fighting back an hour into the drive. After 2 more, the van finally stops and a strong arm pulls you out. Despite having a blindfold on, you can tell the suns just started to rise. There’s a light breeze and birds are chirping in the background. 

You’re going to die here. 

Why else would they bring you to an open space? Soon, you’ll hear a little click and feel a gun pressed on to the back of your head. 

Thoughts like that begin to swirl all around you. You do your best to stay calm, an ending like this was inevitable- but it’s impossible. You think about the life you’ve had, your friends and family that’ll eventually hear the news after nearly two years of having no closure. 

Lastly, you think about Sukuna, who’s most likely long gone. That’s the only way people were able to break in and grab you. You hope that it was quick, you know him though. There’s people out there that pray for his demise, and that it’d be anything he’s ever done look like a walk in the park. 

The man who has a hold on your arm finally lets go and speaks.

“I’m sure you won’t, but I have to say it anyway.” 

“Sukuna?” 

He doesn’t respond to that and begins listing demands. “Don’t look for me, don’t talk about me or about your time working for me—“

“What are y—“

“And do not even think about turning me in, I’ll find you so fuckin’ fast and snap that neck of yours.” 

The knot in the pit of your stomach tightens, this is the same exact tone he used with you when you first met.

“Why would I do that? Why did you even bring me here?” You begin to frantically ask. 

“You’re going home.” He responds coldly.

To abruptly end things on such a sour note is expected when it comes to people like him, but it doesn’t make it any less painful knowing that fact. 

He told you he loved you for the first time last night.

You told him you loved him too.

“You’re seriously gonna send me off like this? Throw me out like I’m a piece of trash?” Your voice begins to tremble, it makes him snap. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Like actually, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You spent months wanting— wishing— to go back to your life and the moment I give you that opportunity, you're not taking it?!” 

“It's not that I- you ripped me out of my sleep and brought me here!” You power through the lump in your throat. “You didn’t even tell me about any of this!”

“Because I knew you’d try to fucking stay! I knew you would, look at you! Crying, whining.”

“I don’t—“ you inhale sharply, your hearts pounding and nothing’s  helping. “You haven’t even bothered taking the blindfold off. You won’t even let me look you in the eyes, Kuna.”

“Don’t call me that.” He warns you. “Don’t ever think you got close enough to be able to come up with some stupid nickname. You sound so fucking dumb right now.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“I’ll call you whatever I want.” 

You yell back in frustration. “Don’t fucking call me that!” 

“Then don’t fucking act like it!” He yells even louder. 

“So what? You’re just gonna throw me out into the middle of nowhere?” 

He laughs, “glad you’re finally starting to put that brain of yours to use.”

“You’re gonna leave me and spend the whole drive wondering which direction I went off in.” 

“Yeah, I'm sure that’ll happen.” He says rudely. 

“I don’t even have a phone. Even if you somehow find it in your heart to turn around, I wouldn’t be where you left me. You’ll start to look for me and after about 10 minutes the panic will start to kick in.” 

He scoffs, you continue. 

“You’ll give up after a while, maybe even convince yourself that what you did was the right thing to do. I bet you’ll start to doubt that too when you struggle to fall asleep, because it’s the first night I won’t be under your roof, under your watch. You won’t even know if I’m safe. You won’t know anything about me the moment you get in that fucking van and drive off.” 

He suddenly grabs the blindfold, pulls it down, and yanks in towards him— you obviously hit a nerve with the way he’s looking at you.

“I should’ve killed you that night.” He mutters, eyes blazing with pure anger. 

“You already did.” You spit back. “I had a chance to go back out there and be normal again, but you woke up this morning deciding that you were going to twist the knife and fucking gut me.” 

“WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!” He yells again, getting dangerously close to your face.

“I don’t KNOW.” You try to take a step back but you don’t get far. “It’s too late now, just let go of me. Gonna be a longer day for me than it will be for you.” You say coldly. “Untie me.”

He grudgingly lets go of the blindfold and pulls out a knife, choosing to cut the rope instead. You begin to relax after your hands are fully unbound— they were tight enough to begin with, but something about arguing with him made it feel like you were losing circulation.

He’s still standing right behind you, probably with his head down, waiting for you to walk off so he knows you wouldn’t turn around and try to attack him. 

You won’t. 

Saying anything at this point would’ve been a waste of energy, he’s clearly made up his mind. But you can’t help it.

“I know you heard me when I said it, but I take it back. You don’t bleed like the rest of us, your blood’s cold, that's not something to be proud about. To think that you have the ability to truly act like you cared about me just makes me feel sorry for you, Sukuna.” 

You can only hope that people like him stay far away from you. It’ll probably be your main goal in life after this too. Even if that meant judging people a little too soon, but you're sure it's better to be a little lonely.

“I’m sorry.” His voice finally cracks. You turn around and his eyes are red, there’s tears streaming down his cheeks, he can barely look at you.  “Every time I look at you, I see what could’ve been. I can’t fuckin’ do it anymore, I can’t. I wish I met you somewhere else, at school or at some coffee shop before I start my 9-5, and that’s not possible for me. I’ll never get to have that.” 

He ends up having to cover his face after that, saying it out loud is more painful than all the times he’s thought about it. His path in life was already determined for him by his father before he was even born. He never had a chance. 

He feels your arms suddenly wrap around him, it encourages him to keep going.

“If things were different, I know I still would've found you. Even if I saw you walking on the other side of traffic, I would’ve ran across the street just to ask for your name. Just not in this life.” He holds you tightly as he says it, droplets start to fall on your shoulder. “I swear I love you, but I can’t keep you around like this.” 

“I know.” You say with a heavy heart, the tears begin to flow back. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

His life has always been undoubtedly cruel, having to spend the rest of it missing you too is further proof. 

“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

a/n: why did I do that I got a lump in my throat now lol phew. anyways, there will be no pt 2 but i'm down to answer some q's about lore

All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[ivythink]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ how to fake date with athelete!sukuna .ᐣ very much limited experience.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who agreed with his teammates – get a girlfriend before the season’s over. he just didn’t expect to want more than just the win.

he just needs to dodge some girl who’s been aggressively flirting with him, and you need an excuse to avoid a creepy dude who won’t stop texting you.

“we’ll fake date," sukuna proposes with that cocky smirk. “it’s not like we’ll catch feelings or anything.”

“are you sure? i don’t want that creep to bother me for the 56th time this week.”

“trust me, sunshine.”

fake boyfriend!athlete ukuna who would take the acting slow but convincingly. he would start with holding your hands publicly while telling his dry jokes to you so all the people would believe him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would brushing his thumb over your hand. he’d play it cool — but the way his hand tightened in yours would give him away.

“it’s all for the show,’ he would say.

but the way your fingers intertwine with his says otherwise.

“does it really have to be like this?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who would would wrap one of your hair ties or bracelets around his wrist during every game, claiming it’s his ‘lucky charm.’ if you ever ask about it, he’ll say, “worked last time, didn’t it?”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who constantly reminds himself that you’re just friends — even when his heart races every time you smile at him.

err . . . you’re just a good friend to him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would slowly realize how pretty and captivating you are. from the way your eyes stare at his when you ramble about your day to him to the way your lips seem to soft while you speak, he just wants to feel how soft it is.

when you mentioned liking someone else, he would sit beside you, fists curling at his sides. his face would stay blank, but his voice would darken. “he better not disappoint you.”

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who think you deserve better than that trashy guy you mentioned. and he’s the best.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would sneak you into his team’s closed practice.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who always reserves the spot next to him — bus rides, team meals, wherever. if anyone tries to sit down, they’ll be greeted with a warning glare and clipped, “taken.”

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would raise an eyebrow when you suggest to have a matching phone charms with him – just for fun. but he’II just shrug it off and let you pick which one you like.

when you actually really get him a matching phone charm, and even though it’s small and kind of cutesy, he’d attach it to his phone without hesitation.

front and center in the team’s photo, fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna’s fake girlfriend’s bracelet is right there on his wrist, and his matching phone charm would peeks out of his pocket proudly. if you say anything, he’ll just chuckle.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would take you out on a date to keep up on the act. but the way his thumb brushes your knuckles? that doesn’t feel fake. the way he’II hold your hand with him and place it in his pocket? doesn’t sound too fake either.

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would using you as an excuse.

“can’t go out tonight — my girlfriend doesn't allow me.”

oh, you both know that’s a massive lie.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna, who would carey your bag since it seems to heavy for you. (even when it’s not for certain times.)

fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna who would feel if he will loses a game or feels like he underperformed, he’ll drag you to the gym late at evening or night, you call it.

sweat drips down his forehead as he sinks another shot. "49," you call out. sukuna’s breathing is ragged, but he looks at you sitting there, waiting — and that’s all he needs to finish strong.

after the 50th shot, sukuna collapses on the floor, chest heaving. you walk over and drop down next to him, brushing damp hair from his forehead. he doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours.

gasps and shouts would fill the gym when the members saw you wearing sukuna’s. “since when?” someone demands. fake boyfriend athlete!sukuna kisses your temple. “since they’re mine.”

fake boyfriend!athelete sukuna who never shows it, but he does get nervous before big games.

he won’t say it outright, but you’ll catch him squeezing your hand a little tighter or resting his forehead against yours.

you later then would give your other hair tie to him, telling that it’II be a silly “good luck” charm for him.

fake boyfriend!athlete sukuna who would open his wallet before his game begin, revealing a polaroid of you wearing his jersey number under the sunlight. he suddenly needs to be remember who he’s playing for.

sukuna would spot you the second he steps onto the court. his eyes would narrow slightly, that nervous, yet cocky smirk tugging at his lips when you catch his gaze.

if he makes a shot, he’d turn toward you, wiping sweat from his brow and flashing you a knowing grin — like you’re the only one he’s playing for.

when his team scores, he would glance at you in the stands, lifting his chin as if to say, did you see that, sunshine?

if you cheer for him, his smirk would deepen, and you’d catch the subtle way he straightens up — fueled by the fact that you’re watching. if you smile or wave at him, he’d bite back a grin before turning back toward the game.

fake boyfriend!athelete sukuna who would exclaimed energizedly as his team scores.

sukuna would walk straight toward you, ignoring his teammates’ cheers, would grab your wrist and pull you close, sweat-slick and breathless. “i told you, you’re my good luck charm," he’d murmur before brushing his thumb across your jaw.

fake boyfriend athelete!sukuna who doesn’t care how sweaty he is — he will hug you immediately after his games.

“miss me?” he’ll question, pressing a kiss to your temple while you complain about how gross he is. “you’re smelling like rotten eggs with outdated pickles.”

you give him a playful judgemental look. like how regina george actually would.

he just laughs warming-ly – except his teammates eyeing him up and down for noticing how soft he has been with you.

[ivythink]

satoru who looves playing video games with you after tucking the children into bed, whispering, “kids are asleep..” while excitedly passing you a controller.

today the game decided was mario kart, satoru already eagerly connecting the nintendo switch to the tv to play, giving you a smug look. “ready to get beat, sweetheart?”

“3.. 2.. 1.. go!” flashes on the screen, and then you’re giggling as you drive straight past satoru’s kart, wheels spinning manically around the track.

“what!! heyyy..” satoru pouts, trying to reach over and mess you up, causing you to lift your controller up, laughing while sticking your foot out to keep him away.

the sound of satoru frantically pushing the buttons on his controller is heard as he tries to get ahead, right on your tail.

“fuck!” you swear, swerving as a blue turtle shell comes to swirl above your head before crashing down on you, your lead temporarily pausing as several racers rush past you.

satoru giggles evilly beside you, and you shoulder him, frowning. “was that you?”

mayb- shit!” satoru furiously mashes the buttons, leaning with his kart as he tries to catch up. “that fucker!”

“satoru!” you manage to heave out through snorts. “you’re gonna wake up the kids..”

satoru focuses on the screen, laughing as he slows you down with a banana peel, only to let out a yelp of indignation as you spam shells at him, both of you almost in hysterics as every driver races past you, leaving you two to finish in last place.

“c’mon, round two??”

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don’t copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!!

[ivythink]

f1 sukuna 🤤🤤

f1 kuna

no text ver

[ivythink]

࿐ Nerdjo who’s mom asked why he’s been so cheerful lately (assuming he got a Pokémon card he’s been wanting, or ‘one of those action figures’)

Nerdjo who’s cocky nonchalant attitude falters when you get too close.

Nerdjo who pats your head after study sessions, grabbing his bag and getting ready to leave.

Nerdjo who freezes when you ask him to stay a little longer.

Nerdjo who’s nonchalantless evaporates the second you ask him about his DND characters and Pokémon cards. Completely lost in his ranting, until his eyes land on yours. The fact you were actually listening made smth in his stomach flutter that he can’t explain.

Nerdjo who doesn’t have to turn his head when you walk past him, now exchanging smiles with you every morning.

Nerdjo who bursts in laughter when you do something stupid. Immediately clearing his throat when others look at him annoyed, though his smile never fades away.

Nerdjo who acts like he doesn’t care when you ask to come over, his heard thumping out of his chest, as he shrugs.

Nerdjo who’s never felt such stress or excitement before. He felt like ‘normies’ taking a math test. (“Would she laugh at my wizard bedsheets?”)

Nerdjo whose parents are more excited than he is about this unknown ‘tutor’ girl, his mom drowning him in questions.

