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kxgumi · 6 days ago

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2 + 1 — gojo satoru

synopsis. two times megumi thinks gojo is a lost cause and one time he approves of the white haired idiot

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, ooc, misogyny (from the clan heads), he is so pathetic for his wife (nauseating!), slight yandere behavior, violence, in megumi’s pov, not proofread eep

notes. can you tell i've been obsessed with the apothecary diaries? >< also how long has it been since i've posted a fic? anyways... enjoy!

fushiguro megumi has always wondered how that blue eyed idiot managed to marry you. he must have resorted to underhanded tactics; or at least that's what the sea urchin suspects. though he's never voiced it, the question has bothered him since the day he first encountered the both of you.

nobara clicks her tongue. “this is borderline creepy.” her orange eyes are filled with nothing short of distaste.

“there’s more too,” megumi’s voice responded, carefully flipping the page. the delicate artifact in his hand is something that he should have not touched. perhaps he should have wrapped it with a talisman and destroyed it while he had the chance.

it was too late for that anyway, because not even a second later, gojo satoru bursts through the shoji doors of the classroom.

with eyes blown wide as if they were caught committing a crime (they were), the first years who had pulled three seats up to a singular desk stare at him. satoru's eyes widen behind his blindfold as he catches sight of the object of their focus.

there lies in the middle of the wooden desk was the physics textbook that all first year jujutsu tech students were required to read. however, this wasn’t just any plain old textbook. it was gojo satoru’s former textbook. brimmed with doodles of their beloved [name] sensei and gojo himself when they were back in highschool.

any free space that was not filled with words were taken up by drawings of you inside of hearts and sometimes a depiction of a chibi version of the two of you.

a true testament to gojo satoru’s pining and devotion to you.

“sensei, we can explain–” yuji attempts to explain himself but gojo holds up a hand to silence the boy.

unlike you, megumi finds it a lot more challenging to read the white haired sorcerer’s expression with the blindfold on. he wonders if his punishment will be a painful beating disguised as a sparring session (megumi will run to you, who will scare gojo into backing down). you have that effect on him.

it seems like the heavens have answered megumi’s prayers because gojo satoru doesn’t seem to harbor any anger at his shocking revelation.

“i can’t believe you guys found this old thing.” satoru dismisses his students’ personal space by leaning closely to observe the pages. the black haired boy makes a noise of disapproval, but was quickly cut off by his benefactor. “megumi, be grateful that i’m in a good mood today.” he doesn’t elaborate the ominous message, rather choosing to hum happily as he studies his own drawings.

megumi is smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“i never took you to be the pathetic type,” kugisaki continues to flip through the pages of the textbook. yuji nods furiously, as if to agree to her observation.

“you seriously never noticed?” megumi mutters under his breath.

gojo places a strong hand on megumi’s back, a languid smile on his face, “it was only natural, considering the lengths i had to go through to win her over.” he ignores the way megumi gasps for air.

“seriously?” itadori asks in disbelief.

“seriously.” gojo confirms wholeheartedly.

megumi shudders, recollecting memories of times before gojo tied you down for good.

2009

“sorry i’m late!” gojo bursts through the dingy apartment door with a convenience store bag in his arm. he was breathing heavily, an indication that he had run to the apartment. an uninterested seven year old megumi doesn’t bother leaving his place on the couch to greet his benefactor.

“they’re in the kitchen,” he says in his monotone voice, eyes never leaving the book that you had just gifted him.

“they?” gojo walks up to megumi to ruffle his hair aggressively. he receives a hiss in return.

“tsumiki and [name]?” the black haired kid says it like it was obvious. his sentence is accompanied with an eyeroll.

at the mention of your name, gojo immediately perks up. megumi imagines that if he were a cat, his ears would be swiveling and his nose twitching, attuned to pick up any trace of your presence. he had just learned that from the nonfiction book in his lap.

“[name]?! here? now?” gojo’s eyebrows are raised all the way to his forehead. the white haired sorcerer immediately started fixing his uniform and hair. megumi thinks it was comical. he was a lost cause.

the snarky look on his face is quickly wiped off when he sees gojo leaning down, mouth wide open.

“oi brat, check my breath,” gojo opens his mouth wide for megumi to check. the black haired kid shrivels up into the couch the further gojo leans down. megumi considers summoning his newly discovered jujutsu technique, hoping to avoid his fate.

“��toru? what are you doing?” your voice, like a divine intervention, stops gojo from sending megumi to the depths of despair. a sigh of relief escapes his lips.

now it was his turn to watch gojo squirm. the older male’s face contorts to an awkward smile and all of a sudden gojo is reduced to nothing but a mess.

“don’t worry about it darling!” gojo slowly turns around to face you. “agh—?!”

megumi has to peek around satoru’s big frame to see what elicited such a response from the man.

he’s met with a wave of underwhelming familiarity. there you stand, clad in a frilly apron with a wooden spoon in hand, the essence of domesticity incarnate. the soft glow of the warm kitchen lights dances around you, casting a warm aura that seems to envelop the room.