Nerdjo who feels anxious letting a girl someone in his personal den. (“Please don’t touch my action figures those are the limited edition 1970-“)

Nerdjo who welcomes you in casually, his mom running to the door like a puppy chasing a ball. (“Mom- she’s fine you can leave the cookies on the counter.”)

Nerdjo who thinks he’s experiencing feeling ‘nervous’ for the first time in his life.

Nerdjo who shows you how to play Pokémon while you both sit on his bed. Your homework and sketches scattered on his floor.

Nerdjo who pulls his sweater over his head mid game, revealing his tank top. (“Kinda hot in here.”)

Nerdjo who feels uneasy under your eyes as you take in his figure. Noticing your distraction to his sleep build.

Nerdjo who starts noticing your figure too.

Nerdjo who tells himself these new emotions are because he’s made a friend. (Besides that shithead Suguru.)

Accepting your hug as you walk out the door, his mom behind him trying to contain herself like a ticking bomb ready to explode.

Yeah, a friend.

Ps; he walks back into his room and your scent hit him like a wave, the bedsheets, his plushies you tampered with, his sweater.

“shit.”

part one || part two

^^ you’re here.

[ivythink]

Thank you for choosing Blue’s RENT-A-BOYFRIEND service! Below we have our catalog which includes a variety of our most popular boyfriends! Here you can choose to own or rent one or more of our packages.

Disclaimer! We genuinely advise for our customers to not tamper with or attempt to jailbreak any of our boyfriend bots. Doing so will lead to a fine or lawsuit.

The Hopeless Romantic Boyfriend — Choso

Best accompanied: The beach, amusement parks, drive in movies and diners.

Personality: Caring and thoughtful. He’ll rid your life of any negativity and only bring love and compassion. He believes that the start of a stable relationship is support on both ends! Whether that support is emotional, mental, or physical. Soft at heart and a great chef, he makes sure that you’re always comfortable and well fed.

Includes: Long car rides, walks on the beach, movies dates, and homemade meals.

The Classy Eye Candy Boyfriend - Nanami

Best accompanied: Galas, Fancy dinners, and Meeting your parents.

Personality: This boyfriend is perfect for showing off to your coworkers, friends, and family. He’s tall, blonde, and rich. He’s quite the catch and is an excellent conversationalist. Easy on the eyes and equipped with elegance and grace, he makes sure that you’re always having a good time.

Includes: bringing you lunch, massage therapy, dinner dates, and motivational quotes.

The Ever Lasting Boyfriend - Geto

Best accompanied: On a stormy night, cafes, and on a comfy couch.

Personality: Chill and quiet. This boyfriend is ideal for you if you’re an introvert. He’s always up for a movie night and a bowl of popcorn. He’s quite intelligent and loves to learn new things.

Includes: study dates, road trips, late night shopping, and building pillow forts.

The Charmer Boyfriend — Sukuna

Best accompanied: Anywhere

Personality: The charmer boyfriend is equipped with hugs and kisses to make anywhere feel likes it’s just you two. He craves your attention and loves to serenade you.

Includes: Slow dancing to no music, flower picking, randomly showing up to bring you lunch, doting, hugs from behind, forehead kisses, and dad jokes.

The Adventurous Boyfriend — Ino

Best accompanied: The beach shore, a rainy day, dog parks, and carnival dates.

Personality: This boyfriend is very popular amongst both the younger and older clients. With the adventurous boyfriend you’re going to have the most amazing time. He’s spontaneous and full of surprises. This boyfriend is always one step ahead and likes to make sure that you’re always having fun.

Includes: convenient store dates, late night rides, Binging tv shows, pigging out on junk food, and late night fast food runs.

The Ethereal Boyfriend — Satoru

Best accompanied: Anywhere

Personality: The Ethereal Boyfriend is everything you want and need. He’s molded to your preferences and wants. His presence is like a gift and he’ll make you feel like you’re the luckiest person on earth. Due to his charms, he’s become the most popular in the franchise. He’ll never let anything get in the way of your happiness.

Includes: Cuddles, Breakfast in bed, Surreal Tenderness, laughter, suggestive language, sugary smiles, and physical affection.

Divider by @v6que !!

[ivythink]

"CAUGHT, KEPT, CRAVED" |Ch-1|

❥Pairing- Hunter!Satoru × Fairy!Reader

❥Synposis- Satoru Gojo never believed in fairy tales—until he found one standing right in front of him. A real, flesh-and-blood fairy, in his forest. He should’ve been concerned, maybe even terrified, but mostly? He was just shocked as hell.

Fairies weren’t real. They belonged in bedtime stories, not in the middle of his hunt, staring at him like he was the strange one. And yet, days passed, and she didn’t vanish like a dream. Instead, she became something else entirely—something dangerous, something forbidden. Keeping her close is reckless. Letting her go? Impossible.

❥Gerne/theme- MDNI. Explicit sexual content, lot of sexual tension, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, forbidden love, fantasy AU, fire, abuse, possessiveness, SA attempts, longing, sacrifices, reunion, seperation, fluff too <3

→ WC- 10k

Satoru Gojo grumbled as he trudged through the dense forest, the heavy weight of his bow hanging against his back. The sun was high, casting harsh beams that barely broke through the thick canopy above, and yet, he still had to hunt. Of course, a hunter couldn’t survive without a kill, but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

Why did he always have to do this? It wasn’t like he needed the money that much—he lived alone, away from the cities, far from any expectations. His lifestyle was simple, and really, the whole hunting thing felt more like a chore than a necessity. But it was for his living, so here he was, walking through the damn forest again, tracking some monster or wild animal for dinner.

“I swear, if I see one more damn deer today—” he whined under his breath, kicking a stray branch out of his path. “I’ll—”

His words caught in his throat as he paused, his eyes narrowing at the sudden shift in the air around him. It wasn’t the normal breeze that rustled the leaves; no, this felt… different. Almost alive, as if the very forest itself was holding its breath.

He shook his head, chuckling bitterly at himself.

It’s just the wind, he told himself, moving forward again. But the deeper he ventured into the woods, the more uneasy he felt. Something was off. Something was watching him.

And when a faint, almost ethereal sound drifted through the trees—too soft to be an animal, too melodic to be anything but strange—he froze.

His instincts kicked in, the trained hunter in him waking up. The forest was quiet now. Too quiet.

“What the hell?” he muttered, his hand instinctively reaching for his bow, his eyes scanning the shadows.

Nothing.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling. There was no way—he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander. Yet the sensation of being observed was growing stronger with every step. His pulse quickened, but instead of fear, there was an odd sense of curiosity—a pull, something he couldn’t explain.

With a quick exhale, he adjusted his grip on the bow and moved deeper into the forest, determined to uncover what was hiding in the shadows.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, a sudden loud thud echoed through the trees, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—or someone—crashing through the underbrush. Gojo’s eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips. Finally, some action.

He crept toward the source of the noise, his footsteps silent on the forest floor. As he approached, he spotted a foot sticking out from behind a large fern. He bit his tongue to suppress a chuckle. Whoever this was, they were about to get an earful.

Stepping closer, he peered around the fern to find a young woman sprawled on the ground, her wings—yes, wings—splayed out awkwardly beside her. She had a few branches and leaves tangled in her hair, and dirt smudged her cheeks. She looked up, eyes wide with surprise, and they both froze.

For a moment, neither moved. Then, in unison, they both screamed.

"AHHHH!"

Gojo stumbled back, nearly dropping his bow. "What the—?"

The woman scrambled to her feet, brushing off leaves and dirt. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Gojo blinked, still processing the sight before him. "I... I should be asking you that. What are you doing in my forest?"

She crossed her arms, her wings fluttering slightly. "Your forest? This is a public forest!"

"Not anymore," he retorted, smirk returning. "I just claimed it."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical. Another human thinking they own everything."

"Hey, I was here first," he shot back. "And last time I checked, humans were the dominant species around here."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Because last time I checked, humans were the ones who needed to be saved from themselves."

Gojo chuckled. "Touché. But seriously, what are you? Some kind of... fairy?"

She huffed, wings twitching slightly. "Yes. I am. And for the record, not all fairies are tiny and delicate. Some of us can hold our own."

Gojo stared at her for a solid few seconds before scoffing. "Yeah, okay. Sure. And I’m a royal prince."

She frowned. "What?"

"Come on," he waved a hand at her wings. "Fairies aren’t real. You can just admit it now before this gets embarrassing."

Her glare sharpened. "I am a fairy."

Gojo crossed his arms. "No, you’re not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you’re not."

She exhaled sharply. "Why is this so hard for you to believe?"

Gojo threw up his hands. "Because fairies belong in bedtime stories! Magic, wings, flying around all sparkly—yeah, it’s cute for kids, but in real life? People don’t just have wings."

She rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"No, I’m just sane," he shot back. Then, his gaze flickered back to her wings, still skeptical. "What even are those? You make them yourself? They’re kinda impressive, I’ll give you that."

She twitched. "They’re real."

"Right, sure." His smirk deepened as he stepped closer. "Bet they’re just attached to your clothes or something—"

Before he could finish, his hand reached out, fingers just barely grazing the edge of her wing—

SMACK!

"Ow!" Gojo yelped, stumbling back as she slapped his hand away with a force he definitely wasn’t expecting.

"I told you not to touch them!" she yelled, wings flaring wide.

Gojo clutched his hand, eyes wide. "What the hell?! That actually hurt!"

"It was supposed to!" she snapped, her face burning with irritation. "Do you go around grabbing random people's limbs too?"

Gojo blinked, still holding his hand. "Well... I mean, if I thought they were fake, yeah."

She groaned, shoving past him. "Unbelievable. I don’t have time for this."

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" He quickly stepped in front of her, arms outstretched. "Alright, let’s just—wait a second." His blue eyes studied her, skeptical yet intrigued. "So you’re really trying to convince me that you’re some mystical, magical creature, huh?"

She folded her arms. "I’m not trying to convince you. I am one."

Gojo tapped his chin. "Mmm. Nope. Still don’t buy it."

She scowled. "You just saw my wings!"

"Yeah, and I’ve also seen some very good costumes."

Her eye twitched. "I flew before I fell!"

"And I’ve seen people jump off roofs and think they’re flying."

She let out a long, slow exhale, visibly restraining herself from strangling him. "You're insufferable."

Gojo grinned. "So I’ve been told."

Silence hung between them, thick with tension. She was clearly done with him. He was clearly entertained by her frustration. And yet, neither of them moved.

The forest had gone eerily quiet. The wind barely rustled the leaves. It was as if the world itself was waiting to see what happened next.

Finally, Gojo spoke. "Alright, fine—I’ll play along. So, fairy girl, if you’re real... prove it."

She narrowed her eyes, a slow, knowing smirk creeping onto her face. "Oh, you’ll regret saying that."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m shaking.”

Without another word, she stepped back, rolling her shoulders as her wings stretched to their full span. The soft glow of the setting sun caught on them, illuminating the delicate but powerful structure. Gojo barely had time to process the sight before—

Whoosh.

She launched herself into the air, wings beating with precise, controlled movements. Leaves and dust swirled around as she hovered effortlessly above him, the wind from her wings rustling his hair.

Gojo’s smirk faltered.

His brain short-circuited for a second.

She… flew.

Not jumped. Not swung from a branch. Not some elaborate trick of wires or illusions. No, she lifted clean off the ground, rising higher and higher with each beat of her wings.

“What.” His voice came out flat, his head tilting back as he followed her ascent.

She did a slow, mocking circle above him before descending just a few feet in front of his face, her arms crossed and a smug look plastered on her face.

"Still fake?" she taunted.

Gojo blinked. "Okay. Hold on. Wait a damn minute."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, what now? Are you going to say I’m on some invisible ropes? A hallucination, maybe?"

Gojo rubbed his temples. "I'm the hallucination at this point. This—this doesn’t happen. People don’t just—fly.”

"Well, good thing I’m not people," she shot back. "Say it. Fairies are real."

Gojo pointed at her. "You have to be messing with me."

She hovered a little closer. "Say. It."

Gojo squinted at her. Then at the wings. Then at her feet. Then back at the wings. Then—

"…Nah," he said, shaking his head.

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

"You’re still messing with me," he said firmly, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “This is—this is a trick. Maybe some weird physics thing I never learned. Or—or maybe I’m dehydrated. Yeah. Maybe I hit my head. That would explain why I’m seeing some girl floatin’ in front of me with—”

She sighed deeply before flapping her wings hard, sending a burst of wind directly into his face.

"—AGH, shit!" He stumbled back, hands shielding his face from the sudden gust.

She landed smoothly in front of him, looking pleased with herself. "Convinced now?"

Gojo, hair now an absolute mess, slowly lowered his hands. His expression was unreadable as he stared at her, the gears in his head practically screaming as they tried to process the impossible.

Then, finally—

“…Okay, so let’s pretend for a second,” he began, still skeptical but clearly shaken, “that you are some kind of fairy.”

She groaned. "Oh my god."

"Hey, I’m getting there!" He waved a hand. "It’s just—you can’t expect me to accept that just like that. Fairies aren’t supposed to be real. They’re myths. Fantasy stuff! Kids’ stories! You can’t just—just exist like this!"

"And yet, here I am," she deadpanned.

Gojo dragged a hand down his face. “You see why this is a lot to take in, right?”

"Oh, I do. You’re just painfully slow."

"Excuse you—"

"How about this?" She stepped forward, tilting her head. "Instead of standing here having an existential crisis, you start believing what’s right in front of you?"

Gojo inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and nodded. “Okay.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. I’m… open to considering the possibility that maybe—just maybe—you are not, in fact, a very dedicated prankster.”

She rolled her eyes. "Close enough."

Another pause. Gojo ran a hand through his hair, still visibly shaken.

“…So, uh,” he started, “if fairies are real, does that mean, like… elves are real, too? Or, like, dragons?”

She sighed. “Oh boy.”

Gojo stared at her for a long moment, his hands on his hips, lips pressed together like he was really trying to process what just happened. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke.

"Okay. Fine," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Maybe—maybe—you're actually a fairy."

She crossed her arms. "Wow. That must have hurt to admit."

Gojo shot her a look. "Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited. But seriously—how? How is this even possible?" He gestured at her wings like they personally offended him. "People don’t just have these! There’s gotta be some explanation. Science? Magic? Divine intervention? Hell, did I eat something weird this morning?"

She just blinked at him.

Gojo stared back.

More silence.

Finally, she sighed and turned on her heel. "Yeah, nope. Not explaining anything to someone this stupid."

Gojo gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "Hey! First of all—rude. Second of all—I think I deserve some kind of answer here!"

"You think?" she scoffed, already walking away. "I don't owe you anything."

"You literally just fell out of the sky in front of me, flapped your little wings, and sent my entire worldview into flames!" Gojo threw his arms up. "The least you could do is tell me how!"

She ignored him, stepping over some fallen branches. "Not my problem."

Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face before quickly following after her. "Oh, come on. Just a little hint? A tiny fairy secret? A—hey, wait up!"

She didn't wait.

Gojo let out an exasperated huff. "Unbelievable. First, I find out fairies are real, and now, apparently, they’re jerks, too."

She smirked but didn't turn around. "Took you long enough to figure that one out."

Gojo huffed as he followed after her, stepping over roots and crunching leaves underfoot. “You know, if you’re gonna crash-land in front of me, the least you could do is answer a few simple questions.”

She didn’t even look back. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Wow. The attitude.” Gojo scoffed, quickening his pace to walk beside her. “You’re seriously not gonna explain anything? Nothing at all? Not even a tiny little—”

“Nope.”

He blinked. “Not even like, ‘Oh, Gojo, I’m actually from a magical fairy kingdom, and I fell out of the sky because an evil wizard cursed me’?”

She gave him a look. “Do I look cursed to you?”

Gojo looked her up and down, taking in the dirt, leaves, and general mess she had become from falling. “Honestly? A little bit.”

Her eye twitched. "I swear, you're the most annoying human I've ever met."

Gojo grinned. “You’ve met a lot of humans, then? Or am I just special?”

"You're something," she muttered under her breath, shoving a branch out of her way as she walked faster.

Gojo followed easily. “Oh, come on. I get nothing? No tragic backstory? No mysterious quest? No ‘I’m the lost princess of the fairy realm’?”

“Keep guessing,” she said dryly.

Gojo groaned dramatically. “Unbelievable. I stumble across a real-life fairy, and she won’t even tell me how she exists.”

She suddenly stopped walking, spinning on her heel so fast that Gojo barely avoided bumping into her. She looked up at him, unimpressed. “Let me make this very clear, human—I don’t have to tell you anything. Not to someone as stupid as you.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest like she had physically wounded him. “Stupid?! Me?! I’ll have you know I’m very intelligent.”

“Oh, really?” she deadpanned. “Because a very intelligent person would’ve accepted reality by now instead of standing here whining like a child.”

Gojo pouted. “I’m not whining.”

“You are whining.”

Gojo scoffed. “I am not—”

“You are.”

“I am not—”

She sighed, turning back around and walking again. “I don’t have time for this.”

Gojo followed instantly. “You keep saying that, but you don’t seem to be going anywhere important.”

She ignored him.

Gojo smirked. “You do know where you’re going, right?”

Silence.

Gojo blinked. “Wait… do you not know?”

More silence.

Gojo grinned. “Ohhh, you don’t, do you?”

She exhaled slowly. "Shut. Up."

Gojo chuckled, hands behind his head as he walked beside her. “So what I’m hearing is—you’re lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Right, right. You just don’t know where you’re going. Totally different.”

She clenched her jaw, clearly regretting every life decision that led her to this moment.

Gojo leaned down slightly, tilting his head to look at her face. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. I get it. You fell out of the sky, got dirt in your hair, met a very handsome stranger—”

She shot him a glare so sharp he actually paused.

“…Right. Moving on.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Lucky for you, I know this forest like the back of my hand.”

She snorted. “Oh, great. That makes one of us.”

Gojo smirked. “So, that means you do need my help.”

She looked up at the sky, as if praying for patience. “I never said that.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “You didn’t have to.”

She groaned, rubbing her temple. "I swear, if you don't shut up—"

"—You'll what?" Gojo cut in, completely unfazed. "Hit me again? Because, honestly, I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me the first time."

Her wings flared as she turned sharply. "I will throw you into a tree."

Gojo held up his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright, no need for violence, fairy girl.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t call me that.”

Gojo smirked. “Not a fan of nicknames? What about wings? Feathers? Angry little—”

She glared at him for another second before rolling her eyes and turning back around. “You’re so lucky I have better things to do than argue with you.”

Gojo hummed. “Mm. Seems like you’re still here, though.”

She clenched her fists, muttering something under her breath about insufferable humans.

She walked in silence for a while, probably hoping Gojo would get bored and leave her alone. That was adorable. Like he was the kind of guy to walk away from something this interesting.

After a few minutes, she finally sighed and turned to look at him. “Alright, human—what are you even doing here?”

Gojo blinked. “Huh? Oh. Hunting, obviously.”

After a moment, he tilted his head. “So… how long have you been coming here?”

She eyed him warily. “Why do you care?”

Gojo shrugged. “Curiosity. Humor me.”

She exhaled sharply, clearly debating whether answering him was even worth her time. Finally, she muttered, “Years.”

Gojo blinked. “Years?”

She shot him a look. “Yes. Why?”

Gojo gestured around dramatically. “Because I’ve been hunting here for a long time, too, and I’ve never seen you before.”

She rolled her eyes. “Clearly.”

Gojo narrowed his eyes. “So where’ve you been hiding, huh? Are you some kind of stealth fairy?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “No, you idiot. I come at night.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “At night?”

She nodded. “It’s quieter. No humans stomping around, killing things.”

Gojo smirked. “Ouch. That felt personal.”

She ignored him. “It’s peaceful when the moon is out. The forest belongs to itself again. No arrows flying, no traps waiting, no…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s just… better.”

Gojo hummed, tapping his chin. “Huh. Never figured fairies for night owls.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “You figured nothing because you didn’t even believe I existed five minutes ago.”

Gojo grinned. “Touché.”

Silence settled between them, but this time, it wasn’t hostile. Gojo watched her, something unreadable in his expression.

Years. She had been here for years, and he never even noticed. How was that possible? And more importantly…

Why did that bother him?

Gojo tilted his head, watching her with renewed curiosity. “So, you’ve been coming here for years, huh?”

She didn’t respond, just kept walking.

His grin widened. “Alright, next question—how old are you?”

She scoffed. “Not answering that.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh? Why? Is it a fairy secret? Or are you just—” He gasped dramatically. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re, like, a hundred years old or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not.”

“Two hundred?”

“No.”

“Five hundred?”

“Oh my god.”

Gojo tapped his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Then… judging by your height, I’d say… what, fifteen? Maybe sixteen?”

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to glare at him, pure offense in her eyes. “I’m twenty-two!”

Gojo grinned like he knew that would get a reaction. “Ohhh, there it is.”

Her wings fluttered aggressively. “You are so irritating.”

Gojo shrugged, still smirking. “Hey, I was just guessing. But wow, twenty-two? You sure?”

She clenched her fists. “Yes!”

Gojo hummed, looking at her like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Mmm. I dunno. You kinda give off little sister energy.”

Her eye twitched. “Say that again, and I will dropkick you.”

Gojo snorted. “I’d like to see you try, shortstack.”

Her wings flared. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” Gojo said casually, hands behind his head. “You just wish you did.”

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him with an exasperated sigh. “And by the way,” she huffed, “can you stop calling me random nicknames? I have a name, you know.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? You do?”

She folded her arms. “Obviously.”

He leaned in slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well then, mysterious fairy, what is it?”

She introduced herself in annoyance, voice clipped and impatient.

Gojo blinked, then grinned. “Huh. That’s actually a really nice name.”

She gave him a flat look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, never,” he said, hand over his heart. Then, after a beat, his smirk deepened. “Alright then, fairy girl.”

Her eye twitched. “I just told you my name.”

“Yeah, and I heard it,” Gojo said casually. “But, y’know, ‘fairy girl’ just suits you better.”

She groaned, turning back around. “You’re impossible.”

“Or magical,” Gojo shot back, walking beside her. “You did call me stupid earlier, so maybe I just forgot your name already.”

She didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Gojo grinned, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Alright, how about winged menace? Tiny terror? Ooh, what about sparkles?”

She stopped so fast that Gojo nearly bumped into her. Slowly, she turned, her glare sharp enough to cut. “Call me that, and I swear, I will bury you in this forest.”

Gojo pressed his lips together, looking like he was really fighting back laughter. “Alright, alright. No ‘sparkles.’”

She exhaled sharply, resuming her pace.

Gojo let the silence linger for a few moments before grinning.

“…But pixie is still on the table, right?”

She didn’t answer. She was too busy resisting the urge to strangle him.

She kept walking, clearly trying to ignore him, but Gojo was nothing if not persistent.

“Well,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “since you were kind enough to introduce yourself, it’s only fair I do the same.”

She shot him a dry look. “I don’t actually care.”

Gojo ignored that completely. “Satoru Gojo. Best hunter in these lands, possibly the most handsome man you’ll ever meet, and definitely the funniest.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “You really just talk like that, huh?”

Gojo grinned. “What can I say? Some people are born to be great.”

She sighed, muttering, “And some people are born to be insufferable.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”

She kept walking.

Gojo smirked. “Anyway, as I was saying—I’m twenty-four, I live alone, and I technically don’t have to hunt that much, but hey, a man’s gotta make a living.”

She side-eyed him. “You hunt for sport?”

Gojo scoffed. “What? No. I hunt to survive. But if I happen to look really cool doing it, that’s just a bonus.”

She exhaled sharply. “Right. Of course.”

Gojo continued, completely unfazed. “I don’t really like dealing with people, which is why I live on my own. Less drama, less noise. Just me and the great outdoors.” He spread his arms dramatically. “Peaceful, right?”

She glanced at him. “You? Living in peace? Hard to imagine.”

Gojo chuckled. “Alright, fair point. But hey, I could be worse. I could be some grumpy old hunter who never cracks a joke.”

“I think I’d prefer that.”

“Ouch,” Gojo laughed. “You wound me.”

She rolled her eyes and kept walking.

Gojo, of course, followed right after her, still talking.

“Anyway, what else? Oh! I have amazing eyesight. You might’ve noticed.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“And I’m ridiculously strong. Seriously, I could probably carry you and your wings with one arm.”

“Not happening.”

“And, best of all—” Gojo grinned, stepping in front of her and walking backward so he could face her directly— “I’m really fun to be around.”

She stared at him blankly. “You’re really something, alright.”

Gojo smirked, absolutely taking that as a compliment. “See? You’re warming up to me already.”

She groaned. “You are so lucky I have more important things to deal with.”

Gojo chuckled, hands behind his head. “I am lucky. Lucky I found a real-life fairy to bother for the rest of the day.”

She let out a long breath, as if gathering every ounce of patience she had left.

Gojo just grinned, completely entertained. ThisGojo walked alongside her, hands behind his head, still grinning like he had all the time in the world. “So, fairy girl, where do you live?”

She glanced at him, clearly suspicious. “In the forest.”

Gojo snorted. “Yeah, obviously. But I mean, where’s your house?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered ahead, wings shifting slightly as she kept walking.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t wanna tell me? Afraid I’ll crash at your place? I promise I don’t take up much space.”

Still, no response.

Gojo slowed his pace slightly, watching her carefully. “Wait… do fairies even live in houses? Do you guys have little tree villages? Hollow logs? Underground tunnels? Ooooh, or do you sleep in giant flower petals?”

She let out a sharp sigh before finally answering, voice quiet.

“…I don’t have one.”

Gojo blinked.

For once, he didn’t have a snarky response ready.

She kept walking like she hadn’t just dropped that information so casually, like it wasn’t something strange or concerning.

Gojo, of course, wasn’t about to let it slide.

“…Wait. What do you mean you don’t have one?” He frowned. “Like, at all?”

She didn’t look at him. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, processing that. No house. Nowhere to go. Nowhere she belonged.

Something about that didn’t sit right with him.

And for the first time since meeting her, his teasing grin completely disappeared.

Gojo stared at her, still processing the fact that she didn’t have a home. Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, he grinned and said, “Woah. You can live at my place.”

She stopped walking.

Gojo kept going. “It’s big enough for us, and I am an excellent host. I can take care of you—make sure you have food, a warm bed, maybe even—”

She turned to him with a look of pure disgust.

“First of all, no way am I living with someone like you.”

Gojo clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch.”

“And second,” she continued, rolling her eyes, “I can’t leave the forest.”

Gojo frowned. “Why not?”

She gave him a look like he was dense. “Because if humans saw me, they’d hunt me. Or—or worse. I don’t even want to know what they’d do.”

Gojo blinked, tilting his head. “I mean… I’m also a human?”

She hesitated.

Just for a second.

Then, without meeting his eyes, she muttered, “You’re different.”

Gojo stared at her, something unreadable flashing across his face.

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “And please… don’t tell anyone about me, okay?” Her voice softened just a little. “Not like they’d believe you anyway.”

Gojo watched her carefully, noting the way her wings folded slightly, as if she was trying to make herself smaller.

Then, with a smirk, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “Don’t worry, pixie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She groaned. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Gojo chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

But despite his teasing, something in his expression had shifted.

And for reasons he didn’t quite understand yet… he meant what he said.

Gojo kept walking beside her, his usual smirk still present but his mind running with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. She really had nowhere to go? She couldn’t even leave the forest?

That… didn’t sit right with him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of whatever birds were still left in this part of the forest.

Then Gojo broke the silence.

“So,” he started, tilting his head at her, “you’ve been hiding here for years, huh? Just… out here, alone?”

She didn’t look at him. “I’m not alone.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You got a secret fairy society somewhere?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But I don’t need one.”

Gojo hummed, unconvinced. “Must get kinda lonely, though.”

She stiffened slightly.

It was small—barely noticeable—but Gojo caught it.

“…It’s not so bad,” she muttered after a while.

Gojo watched her carefully.

Then, out of nowhere, he grinned and threw an arm over her shoulder. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got me now!”

She immediately shoved him off. “Don’t touch me!”

Gojo burst out laughing, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright! No touching the fairy, got it.”

She scowled. “You are the worst.”

“Aw, come on, I’m a great companion!” He smirked. “Super fun, super strong, and super annoying. The full package.”

She groaned. “Why are you still following me?”

Gojo stretched his arms behind his head. “Dunno. Maybe I’m just curious.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Curious about what?”

Gojo shrugged. “Dunno yet. Guess I’ll find out.”

She sighed heavily, clearly realizing he had no plans of leaving her alone anytime soon.

Gojo chuckled.

For some reason, that thought didn’t bother him one bit.

She sighed, her gaze dropping to the forest floor as they walked. Then, almost too quietly, she muttered, “But… I do want to go outside the forest.”

Gojo’s brows lifted slightly in surprise.

“But I’m scared,” she admitted, voice softer now. “If someone saw me—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “I don’t know what they’d do.”

Gojo watched her carefully, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of her being scared—of her being trapped here—didn’t sit right with him.

And maybe he should’ve thought it through more, maybe he should’ve considered what he was about to offer—

But he didn’t.

Instead, he grinned, stepping in front of her and bending slightly so they were eye level. “Then let me do it for you.”

She blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Gojo smirked. “You wanna see the outside world, right?” He tapped his chest. “I’ll take you.”

She stared at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was joking. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” His grin widened. “C’mon. Who better to sneak you out than me?”

She hesitated, her wings twitching slightly. “You’re a human.”

Gojo tilted his head. “Yeah. And?”

She frowned. “You know why that’s a problem.”

Gojo chuckled. “Relax. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was still teasing, still playful, but underneath it was something else—something solid.

She searched his face for a long moment, uncertain.

He let her think. Let her weigh the idea, weigh him.

Then, slowly, she exhaled and looked away. “…It’s not that simple.”

Gojo just smirked. “Maybe not.” He straightened up, hands on his hips. “But hey, lucky for you, I love complicated things.”

She sighed heavily, like she already regretted this conversation. “You’re ridiculous.”

Gojo chuckled, turning to walk beside her again. “And yet, you still haven’t said no.”

She didn’t reply.

Gojo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his smirk softening just a little.

He didn’t know why he cared so much.

But he did.

And that was enough.

➽──────────────❥

You sat peacefully on a thick tree branch, the cool morning breeze brushing against your skin as you ran your fingers gently over the feathers of a small bird perched beside you. It chirped softly, pressing into your touch, unbothered by your presence.

This was your routine—finding solace in the quiet of the forest, away from the chaos, away from—

"Oi! Fairy girl!"

Your peace shattered instantly.

You stiffened, closing your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose. Of course.

He came.

Satoru Gojo.

You glanced down, and sure enough, there he was, standing beneath your tree, looking just as insufferable as ever. His usual grin was present, but something else caught your attention—he was holding a brown cloak in his hand, waving it slightly.

You narrowed your eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Gojo smirked. "What, no ‘good morning’?"

You sighed, shifting slightly on the branch. "Gojo."

His grin widened. "That’s better."

You rolled your eyes. "Why are you here?"

Gojo held up the cape. "Brought you a gift."

You blinked. "…A what?"

"A cape," he said casually, shaking it out. "You did say you wanted to go outside the forest, right?"

You hesitated.

Gojo smirked. "Figured you’d need a disguise. Y’know, since your very obvious wings might make people lose their minds."

You frowned, eyeing the fabric warily. "And you just… had that lying around?"

Gojo shrugged. "Not exactly. But I may have borrowed it."

You scoffed. "You stole it, didn’t you?"

Gojo gasped dramatically. "Excuse me! I acquired it. Totally different thing."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "You’re impossible."

Gojo chuckled, stepping closer. "C’mon. Try it on."

You eyed him suspiciously, but curiosity got the better of you. With a sigh, you leapt down from the branch, landing lightly on your feet in front of him.

Gojo handed you the cloak, watching as you hesitantly draped it over your shoulders. The fabric was thick but surprisingly soft, and when you adjusted it, it covered your wings completely.

Gojo grinned. "See? Looks good on you. Almost makes you look normal."

You shot him a glare. "Gee, thanks."

He chuckled. "So, what do you think? Ready to step out of the forest?"

You hesitated again, gripping the fabric slightly.

Gojo watched you carefully, his usual playfulness still there, but something else lingered in his expression—something patient.

You exhaled. "Maybe."

Gojo smirked. "Maybe is a good start."

You adjusted the cloak slightly, shifting your shoulders. The fabric was thick and heavy, pressing against your wings in a way that wasn’t exactly painful but definitely uncomfortable.

“…It’s kinda uncomfortable for my wings,” you muttered, frowning as you tried to reposition them beneath the fabric. “Feels weird.”

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as he watched you. “Yeah, I figured that might be a problem.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you get something better?”

Gojo smirked. “What, and rob an entire tailor’s shop? I’m not that much of a criminal.”

You scoffed. “Debatable.”

Gojo laughed, but then his grin shifted into something a little more thoughtful. “Still, even with the cape, people might get suspicious.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gojo gestured vaguely. “You know, seeing me walking around with a girl they’ve never seen before? Might raise some eyebrows.”

You blinked, suddenly realizing the flaw in his plan. “Oh.”

Gojo grinned. “Yeah. I mean, I am quite the handsome and mysterious man—people tend to notice me.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not the issue.”

He smirked. “You sure? Could be a great excuse to say you’re my secret lover.”

Your wings twitched under the cloak. “I will punch you.”

Gojo laughed. “Alright, alright. No need for violence, pixie.”

You groaned. “Ugh, we’re gonna get caught before we even try at this rate.”

Gojo tapped his chin. “Hmm. Guess we need a cover story, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking?”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

You had a feeling you were about to regret everything.

You walked beside Gojo, your hands gripping the edges of the cloak as you stepped out of the forest for the first time in years. The open air felt different—less wild, less free. The towering trees were replaced by open roads, stone pathways leading toward a town that seemed to hum with life.

As you approached, the first thing you noticed was the people.

Children ran barefoot through the streets, their laughter echoing as they weaved between market stalls. Vendors called out their wares—fresh bread, spices, handwoven fabrics—all filling the air with an odd but strangely comforting mix of scents. Women strolled by in elegant dresses, their skirts swishing with every step, their hair pinned in intricate styles as they gossiped with one another. The faint melody of a musician’s tune drifted through the air, blending into the sound of horses trotting down the cobbled paths.

It was… overwhelming.

You kept your head down, pressing the hood of the cloak lower over your face as you walked closer beside Gojo.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

You scowled. “No.”

Gojo smirked. “Right. That’s why you’re clinging to that cloak like it’s your lifeline.”

You huffed, loosening your grip slightly but still keeping your pace quick. “People are staring.”

Gojo chuckled. “They’re curious. That’s normal.”

“Exactly,” you muttered. “That’s bad.”

Gojo just shrugged, walking with that same relaxed confidence he always had, completely unbothered. “Relax. Just stick with me. No one’s gonna do anything.”

That was easy for him to say.

You swallowed, ignoring the way a few passing townsfolk gave you curious glances.

You had made it this far.

Now you just had to blend in.

As you walked deeper into town, your nerves were starting to get the better of you. Every passing glance felt like it lasted too long, every whispered conversation felt like it was about you.

Then, without warning—

Gojo grabbed your hand.

You immediately tensed. “What are you—?”

“Relax,” he said smoothly, his grip firm but not forceful. “You’re looking too jumpy. This’ll make you seem less suspicious.”

You frowned, trying to pull away. “I don’t need your help blending in.”

Gojo smirked, effortlessly keeping his hold. “Oh, really? Because right now, you look like you just walked into civilization for the first time in your life.”

You glared at him. “That’s because I did.”

Gojo chuckled. “Exactly. Which is why you should listen to me.”

You tried again to yank your hand back. “This is unnecessary.”

He didn’t let go. “It’s convincing.”

You huffed, wings twitching uncomfortably beneath the cloak. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Gojo grinned. “A little, yeah.”

You groaned, giving up the struggle. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, holding my hand.”

“I’m not—you are—” You shut your mouth, inhaled deeply, and faced forward. “Whatever. Just… don’t make it weird.”

Gojo squeezed your hand lightly. “No promises.”

You were so going to regret this.

➽──────────────❥

Gojo wasted no time leading you through the bustling streets, completely in his element while you tried your best to blend in. He was annoyingly casual about the whole thing, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, dragging you along as if this were just another ordinary day.

He stopped at a food stall first, handing the vendor a few coins before turning to you with a smug grin. “Here. Try this.”

You eyed the small pastry in his hand, then glanced at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Good,” he said simply, shoving it toward you.

You hesitated but took a cautious bite. The soft, flaky crust melted in your mouth, the filling warm and sweet with a hint of spice. Your eyes widened slightly—it was actually delicious.

Gojo smirked. “Told you.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, swallowing the bite before muttering, “…It’s alright.”

Gojo laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

And so it continued.

He dragged you from stall to stall, making you try different things—fruits so sweet they made your lips tingle, roasted nuts coated in honey, warm bread fresh from the oven. Every time you protested, he would shove something else into your hands, grinning like a child as he watched you try new flavors.

You were starting to suspect this wasn’t about “blending in” at all—he just wanted an excuse to feed you.

He guided you through the winding streets, pointing out different places—where to get the best food, which vendor had the softest fabrics, which alleyways to avoid unless you wanted to get robbed (which he said with way too much amusement).

And then, of course, people started noticing.

It started with whispers. Curious glances.

And then finally—

“Hey, Gojo,” a passing merchant called out, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s this girl with you?”

You stiffened. Your heart picked up pace. Shit.

More people turned to look, the attention settling heavily on you. Gojo, of course, looked completely unbothered.

Then he smiled. And opened his mouth.

“Oh, her?” He pulled you slightly closer, tilting his head as if the answer was obvious.

“My secret lover, not secret anymore though—”

Silence.

Every single person around you froze.

Eyes widened. Mouths dropped open.

The air grew thick with shock.

You blinked, your brain momentarily unable to process what he had just said.

Then—

Your eyebrow twitched.

Oh god. He really said that.

Gojo just grinned, clearly entertained by everyone’s reaction. He squeezed your hand lightly, as if sealing the deal.

You, on the other hand, were one second away from killing him.

Your fingers curled into a fist. Your wings twitched violently beneath the cloak.

Oh, he was so dead.

And yet, Gojo just chuckled, completely ignoring the way you were vibrating with barely restrained rage.

"What?" he said innocently, looking around at the stunned crowd. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You were so going to murder him in broad daylight.

The second the words left Gojo’s mouth, the questions exploded.

“Wait—seriously?”

“Gojo, since when?!”

“Where’s she from?”

“Why haven’t we seen her before?”

You stiffened as the crowd suddenly closed in, eager for answers. Oh god, what had he done?

Gojo, of course, was perfectly relaxed, grinning like he was enjoying every second of this. “She’s from a neighboring town,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat. “That’s why you haven’t seen her before.”

People nodded like that made perfect sense.

You, meanwhile, were standing there like a deer caught in torchlight, unable to do anything. You couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t even glare at him properly because all eyes were on you.

You had no choice but to go along with it.

Gojo was still talking, still lying effortlessly, answering every question thrown his way.

“How long have you two been together?”

“A while now,” Gojo replied, slinging an arm around your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You nearly choked.

He was enjoying this too much.

Then, someone laughed—a young man standing by one of the market stalls, shaking his head in amusement. “Damn, Gojo,” he said, grinning. “You really broke all the ladies’ hearts, huh?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

Of course he’d be popular.

You hated to admit it, but… Gojo was handsome.

Annoyingly so.

His bright blue eyes, his sharp features, the way his white hair somehow looked effortlessly perfect—he had the kind of beauty that stood out, that demanded attention. Even in a town full of people, he was the person you’d notice first.

You hated that you noticed.

Gojo just laughed, completely unfazed. “Ahh, what can I say?” he sighed dramatically. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

More laughter, more teasing.

You, on the other hand, were still recovering from the fact that he had just made you his “lover” in front of half the town.

This was not how you expected today to go.

And judging by the way Gojo was still smirking, you had a very bad feeling that this wasn’t over yet.

You could feel their eyes on you.

The women in the crowd—some subtle, some not—were all staring. Some whispered to each other, casting quick glances your way, while others openly examined you, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled judgment.

You shifted slightly under the weight of their stares, resisting the urge to pull your hood lower, fidgeting with it.

It made sense. Gojo was handsome, charming, and irritatingly confident. He was the type of person who naturally drew attention, the kind who could have anyone he wanted—so why had he suddenly claimed you?

The disbelief in their gazes said it all.

You clenched your jaw, pretending not to notice the way some of them whispered behind their hands.

Gojo, meanwhile, was completely unfazed.

If he noticed the way the women were sizing you up, he didn’t acknowledge it. He just stood there, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in ages.

You, on the other hand, were not having fun.

Not only were you stuck in this ridiculous situation, but now you were also dealing with the silent judgment of people who had probably spent years fawning over him.

Great. Just great.

You subtly exhaled, trying to ignore it.

But the longer it went on, the more you wanted to strangle the man standing beside you.

And judging by the glint of amusement in his eyes, he knew it.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your expression neutral as Gojo continued to entertain the crowd like this was his personal stage.

The questions didn’t stop.

“Where did you two meet?”

Gojo hummed, tapping his chin. “Ah, it’s quite the romantic story, actually—”

You shot him a warning glare.

He smirked. “—but that’s a secret.”

The crowd groaned, clearly disappointed but still eating up every word he fed them.

You, meanwhile, were dying inside.

The stares from the women hadn’t stopped. Some of them had their arms crossed, unimpressed. Others whispered behind their hands, their eyes flickering between you and Gojo like they were trying to make sense of this unbelievable pairing.

And the worst part?

Gojo knew it.

You could see it in the way he smirked, the way his grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if to prove a point.

Oh, he was enjoying this way too much.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You tugged at his arm, lowering your voice so only he could hear.

“Enough,” you hissed. “Can we go now?”

Gojo glanced at you, clearly amused. “Hmm? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your eye twitched. “I will kill you.”

Gojo laughed. Actually laughed.

The crowd looked between you, interest piqued.

“You two are adorable,” one of the older women in the market cooed.

Gojo grinned. “Aren’t we?”

You resisted the very strong urge to stomp on his foot.

Instead, you yanked at his sleeve again, hissing, “If you don’t walk away in the next five seconds, I swear—”

Gojo chuckled, finally relenting. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

With that, he pulled you through the crowd, his hand still firmly holding onto yours, as if to make sure you couldn’t escape just yet.

The stares followed you as you walked away.

You could still feel them.

And as Gojo led you down another street, humming to himself like nothing had happened, you made a silent vow—

You were getting back at him for this.

As soon as you were far enough from the crowd, without hesitation—

SMACK.

Your hand came down hard on Gojo’s head.

“Ow—hey!” He stumbled slightly, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated wince. “What was that for?”

You shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe for LYING TO HALF THE TOWN?!”

Gojo blinked. Then smirked. “Ohhh, that?”

Your eye twitched. “YES, THAT.”

He chuckled, still rubbing his head. “Damn, fairy girl, you’re stronger than you look.”

“I should’ve hit you harder.”

Gojo grinned. “Aww, but then I’d have to tell everyone my lover is abusing me.”

You lunged at him.

Gojo dodged, laughing as he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Relax! It was just a joke!”

“Oh, just a joke?” You crossed your arms, glaring. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

Gojo tilted his head. “Uh… made you a local celebrity?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Now the whole town thinks we’re together!”

Gojo shrugged. “Eh, could be worse.”

You looked at him like you wanted to strangle him. “How?"

He smirked. “Well, technically, I could’ve said we were married.”

You gaped at him in horror.

Gojo burst out laughing.

“Ohhh, your face—” He wiped a fake tear from his eye, still grinning. “That was priceless.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you actually killed him.

Gojo smirked, tilting his head. “You’re really worked up over this, huh?”

You glared. “Because now people are going to keep asking about it! The women in town are already mad!”

Gojo hummed, amused. “Jealous, you think?”

“Oh, definitely,” you deadpanned. “I mean, look at you. Handsome, charming, the worst person I’ve ever met—”

Gojo placed a hand on his chest. “Aw, stop, you’re making me blush.”

You were so close to knocking him out.

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Just—just fix this, okay?”

Gojo raised an eyebrow. “Fix it?”

“Yes! Tell them you were lying, or joking, or—something!”

Gojo just grinned. “Ehhh… I dunno.”

Your hands curled into fists. “Gojo.”

He leaned in slightly, still smirking. “But you haven’t denied it, have you?”

Your breath caught for a second.

Then—

You shoved him so hard that he actually stumbled back, laughing.

“Fix it.”

Gojo just winked. “No promises.”

You hated him.

You really did.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

Gojo was still grinning, completely unbothered by the fact that you had just smacked him.

Then, as if he hadn’t just caused chaos, he stretched lazily and said, “Alright, let’s go to my place.”

You blinked. “What?”

Gojo looked at you like it was obvious. “My house. You know, where I live? Where we can not stand in the middle of town while you plot my murder?”

You scowled. “I don’t need to go to your house.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh, so you want to stay out here where people might keep asking about us?”

Your lips pressed together.

Damn him.

“…Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “But only because I need to sit somewhere and recover from the disaster you just caused.”

Gojo chuckled. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, pixie.”

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned and led the way.

The walk to his home wasn’t long, but by the time you arrived, you were… surprised.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the small house in front of you wasn’t anything extravagant. It wasn’t large or overly fancy, but it had a certain charm to it. The wooden walls looked well-maintained, the small porch had a few crates stacked neatly against the side, and a window had soft, warm light spilling out from within.

It looked… cozy.

You glanced at Gojo, raising an eyebrow. “This is your place?”

He grinned. “What? Expecting a castle?”

You huffed. “No. Just… thought it’d be messier.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Wow. You really don’t think highly of me, huh?”

You smirked. “Not even a little.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he pushed the door open. “Well, come on in. Mi casa es tu casa, fairy girl.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him inside.

And for the first time, you stepped into his world.

The moment Gojo pushed the door open, you stepped inside cautiously, taking in your surroundings.

It was… not what you expected.

The space was small but warm, with wooden beams overhead and stone walls that gave it a sturdy, lived-in feel. A wooden dining table sat at the center, covered with a checkered cloth, a half-empty bottle of wine resting on it like it had been forgotten there. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with jars, plates, and random trinkets, while an old clock ticked softly above the fireplace. The scent of dried herbs and faint traces of smoke from the stove lingered in the air, making the place feel oddly inviting.

Your gaze drifted to the kitchen area, where pots and pans hung neatly from hooks, and sunlight filtered through a small window, casting a golden glow across the room. Everything had a simple charm to it—unexpectedly cute, even.

“…Huh.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, shutting the door behind him. “What?”

You glanced at him. “I don’t know. I just… thought you’d live in more of a mess.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. So little faith in me.”

You smirked. “I mean, considering the way you act, I expected, I don’t know—half-eaten food lying around, arrows stuck in the walls, maybe a dead animal on the floor.”

Gojo snorted. “I am a hunter, not a wild animal.”

You hummed, unconvinced, as you wandered toward the table, brushing your fingers over the wooden surface. “It’s… cute.”

Gojo smirked. “Oh? You think I’m cute?”

You turned to him with a deadpan expression. “The house.”

Gojo chuckled, clearly entertained. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’re too proud to admit I’ve got taste.”

You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table. The chair creaked slightly under your weight, but it was sturdy, just like everything else in this place.

Gojo walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of mugs from a shelf. “Tea?”

You blinked. “You drink tea?”

Gojo smirked over his shoulder. “What, did you think I just survive off the thrill of the hunt and sheer charisma?”

“…Yes.”

He laughed. “Fair. But no. I drink tea, and so do you now.” He placed a cup in front of you before sitting across the table, resting his chin in his palm.

For the first time since stepping into town, you felt yourself relax just a little.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

As you sat at the wooden table, fingers curling around the warm mug Gojo had placed in front of you, a strange feeling settled in your chest.

Comfort.

You weren’t sure why, but something about this place—this home—felt… good. Safe. Like it had been lived in, like it had stories within its walls. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it had warmth. The soft ticking of the clock, the scent of herbs in the air, the way the light spilled gently through the window—it all felt oddly familiar.

Like home.

You weren’t supposed to feel that way. Not outside the forest. Not in a human’s house. And yet…

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink into the moment.

Gojo, of course, noticed. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk. “Comfy?”

You shot him a look. “No.”

His grin widened. “Liar.”

You huffed, sipping your tea to avoid answering. It was warm, a little bitter, but soothing in a way you hadn’t expected.

Gojo chuckled, but for once, he didn’t push.

For a moment, the two of you sat there, just existing in the quiet.

And for the first time in a long time… you didn’t feel so out of place.

The warmth of the tea seeped through the cup into your fingers, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it—the quiet, the stillness, the way the air inside this small home felt different from the outside world.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Y’know,” he started, voice smooth and teasing, “for someone who acted like they hated coming here, you’re looking awfully comfortable.

You shot him a side glance, unimpressed. “I can leave.”

Gojo smirked. “Yeah? And go where?”

That shut you up.

He knew you had nowhere else to be. That the forest was the only place you ever returned to, and even that wasn’t really a home.

You set your mug down, crossing your arms. “Don’t think this means I like you.”

Gojo grinned. “Oh, obviously. You just like my house.”

You scoffed, looking away. “Maybe.”

Gojo chuckled, but his expression softened slightly as he rested his chin in his palm, watching you. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he said, voice quieter this time, “you can stay as long as you want.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

He said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like the idea of you being here, in his space, wasn’t strange at all.

You hesitated, glancing down at your cup. “…I won’t stay long.”

Gojo just smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

The warmth of the tea, the flickering light from the stove, the faint creaks of the wooden house settling—it all felt strangely calm.

Too calm.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, letting the silence stretch between you and Gojo. But for once, he wasn’t talking. He just leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression.

You didn’t like it.

It felt like he was waiting for something.

“…What?” you muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Gojo smirked. “Nothing.”

You scowled. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up, grabbing your empty mug along with his. “Alright, alright. No need to get all shy, fairy girl.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach twisted slightly at his words.

As he turned away, moving toward the small sink, you let your gaze drift around the house once more. The warmth, the familiarity of it—it was dangerous. It made you forget, just for a second, that you didn’t belong here.

You exhaled, standing up as well.

You wouldn’t get too comfortable.

Because sooner or later… you’d have to leave.

A/n- Honestly, writing this took longer than I expected, but I had so much fun with it. Gojo is already a menace, and reader is already so done with him, lmao. But hey, she did feel comfortable at his place… wonder what that means. I hope I didn't disappointed y'all:>

Chapter 2 is gonna be interesting, so stay tuned! And let me know what you think so far, have a great day🩷🫶

→ Series Masterlist.

→ you can comment under the series masterlist to be tagged.

Taglist🏷️- @mashtura @evilari111 @mikkmmmii @minascasket @indiewritesxoxo @myahfig4 @byakuya61085 @tbzzluvr @coffee-and-geto @miizuzu @blitziwitch @momoewn @gojobiggestslut @mypenguinobject @gojodihh

[ivythink]

i love spiderman au’s smmm 😩😩

chapter one ── pest control. the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies

chapter summary. ┆ caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

Most days in Linkon City begin with sirens.

Loud, blaring, unmistakable screeches that cut through the early morning quiet like a blade, carving their way through alleyways and avenues alike. They seep into walls, curl beneath locked doors, and coil around the restless minds of those who have long since stopped flinching at their call.

To them, the inhabitants of this city, it is nothing more than background noise—a city’s heartbeat, rhythmic and ceaseless. But to you, it is a warning. A sign that the world beyond the window of your dorm room is a battlefield, and you, a stranger in its midst, are only beginning to understand the rules of this strange place.

Perhaps, in time, you will grow desensitized as they have. Learn to sleep through the wailing cries, to walk these streets without the ever-present weight of caution pressing against your ribs. In a way, they forbade you from venturing out, instilling a fear within you that if you did, you would be the individual these melodies chased—or worse, the victim they had been called for in the first place. 

The entirety of the first semester has passed, and you haven’t even finished unpacking. Your suitcase remains half-full, a tangible reminder that you do not yet belong here. That you still have a choice—to do something before this place sinks its teeth into you, before you become just another soul who mistakes chaos for comfort.

But that choice is an illusion.

Here, people like you make no difference. You are not a hero, nor anything close to it. You are just a student who knows better, one who recognizes that the sirens will always be there, a requiem for the city’s unrest. And the crime will persist, as will the men in uniform who fail to stop it.

Somewhere beyond the blaring wails, beyond the tangled skyline and shadowed alleys, someone is fighting a battle you will never quite understand.

And for now, all you can do is listen.

Yet, in a way, you know that this was exactly where you wanted to be.

Despite its rapidly deteriorating surroundings, Linkon University remained a place of prestige. Young children dreamed of acceptance into its ranks, babbling to their parents about how they, too, would one day make these halls their stomping grounds. Maybe it was naivety that brought you here. Or maybe it was the last remnants of a dream that hadn’t yet died on your tongue.

Or perhaps, it was the medical journalism program—a rare gem, dwindling into obscurity at every other university.

You were lucky to be accepted. But humbly speaking, luck had very little to do with it. Your stats spoke for themselves: a 1540 SAT, a 4.98 weighted GPA, more extracurriculars than you could count on both hands. A smart cookie, as written in the shining letters of recommendation that paved your way here.

And yet, imposter syndrome festered like a quiet disease, creeping into the spaces between your confidence. You have spent your entire life at the top. Always number one.

Here? You were number two.

Number two to whom? You did not know. Not yet, anyway.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb’s perfect life has unraveled in the span of a week and a half, but he positively swears it’s not his fault.

It’s yours.

Ten days ago, at precisely 12:57 PM, he endured the worst torment known to man: his seat in the lecture hall was stolen. A cruel move, truly. Class had been in session for four days, he’d claimed that seat twice—twice—and by the unspoken law of university students everywhere, that granted him full ownership. So why, then, were you sitting in his allotted property?

Looking back, Caleb sees only two possible explanations. The first: you had unknowingly taken the seat after enrolling just before the census date. The second: you were out to get him from the very start.

And personally? He’s convinced it’s the latter.

But alas, he hadn’t made a fuss about it then. It wasn’t like he’d just lost the single best seat in the entire hall—the one with perfect access to the exit, the projector, and the professor’s desk. But hey, he could be cool about this, right? Yeah… totally cool. So cool. The coolest.

Days passed, and everyone seemed to be settling into the spring semester just fine. The weather was getting warmer, flowers on the great lawn were blooming, and Caleb was thriving.

That was, until the unthinkable happened.

Time? 2:19 PM. Class? CHEM 001 AH. Location? The Grand Hall.

Caleb sat directly behind you, having resigned himself to the second best seat in the room, as the sound of pencils scratching against paper filled the otherwise quiet space.

Taking practice exams felt pointless. A waste of time, really. His efforts could be better spent elsewhere—like taking the real exam or absolutely demolishing his roommate Zayne in Apex Legends yet again. But instead, here he was, surrounded by classmates diligently scribbling away as the session inched closer to its eventual end.

And when it did, Caleb would have simply packed up and gone on his merry way—if not for the single most bone-chilling sentence he had ever heard in his entire academic career.

You were chatting with the girl beside you, talking about things he had zero interest in. Your shared biology class at 3 PM, your dorm building, plans to meet up at the dining hall later… blah blah blah. But then—an acronym. A single, horrific acronym triggered him like a sleeper agent.

“My GPA? Oh, it’s… 4.30. I think. To be honest, it’s been a while since I checked.”

His jaw went slack. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face.

A 4.30 GPA? No. No. That couldn’t be real. That could not be real.

But as his gaze flickered between the back of your head and your friend’s, he came to the most horrifying conclusion of all.

You weren’t lying. And if that were true… then that meant you had the same GPA he did.

Which meant that, depending on your course load and how well you performed, you could take his spot as number one in the class rank.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Caleb burst into his dorm room, slinging his backpack onto his mattress before face-planting into it with a sound somewhere between a groan and a hmph.

Across the room, Zayne didn’t even glance up from his desk, fingers tapping away at his mounted laptop. Click, clack. Click, clack. For a stretch of time, that was the only sound in the room—until he finally exhaled, the kind of quiet sigh that could only mean here we go again.

“Rough day?”

Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “The worst day.”

Zayne closed his eyes for a moment, like he was mentally preparing himself, before pushing away from his desk and turning his chair just enough to look at his roommate. “What happened?”

Still face-down on the bed, Caleb let out a long, exaggerated sigh—nowhere near as silent as Zayne’s. “I think I have to take trig next semester. Honors.”

That made Zayne pause. Brow quirked, he leaned back. “Why? Your counselor quite literally said you’re already on track to graduate with honors and as one of the top-ranked students in our year.”

That was the problem, though. Caleb wasn’t satisfied with being one of the best. He wanted to be the best—and now, that source of pride was under attack.

“Well, that was before I found out I’m sharing a GPA with some girl in my chem lecture,” he said, rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “Which means if I don’t get my shit together and pack on a few more honors courses, I’m cooked.”

Zayne laughed. Actually laughed. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, plucked his glasses off the mousepad, and slid them on. “You should hear yourself right now.”

Caleb’s head snapped to the side, eyebrows pinching together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just amusing, is all.” Zayne smirked. “I find it endearing that you, Mr. ‘I can skip the final and still pass with a 94%,’ Mr. ‘I think I might take astronomy honors for fun this semester,’—”

“All riiight, I get it,” Caleb cut in. “What’s your point?”

Zayne snickered, amused. “My point is that if you of all people feel threatened by a classmate you hardly know, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

Caleb hated that there was probably some truth to that. Not that he’d ever admit it. Being threatened by a classmate he barely knew? Please. He knew enough. (And yes, he had meticulously sifted through the entire roster of his chemistry class to stalk your Canvas profile. What? It’s… field research.)

“Y’know, you’re terrible at pep talks,” he muttered, folding his hands behind his head.

“I’m not trying to be,” Zayne replied easily. “But if you want my input—take the trig course next semester. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Caleb rolled onto his side, fishing his laptop from his backpack as the weight of his evening workload settled in.

And maybe Zayne was right.

Maybe he would need all the help he could get.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

It wasn’t until six days later—today—that Caleb knew for certain fate was no longer on his side.

The professor’s voice cut through the shuffle of students packing up their belongings, all of which were currently praying that their first lab of the semester wouldn’t be a complete and utter disaster. It was a well known fact that Dr. Rappaccini was quite the harsh critic, and an even harsher grader. Her score on Rate My Professors was a whopping 2.8/5 for crying out loud.

“Alright, it’s time for you all to receive your lab partners for the semester. Before heading to the lab next door, please check the list of pairings at the front.”

Luckily, Caleb had committed the syllabus to memory and knew that each person was scored individually no matter how their partner performed, but it was recommended that the pair conduct their experiments together to save time and... okay, maybe he hadn’t memorized it as well as he thought, but at least he knew the core details, right?

Scanning the list, his blood ran cold. He squinted, hoping that the prescription of his glasses had failed him, but of course, it was unmistakable. Your name was printed next to his. Emboldened, unignorable, in a perfectly neutral 12 pt Times New Roman font.

The walk to the laboratory was a quiet one, and you were walking a few feet ahead of him without a care in the world. Reaching for the door handle, he twisted the metallic lever and gestured for you to enter ahead of him with a single nod of his head. It was a force of habit. He may not care for you as an academic peer, but you didn't directly wrong him in any way. Not knowingly, that is.

With a curt nod of your own and a sliver of a smile, you entered the class with a quiet “thank you.”

And before he could follow in step behind you, the neverending line of your fellow classmates began to flood into the room, leaving him to stand idle while offering each of them a thin-lipped smile. It felt like an eternity before he was able to step inside of the laboratory too, and his first instinct was to map out the classroom to find the best possible seating arrangement. 

To his surprise… you’d already claimed the most optimal lab station, and as he approached, you made the first move to speak. 

“I hope you’re okay with sitting here,” you say, fishing out your sleek notebook and a bright blue pencil. “It’s the only lab station with equal access to the exit, the supplies cabinet, and the professor’s desk.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side as bewilderment etches into his features. Were you inside of his brain? He clears his throat, shaking away his confusion as he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright with this spot. Good choice.” 

Smiling, you nod too. “Cool.” 

A beat of silence passes, and you smooth your hands over the black resin material of the table, a movement that his eyes instinctively follow. Then, your hand raises and extends out to him, forcing him to blink himself out of his state of daydreaming. 

You say your name while tilting your head with a smile—this time, a smile with teeth—as you wait for his hand to take yours. “And you’re… Xia?” 

Raising his eyebrows, he shakes his head while a chuckle slips through his carefully crafted exterior. “Caleb,” he corrects, his firm grasp enveloping your hand as he gives it a shake. “Caleb Xia.”

“Ah, got it,” you remark, an epiphany dawning on you as you slip your hand from his hold. “Well, I’m going to go get our safety goggles.” 

But before leaving, you straightened, eyes glued to him—or rather, his head.

Huffing out a laugh through his nose, Caleb’s lip tugs up in the corner. “What are you doing?”

Tapping your chin, you sigh. “I’m trying to see if you have a big head. If you do, I’ll have to go fight tooth and nail for one of the ones with adjustable straps.” 

Rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, he rests his elbow on the edge of the table before leaning his cheek into his hand. “Well, lay it on me. What’s your diagnosis?”

Humming, you tilt your head back and forth before nodding your head a single time. “Big-head syndrome. I’m positive.”

Caleb’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “I should take that as a compliment. Big head means big brain, you know.”

“Or a big ego,” you retort with a shrug, giving him a once-over with raised brows before whisking away towards the horde of students currently going to war over the remaining pick of the litter. 

Yeah, that too, he thinks. 

In your absence, he takes the liberty of prepping the lab for the both of you. Beakers? Check. Random substance that the two of you were going to be experimenting on? Check. Hydrochloric acid? Check. Sodium bicarbonate? Check—

“Safety goggles,” you state, plopping down on your stool and handing his pair to him.

Without missing a beat, he speaks. “Check.”

Drawing back slightly, you turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Uh… yeah. Check.”

Faltering, Caleb slides the item onto his face as he stammers through his words. “I was just… never mind, let’s start.”

The class had settled into a low hum—the murmur of newly paired partners, the scribbling of notes, the soft hiss of chemicals reacting. 

As the two of you began the experiment, an incredibly prominent conclusion dawned on him: Disliking you as a person wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. As a competitor? You were treacherous. As a lab partner? You were… tolerable. Efficient. Annoyingly easy to work with. 

It wasn’t the end result that he was hoping for, if he were to be entirely honest with himself. He wanted you to be difficult to be around, he wanted you to be stuck up, he wanted you to give him a genuine reason to dislike you apart from being the root of his newfound insecurity. But you weren’t, and that was a problem. 

“Pass me the baking soda?” you ask.

“The sodium bicarbonate?”

“Yeah. The baking soda.”

Caleb tilts his head with a smile. “Also known as sodium bicarbonate.”

You glance his way, and your eyes met. “Congrats, big guy. You know big words. Now pass it.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Biting back a smile, he hands it over, only to retract it at the last second. “Wait. What’s it called again?”

Your force smile was all teeth. “Sodium bicarbonate.”

Finally relenting, Caleb places the bowl in your orbit with a triumphant grin. 

He was smart enough to know that this was a bad idea. Despite how easily the two of you worked together, he knew that he couldn’t entertain this any further. You weren’t just his classmate, his peer—you were his competition. And while he’s heard the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer just as many times as the next person, he knows that mixing any ounce of developing friendship with his pursuit for greatness would be wrong.

It would work best that way. You can’t be friends, and that’s okay.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, fate seemed to agree with him.

“Hmm,” Caleb soon rumbles, squinting at the beaker. “This isn’t lookin’ too good. You said you added the sodium bicarbonate, yeah?”

You frown, glancing up from your notes. Your stomach twists at the sight of the clock—barely any time left before the lab ends. The professor would be making her rounds any second now.

“What? I didn’t add it. You said you added it.”

Caleb flits his gaze to the side of your face. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast he was surprised it didn’t snap right off. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You exhale sharply, frustration creeping up your neck. “How are you gonna tell me what I did or didn’t do?”

Your pulse ticks up a bit faster than it naturally should, and your eyes rose up from the glass cylinder. Around the room, students were already wrapping up their conclusions while the two of you hadn’t even finished the experiment. You suck in a breath and push up from your stool.

“Fine. Fine. Can you just pass me the baking soda?”

Caleb nods, handing over the pre-measured bowl of sodium bicarbonate. While you worked to fix the mess, he jotted down a few quick notes. You added just enough of the powder to neutralize the acid—but not smother it completely.

And then? Silence. The two of you sat. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

Then, miraculously, the beaker decided to behave and the fizzing subsided.

Like clockwork, you both exhaled, shoulders slumping as small, victorious smiles tugged at your mouths—

Until yours vanished entirely. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Caleb falters, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“Well, you should have.”

“Why? If I hadn’t pointed out the weird reaction, we’d have been screwed.”

“Oh? If I hadn’t realized neither of us added the sodium bicarbonate—which was your responsibility, by the way—we would’ve actually been screwed.”

Tension thickened between you like a drawn bowstring. You clench your jaw and look away, scribbling down your final observations. Stupid man, you thought to yourself. And here you were, actually believing that this semester wouldn’t be a total shitshow, that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten lucky.

Unfortunately not.

Then, your attention was caught by something out of the ordinary. Your gaze lands on his neck, and your breath hitched. Staring back at you was a small, multi-legged beady eyed monster. Sticking out your pointer finger, you still find yourself instinctively drawing back, as if it were out to get you next. “There’s a spider on—”

But before you could finish your sentence, Caleb winced, his veins tightening as he instinctively flicked the eight-legged menace off. You sucked your teeth, drumming your fingers on the table. So much for your timely warning.

Glancing his way, your brows elevate as you see the already forming bite mark on his neck. “Yikes. It got you good.”

“Did it?” he asks, raising a hand to rub over the mark with narrowed eyes. “Hm. Guess so, yeah.”

Reluctantly, you ask, “Are you okay?” 

With a nod, he picks up his pencil once more and works on finishing the last of his lab report. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sighing airily, you can’t help the smile that tugs on your mouth. “Poor spider, being flicked through the air like that.”

Like routine, Caleb shot a glare your way. “Funny.”

“Thanks.”

With that, you left for the washing station. Meanwhile, Dr. Rappaccini stood from her desk, making her rounds. It was in that moment that a shrill of panic shot up his spine—the stimulation foreign, unfamiliar, and… terrifying. 

He could feel his heart rate shooting through the roof, a sweat break on his forehead, and his fingertips flex at his sides—all things that he wasn’t even conscious of. And before he knew it, he was glancing in your direction, noting that you were distracted. Good.

With a quick ease, he snatched up your notepad and erased a few numbers, replacing them with subtle, logicless mistakes. 34? Now a 26. 32 to the power of 5? Not anymore.

It wasn’t his proudest moment. Sabotaging his own lab partner’s work? Definitely not.

Ten seconds. That’s all it took to ruin you just enough. He slid the notepad back into place, brushing away the eraser shavings. Like clockwork, you returned, none the wiser.

Exhaling softly, you turned to him. “Look, I just wanted to say that—”

“Now, you two,” Dr. Rappaccini’s voice cut you off.

You both turned as she scanned and picked up Caleb’s report, making a few marks with her fine-pointed marker before sliding it back into place. You glanced over, making note of his grade. 94.

Then, she picked up yours. A moment later, she handed it back. Your professor held up a roll of stickers, tearing two off before setting them down on the table.

Despite the vibrant designs on the stickers, your stomach dropped. Your grade was big, bold, and unmistakable. 82.

“Wait—Dr. Rappaccini,” you call after her, staring at the page with widened eyes of shock. “I… I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”

“Well, your experiment was solid—your observations were well-written, and your documentation was precise. But your math?” She sighs. “Completely off.” A beat of silence. Then, a smile. “Don’t feel discouraged. You’re a good student as you are—no need to compare your scores to others.”

The implication was clear. She thought you were smart—just not as smart as Caleb.

Huffing, you toss your notebook onto the table, fingers curling against the edge of it.

“You got cut off earlier,” he says casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What were you sayin’?”

Blinking, you tried to retrace your thoughts. “Oh, yeah… I was just saying that…”

Your voice trails, eyes drifting to your lab report. Caleb caught the flicker of realization dawning on you—and when you turned to him, his not-so-hidden grin said it all.

“I was just saying,” you snap, “that you’re an asshole whose handwriting looks like a drunk chicken clawed at my report.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he says with a shrug, peeling off his sticker to plaster it onto your shoulder. “Good luck on the exam tomorrow morning.”

And with that, he walks out of the lab.

“Yeah, you too,” you murmur, though he was already gone before he could hear the hissed “bitch” that followed.

Irritation pricks at your skin as you stuff—more like shove—your belongings into your backpack. Prick. So much for not knowing the single person you were beneath in the class ranks.

Guilt stirred in his chest as he walked towards his dorm building… but only a little.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

By the time Caleb stumbled back to his dorm, he felt like he’d been hit by a freight train.

He barely managed to push the door open before kicking off his shoes, letting his backpack slump to the floor with a heavy thud. His head swam, his breath uneven as he widened his eyes in a feeble attempt to stay awake. Slapping himself on the cheek, he quickly realized it was no use. His neck stung worse than it had when the spider first bit him, the dull throb pulsing beneath his fingertips as he rubbed over the puncture point.

"Are you drunk?" Zayne’s voice drifts from across the room.

"No," Caleb mutters, face buried in his pillow. "Just… tired. Really tired."

He sank into the thin mattress like dead weight, the springs groaning beneath him. With sluggish hands, he pulled his glasses from his face and tossed them onto the bedside table, missing by an inch. His breathing grew heavier, his skin slick with cold sweat. His pupils—blown wide as saucers—fluttered shut as he barely mustered the strength to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

And within seconds, he was out like a light.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting golden stripes across Caleb’s bare back as he jolted awake.

His chest rose and fell in sharp, erratic breaths, but despite the abruptness of it all, he felt… alert. Fully awake in a way that didn’t exactly make sense.

Blinking rapidly, he reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face with a groggy groan. And then—he froze.

His vision was still blurry.

Frowning, he pulled his glasses off, breathed onto the lenses, and wiped them against his bedsheet. When he slid them back on—blurry again. He pulled them down. Clear. Glasses up. Blurry. Glasses down. Clear.

He stares at them in his hands. “...Weird.”

Setting the frames down, he threw his legs over the bed and staggered toward his closet—only to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Since when the hell did he have abs?

He flexed instinctively, stomach tensing under his own scrutiny. Then his gaze trailed up—to his arms. His biceps. His shoulders.

Turning, twisting, he inspected every angle of himself like a stranger in his own skin. He’d been in shape before, sure, but this? This was different. He would’ve noticed this.

Knuckles rapped against the door, making him flinch.

“Caleb? Are you awake? I forgot my key.” A pause. Then, “Are you feeling any better? You slept like a log last night—perhaps you’re catching a bug.”

"A bug?" Caleb echoes under his breath, flexing again just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Holy shit… Uh, yeah, man, I’m good. Just—gimme a sec.”

Turning back toward his desk, he reached for his chair, only meaning to push it aside—but the moment his palm touched the wood, it stuck.

His brows furrow.

He yanks once. Then again.

Nothing.

His heartbeat quickens as he curls his fingers, attempting to lift his hand—and instead, he lifts the entire chair clean off the ground.

“What the—” His stomach drops. He waved his hand. The chair waved with it. Up. Down. Side to side. Still stuck.

“Caleb?” Zayne calls from the other side of the door.

Caleb whips his head toward the sound, panic tightening in his throat. Shit. He bolted across the room—chair still attached to his palm—and somehow managed to unlock the door just as Zayne strode in.

Zayne, clearly in a rush, barely spared him a glance as he grabbed a stack of papers from his desk, clipped them together, and breezed back out with a nod.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Caleb exhaled sharply—only to realize his hand was still stuck… to the doorknob.

Huffing, he gave it a firm tug, expecting it to pop free. Instead, the entire knob wrenched out of the door, hinges snapping with a loud crack.

"Shit."

He barely had time to process before his body betrayed him once again—this time, with a sharp thwip.

A thick strand of silk shot from his wrist, attaching him to his bedpost.

His pulse stuttered. 

"What. The. Fuck."

Another sharp tug. Another web. More panic. Before he knew it, his dorm room looked like a crime scene from some horror movie—threads of silk stretching from walls to furniture to the ceiling.

His gaze snapped to the clock on his desk. 12:56 PM.

"Alright," he mutters, inhaling deeply. "Exam starts in four minutes. I’m sticking to everything I touch. I’m half-naked. Cool, cool, cool."

But nothing about this was cool.

If anyone in the history of Linkon University could take an exam like this, it was going to be him.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n like & reblog if you enjoyed!! this was really fun to write :) also i should’ve mentioned it rly isnt specified how old reader is, just that she’s in college and just starting her second semester at linkon university :) she can be a transfer student (which is kinda what i had in mind), a first year, etc lol it doesn’t really matter bc i’m fine with that being a “plot hole”

i could not stop laughing while writing this at 4am bc i was just imagining caleb coming up with an elaborate ass internalized beef with reader and she’s just sitting in her chem lab like

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post)

@leonskenthusiast @universallysoulcreator @devonjs-blog @lacieohlacie @kisswithyoureyesclosed @lovesick-sylus @livonianmaia @hqnge @yuuuumii @mizzfizz @simpfortheseven @nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads @mariojins @rcvcngers @yizhoupilled @irlsammy @gloomuri671 @risagichi @drinking2nite @seikamuzu @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane

@that-one-scoundrel @joy-laufeyson @missaengg @wheatrice @gvenone @desiree-archive @jayhyunglover @flwerie @miffysoo @jijijihanji @ssetsuka @mglwhor3 @sureconfused @vorfreudevortex @honehbee42 @angelbeat994 @codedove @cheesemachine44 @mocha-the-muse @msanimeotaku181 @breadiestpuffs @idkwhatursayinh @hannahchk @rxelarailuj @littlebabyypeach @wooasecret @nikilig @theweevilofsweetreef @etsuniiru

[ivythink]

Girldad!Geto who never imagined being a single father at 17 but finds himself adoring Nanako and Mimiko.

Girldad!Geto who holds the both of them in his arms as their nightmares plague them after he saved them. He worries so often he shouldn't have done it, that he's doing it wrong. But when the finally still, when their sobs die down to exhausted breaths he can calmly tuck them back in bed. Curling around them so they know he's there. That he's their family now.

Girldad!Geto who's happy to let the girls run their fingers through his hair and clip their play jewellery to his stretched out ears. Smiling softly as they boss him around telling him with plastic jewels compliment his skin tone more.

Girldad!Geto who's always taught the girls they are strong and capable and that no man, least of all a non sorcerer has any right to disrespect them.

Girldad!Geto who's there when Mimiko and Nanako get their first periods within a few weeks of each other. He talks them through it all, setting up a nest of blankets and pillows on the couch for them.

Girldad!Geto who hopes he's enough for them. Girldad!Geto who does wonder sometimes what it would be like to raise them with someone else. To have them have a mother, to have another woman in his family. Maybe one that was truly his and his alone.

[ivythink]

simple red dividers 𓂃₊ ⊹

𐙚 -- dividers for future personal use ᝰ.ᐟ₊ ⊹

feel free to use - reblog/like or tag me if so!!

[ivythink]

may you never forget me | nerdjo x f!reader

one: lingering, like a ghost

summary: he has everything he’s ever worked hard for, except for that one girl who was in at least one of his classes each semester for the entirety of college. he never tried to actually get to know you, but he did help you in ways you'd never know… one of them was getting professor gakuganji fired for calling you out in class. graduation day was supposed to be the day he finally confessed, only for you to not show up at all. what will he do when he sees you again 5 years later?

genre: unrequited love, smut, angst, fluff, one-sided love, misunderstanding, gojo’s lw crazy, very observant of reader in all there classes together, nerdjo has an existential crisis in between graduation and seeing reader again, set in the present but will have many flashbacks, more to be added

a/n: HI WELCOME TO THE FIRST CHAPTER! So real quick, this is in present time, but this fic will have a lot of flashbacks to when gojo and reader were in college. We are starting off strong with a gojo pov, enjoy and see you in the end notes ❤️ 3.7k words

SONG REC: night tapes - drifting

masterlist

Contrary to what people may have believed, Satoru never really liked school. Yes, he got good grades, has even won awards throughout his childhood. It’s learning that he likes– astronomy, taking random language classes, historical documentaries, it’s not that hard getting him interested in new subjects. 

But school itself? He actually kinda loathed it, to tell you the truth. 

Starting from kindergarten, when his nanny literally abandoned him in a class full of random kids and some grumpy old lady, that really should’ve been a fucking drill sergeant rather than a teacher, all the way to his first day of college, when he had to walk through school gates alone for the first time in 11 years. 

Thanks a fucking lot Suguru. 

…Mind you his best friend still finds himself having to apologize for not getting accepted into the same school.

Whatever. It was different that time around, college didn’t require you to have friends to get by, you can actually just go straight to your apartment (or dorm) after class. 

Not like those first 12 years of school, where you were literally stuck with the same shitty people for 8 hours a day. That’s probably the biggest reason why he loathed it so much. 

College was significantly better, everyone was less annoying too. There were still cliques of course, but not to the same extent as the ones in highschool, where they could reign terror on other students for 4 agitating years. 

He never had to endure bullying himself. Most people already knew which family he was a part of from just looking at him, the hair gives it away. 

But he did have to witness his other classmates go through it– shit was brutal. And for someone who didn’t like people all that much, it got annoying quick. 

Like c’mon— if you really hated Ijichi, you wouldn’t even spare him a glance, let alone spend your free time harassing him. 

Satoru apparently saved him that day. 

Ijichi’s worked at the company for 3 years now and which each year that passes, he finds himself thanking Satoru for that. 

The thing is, no one ever tried to get involved whenever this group of kids cornered Ijichi. Everyone was either too scared to say anything or just didn’t care. 

The best day of Ijichi’s life was the day Satoru rushed out of his house and left his earphones at home. The stars seemed to align that day since the library was also temporarily closed. 

The next best study spot for Satoru? Literally any empty classroom, he just needs it to be quiet. 

The silence he so badly needed that day only lasted 20 minutes. It came to a screeching halt when Ijichi literally goes flying through the fucking room. Satoru almost told him to shut up, but then he heard 3 other kids making their way into the classroom, laughing and taunting him. 

Satoru ended up closing his textbook and notebook at that point— to think he’d be able to finish all of his work before going home was pure delusion. 

He peeks at the end of the room to take a look at Ijichi’s limbs tangled all over the desk, which quickly made him cringe. That’s gotta hurt bad. There wasn’t much Ijichi could do either, he was this scrawny kid who had a hard time speaking up, when it came to anything. He remembers offering Ijichi a pencil after seeing him at his desk, staring at his broken pencil in silence, all while everything else continued doing their assignments. He said, and Satoru quotes, “Oh n-nO, it’s fine! !I don’t nEed onE~”

Ijichi was seriously planning on sitting there for the rest of the period, doing nothing, because he was so afraid of accepting a pencil from Satoru. 

Satoru didn’t have time to sit there, trying to convince Ijichi that he was just as deserving of a pencil as everyone else and ended up throwing it at him. 

Ijichi yelped. 

There’s no saving him. 

Well, at least not he’s yelping, they fucking winded him. Did the 3 of these guys pick him up together and catapult him into the classroom? He doesn’t even want to know. 

He’s more annoyed that these guys had to come in and fuck up his study session. He had to attend a clan meeting with his father tonight, he didn’t have time to do his work at home. 

“...Why are you guys so obsessed with him?” Satoru abruptly asked, right as Ijichi was about to get grabbed by one of the boys. His tone was anything but accusatory, he was genuinely curious. 

“Us?” One of them laughed. “Obsessed with him? He’s a fuckin’ loser, no ones obsessed with him.” 

“Are you sure..?” Satoru looks back and forth between the group and Ijichi, who looked like he was actually going to piss himself. “I feel like the first thing you guys do whenever you have the free time is look for him.”

“And what’s it to you? Tryna come in and save the day?” One of them cuts in, trying to antagonize him. That doesn’t really work with Satoru though— if he thinks you’re gonna end up nowhere in life, the last thing he’ll do is take you seriously. 

“I was just wondering.” Satoru shrugs. “Saying you're not obsessed with him, but then going straight to him every time lunch starts and school ends is honestly just kinda weird. It’s like your day revolves around him.”

One lets out a low laugh, “You’re calling us weird? That’s rich coming from you— only reason why nobody touches you is because everyone knows who your family is.”

“That’s—“ He immediately cuts himself off in order to get his thoughts together. Everyone’s confused, Satoru looks incredibly uncomfortable as he tries to figure out what exactly they meant by that. “So what you’re saying is you’d… touch me if I wasn’t?”

“Wh– no, not like tha– why don’t you just shut the fuck up and mind your business.”

“I was, it was you guys who came here.” Satoru reminds them in his still visibly disturbed state. “…to touch Ijichi— wait nooo.”

Satoru’s eyes widened in shock after jumping to his own conclusion.

“Why the fuck are you so focused on that word?!” 

“Why are you so focused on getting Ijichi alone??” Satoru responds with a question of his own. 

“We were gonna beat his ass!” The shortest one in the group says, but his words never reach Satoru’s ears.

His jaws practically on the floor and ends up having to put his hand over his mouth, just for the dramatics. His eyes slowly lose their vibrancy as he starts to look back and forth between the bullies and Ijichi— who still has yet to speak up. 

His silence makes it all look so much worse than it actually is.

“You guys like Ijichi.. like that?”

“…”

Crickets. 

They miraculously left Ijichi alone after that day– not out of guilt, but because the fucking digimon freak genuinely thought they were obsessed with Ijichi. 

After working for Satoru for some time, he realized he had just put on an act to get the group to leave him alone. What he didn’t know was that he only did that because he didn’t have his earphones that day and couldn’t concentrate with them torturing him in the background. 

But even if he found out, he’d still be thankful. He was saved around the time that group of boys started getting more aggressive with him, he’s sure they would’ve broken a bone or two towards the end of senior year. 

He also realized another thing, Satoru’s a smartass. 

It made him wonder if he was like this all along, or if he just found himself when he went off to college. 

He was always like this at home and unfortunately never fucking found himself in college. He’s not afraid to admit all that he had missed out on by keeping to himself so much. 

Sure, he made a few friends here and there, but he could’ve made more by joining clubs. He could’ve had more memorable nights and weekends if he had kept up some of the conversations his classmates tried to start with him, rather than just saving the discussions for his professors. 

Keeping up the grades and being at the top of all of his classes didn’t even matter if he had to be honest with himself. He would’ve still ended up working for his family’s company regardless of what his grades were. 

The only thing he took away from those four years, aside from the degree, was that life waited for no one– not even for the Gojo clan's golden boy. 

That’s right folks! Even the cities' most desired bachelor has a certain someone that got away. What’s even worse is she didn’t even fucking know, because he never tried to talk to her ever in those four years. 

It’s not like she was hard to reach either, he had at least one class with her each semester, they probably had the same major. He’s not 100% sure though, because he literally has never talked to her— but fuck, he honestly tried in the end.

Those last two weeks leading up to graduation were spent mustering up the courage to approach you and coming up with what to actually say.

He needed it to be interesting, the typical “hey, let's keep in touch!” wasn’t going to work because there was never a connection to begin with. He’s even pretended not to hear you at the library once during junior year.

Why? He doesn’t know. 

After what felt like a never ending back and forth with himself— coming up with different pick up lines and then dropping them, because he sounded fucking pathetic and gave himself secondhand embarrassment— he decided he was going to be honest.

“Hey! I know we didn’t talk much– totally my fault by the way, too nervous I guess– is it too late to ask for your number?”

It was sincere, honest, and the furthest thing from pushy. It would’ve worked. It was a good, solid plan that he was going to go through with on graduation day.

Yet when the day came? You were nowhere to be found.

He didn’t even hear your name get called.

Can he be mad? Only with himself, he had 4 years to say something to you.

Life waited for no one.

Even if that was really the only “life lesson” he learned, it was just as valuable as anything else, and decided he didn't want to miss out on anything, anymore.

Did he go a little overboard postgrad?

Mmmyeah he sure did!

Very overboard– apparently it was something about how isolated he suddenly felt after graduating, mixed with the realization that time doesn’t and will never stop, ended up triggering a full blown existential crisis in your boy. 

His therapist explains it a little better… psychology is that once section he tries to stay away from.

But did he have fun?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

He still does, just not the type of fun where he woke up confused as fuck in a holding cell. Or the night ending with someone’s husband chasing him out of his home, after catching his wife cheating on the bed they shared.

Please don’t ask him if he knew or not.

It’s been five years since he graduated, his little party animal phase has toned down for the most part. The need to make up for lost time no longer gnaws away at him. He’s made more memories than most these last 5 years, he’s satisfied. His “wasted years” have now reverted back to being his “uni days”– a thought that’s able to pass, rather than a regret that consumes him. 

But he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t tried googling a certain someone's name throughout the years though. His therapist asked what would change if you actually did show up in the search results. Not genuinely, but to try to turn it into a whole conversation about how it wasn’t going to change the past and blahblahblah. 

No fucking shit. 

He’d still follow you though and slide into your dms real smooth. 

“What if she was married or in a serious relationship?”

“I’d still say hi? What’s the issue with saying I recognized her and realized she was an old classmate?” 

Apparently the difference between randomly stumbling onto a profile and directly searching for one was the issue. He was glad that subject came up towards the end of their session, he was not trying to sit there for a whole hour being told that innocently saying hi to an old classmate wasn’t “healthy” for him— fuck all the way off, Calvin. 

Surely he saw the way Satoru’s eyes momentarily darkened when saying goodbye, that should be a good indicator that he wouldn’t be back for more sessions, because he fucking sucks at his job. Satoru was still a nice person though and decides to text his personal assistant to cancel the rest of his scheduled appointments with the shrink. 

| Akira: Would you like me to provide a reason?

| S. Gojo: Nah.

He doesn’t owe him anything, if anything he deserves a refund for today. Let’s hope the next therapist will be a little less pessimistic. 

—

That very first semester actually wasn’t when he started growing interest toward you. Of course he thought you were cute, but looks weren’t enough for him to go out of his way to speak to others back then, unless it was for a group project. Plus, you sat on the opposite side of the lecture room, coming and going through a different door than he did. 

It was his second semester that he started to acknowledge you more, in his head at least. You were in 3 of his classes that semester, which made you hard to miss if you asked him. Especially the one on Tuesdays and Thursdays, where he had to watch you struggle to set some solid boundaries with a guy who was too cocky to take a hint. 

At first he felt nothing but second hand embarrassment towards Kairo, maybe he just wasn’t very good at reading others. Then he started to feel kind of bad for you. Feel bad about the way he’d watch your shoulders slightly drop whenever that guy came to talk to you. How you’d stiffen up whenever he leaned into your space. You even used a different tone with him, because he absolutely was the type of guy to read in between the lines, instead of actually listening to the words you’d say. 

You could tell him you weren’t interested and he’d think you’re playing hard to get if your voice rose in the slightest. 

Then one day you came into class a little later than usual. Satoru already knew that was going to suck for you, Kairo sat right in the middle of an area that was fairly open, meaning you’d be forced to be close to him regardless of which seat you chose to sit in for that day. 

You could imagine Satoru’s surprise when you suddenly asked if you could sit beside him on… an end seat, rather than the two empty ones to his left. 

He almost offered them to you, but then he realized you probably wanted to hide behind him and ended up murmuring a quick “yeah”. 

Nothing else was said between you two after that. You didn’t even look in his direction, all to avoid Kairo’s gaze. You’ve been in enough classes with Satoru at this point to know he wasn’t going to talk unless it was to ask the professor a question, so that was probably the first time you’ve gotten a chance to relax in that class since it started. 

Luckily Kairo had already been expelled from the school by the time you returned to the class that following tuesday. Meaning, you got to relax for the rest of the semester.

The school tried to keep the reason under wraps, but it eventually slipped out and spread like a wildfire. Around 200 photos from a certain album on his phone had been emailed to just about every employee at the school. From professors and office attendants all the way to the principal and deans. Even if the school had tried to cover it up, it would’ve been impossible since authorities had been tipped off about the emails and were there to take a look first thing in the morning. 

There were no explicit details on what the photos were of, but it’s pretty obvious if the law got involved. The one thing nobody could figure out was who got the photos and emailed them to everyone, with full evidence they belonged to Kairo. 

But like every other scandal that happened in school, that was easily forgotten in less than a month. Even with Kairo being gone, you never went back to that side of the room. Satoru figured that the view of the projector screen was better from where he usually sat, it explained why you were usually a few seats away from him for the rest of that semester.

There were days where you’d walk past him and the smell of your perfume would linger for a while. He didn’t notice it that one time you sat next to him, his mind was too busy thinking about things that were a little more important, but it didn’t take long at all for him to notice afterwards.

He couldn’t figure it out– kinda fruity but not sweet, warm but not vanilla or musk, unavoidable yet not overpowering. 

He liked it. To this day he still hasn’t been around anyone who’s presence continued to linger around the room like a ghost after they’ve left. 

Time had flown by fast. Before he knew it, sophomore year had begun. The thought that you could be in one of his classes again never crossed his mind prior to going back. It wasn’t until that second week where he genuinely felt your absence. Interestingly enough, it was someone else’s perfume that made the realization hit him like a fucking truck, literally. 

It was so fucking offensive that it made him miss you, which even he thought was ridiculous at the time given how he’d never even spoke to you– yet there he was, wishing you could magically switch places with this girl. 

You eventually showed up on the third week of school, back from an overseas vacation. He knows because the professor singled you out and made you explain it in front of everyone, even after explaining it was a family emergency and the school excused it. He still wasn’t satisfied and continued to grill you.

“You’re an adult, you have your own responsibilities that need to be taken care of, you clearly didn’t have the consequences in mind and thought being with your family would shield you from them. That’s not how the real world works.” 

That old fuck was just rambling at that point, he was convinced he was trying to get out of an hour long lecture and was planning to throw the blame on you. 

“Professor Gakuganji?” Satoru eventually raised hand. “Weren’t we supposed to have a lecture today?” 

“Yes, we were.” He nods then looks back at you, “You can thank your classmate for interrupting my class.”

Some students groaned at that, while some looked at the old man in disbelief since you had arrived on time. Either way it was just annoying. 

“I don’t see how that should be everyone else's problem.” He says in response, which shocks some of the students because this is the most they’ve seen him talk. It’s hard to tell who he's annoyed at right now, you or the Professor. “We pay to be here at the end of the day, sir. A lot of our parents aren’t going to be very happy about us failing a quiz on a subject that you won’t teach us.” 

That wording seemed to get him to actually do his job, but it wasn’t enough for you, you never set foot in the class again. Must’ve been humiliating to have that happen on what was the first day of school for you. No one forgot about it either, especially on the days Gakuganji felt like being an asshole and making it everyone else's problem, again. That day gets brought up by someone at least a couple times a week, mainly serving as a reminder to not expect much from the old man. 

Yet for Satoru, the story of the girl who Gakuganji grilled was a reminder of something else. He eventually realized it was never the perfume. 

You didn’t need it to continue to linger around.

When the next semester comes, he finds himself in two classes with you. 

You don't get harassed by any students this time or get singled out by the professors either. Which was great, it was harder to get that old man fired than he had originally thought. 

And that was someone who wasn’t even liked by the other staff.

As for Satoru, he still didn’t talk to you, but that’s nothing new. Up until last semester, you thought he was nothing but this shy, quiet guy that kept to himself. 

Maybe he just had social anxiety or something, so you tried not to judge him. He never causes trouble for anyone. He even let you sit next to him that one time, when he could’ve easily said no after seeing the other empty seats around him. 

It wasn’t until Gakuganjis class where it all made sense. 

He’s a pretentious dick who thinks the world revolves around him. You’d think that being in an unfair position, someone would at least stand up for you, yet Satoru Gojo decided to do the complete opposite that day. 

“Can you start the lecture already?”

“That’s not my problem.” 

“I pay to be here.” 

How about try being the one that’s paying to be scolded?

And of course the one time he speaks up, it’s about himself!

You thought karma was doing its thing when Gakuganji got fired right when winter break started, but she’s clearly got some unfinished business with you by making you be in not just one class, but two of them with him. 

For once, you were glad he ignored you.

next

a/n: HI HELLO WELCOME TO THE END OF THE FIRST CHAPTER!! tysm of reading till the end I appreciate it 😚🫶🏻 okay! notes/recap:

poor satoru with his crush and turns out reader does NOT like him

you guys he fired his therapist that's so bad ??

gojo 2 kairo 0 gakuganji 0

ooo so do we think he's evil or???? guess we'll just have to find out 🙂‍↕️

Ko-fi link if you're feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️

All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.