“welcome home, satoru.” you give him your signature closed eye smile. “i mean, you probably don’t consider it your home but—“

you’re cut off by satoru banging his head on the nearest wall repeatedly. he’s muttering something under his breath that you don’t hear.

to his dismay, megumi's keen ears catch every syllable. satoru's voice, though hushed, carries a hint of longing, "what an angel," he whispers, his words laced with adoration. "just marry me already."

unamused, he watches while you try to desperately pry gojo from his strange outburst.

a lost cause indeed.

2009

in that very year, megumi learns that gojo’s efforts to win your affection had yielded no progress. it had become increasingly apparent that his frequent visits to megumi and tsumiki's humble home were motivated to immerse himself in the semblance of domesticity that your presence offered. megumi almost pitied the man, if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew you deserve someone more sensible.

[name]

[nameeeee]

i’m dying.

and it’s your fault t^t

[name] ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

excuse me?

i’ll have you know that i worked the hardest that i have ever worked to finish all of my paperwork so i could see you tonight… only to find out from megumi that you’re on a date?!!?

i feel like my chest is caving in.

i’m going to throw up.

[name] ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

oh this is what you’re interrupting my date for?

i’m going to be sick.

please tell me, is he hotter than me? wealthier? funnier?

megumi quickly looks away from gojo’s phone screen when the white haired male slams it shut and mutters under his breath a couple of curses. he’s pretty sure half of them were death threats. honestly, couldn't you have attracted someone with more dignity?

“change of plans,” gojo claps his hands together. “movie night’s off.”

“what?” megumi protests, confusion etched in his features.

“our beloved [name] is getting swept off of her feet. you wouldn’t want that to happen, right?” gojo continues, his tone light but his gaze sharp as it bores into megumi's soul. something unpleasant coils in the pit of his stomach.

megumi feels a chill run down his spine, his mind racing with the implications of gojo's words. if you choose to date this new guy, he realizes, you won't need him or gojo anymore. and that thought terrifies him. it pains megumi to feed into gojo's delusions.

but he can’t let this unnamed suitor steal you away.

a wolfish grin makes its way to gojo’s mouth when he realizes that he’s won.

“what's the plan?”

2016

it was only years later that megumi had seen the true monster that lurks inside of gojo satoru.

on a hot summer evening, amidst a gathering of esteemed clan heads, he and satoru found themselves in a traditional chamber. while the finer details of the meeting escape his memory, the image of the room that altered his perception of gojo satoru is etched in his mind indefinitely. the wooden walls, adorned with subtle yet elegant designs, speak volumes about the room’s significance as a venue for the most influential members of jujutsu society.

throughout the meeting, he finds himself driving in and out of focus, content to let his mentor represent the gojo clan. however, his attention is abruptly seized by a particular remark that cuts through the haze of his thoughts.

“how’s that whore of yours, gojo?” a clan head jeered, clearly drunk on the sake that was constantly refilled by the servant on the side. his flushed complexion is scarcely discernible thanks to the dim glow emanating from the few lanterns scattered around the room.

there was only one person he could have been referring to: you. underneath the wooden table, his fingers tightened painfully into fists. pretentious bastards, megumi thinks.

another geezer rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “she has a nice body. perfect to be a concubine, but i would marry a more submissive woman.”

megumi's gaze stealthily darts towards gojo, seated beside him.

he’s startled to find the white-haired man wears a wide grin that belies a hidden truth. unseen by the elders before them, lurking beneath gojo's outward expression, is a manic gleam in his eyes—a revelation that sends a shiver down megumi's spine.

“i’d hold my tongue if i were you.” gojo satoru’s voice was dripping with venom. he sounded downright murderous.

"i'm right, am i not? we can share her if you'd like- name the price." the drunkard continues loudly.

megumi senses an instinctive wave of primal dread washing over him, compelling him with an urgent, almost instinctual need to flee or die.

before he can move a muscle, the flames that surround the room flicker before extinguishing in succession by an unknown force. the metallic stench of blood fills the air and all he can hear is the sound of flesh mutilating and bones crushing accompanied by the painful shouts of the men that once sat in front of him. he doesn’t have to see it with his own eyes to be able to sense gojo’s strong curse residue that suffocates the room.

“stand up megumi. we’re leaving.” his voice carries a feral edge, leaving no room for objection.

on their way out of the compound, the two don’t utter a word at what had just transpired.

megumi's gaze remains fixed on the ground beneath his feet, the images of the recent events swirling in his mind, leaving him unsettled and shaken. with each step, he grapples with the unsettling realization that beneath gojo satoru's charismatic facade lies a darker, more sinister nature.

the strongest sorcerer of today, riled up by the mere mention of your name.

megumi supposes he doesn’t feel much remorse for those clan heads anyway. he was never the type to mourn over people he didn’t know dying. especially not people who he knew would live on to do evil. it doesn’t help that they were blatantly disrespecting you. perhaps he could sympathize with the monster inside of gojo.

oblivious to the turmoil that stirs inside of megumi, gojo starts to smile.

“i know what you’re going to say,” gojo hums happily. “gojo sensei, you’re so cool! i approve of you marrying my beloved [name]! kyaa~’” he makes a pathetic attempt to imitate megumi.

the black haired boy grunts. he was going to say something along the lines of his approval for his benefactor, but all desires of flattering the white haired sorcerer disappeared.

gojo watches the black haired boy intently before tutting.

“not that it matters.” megumi is startled to hear how his voice dropped an octave. “i was always going to marry [name] and i’ll be damned to let anyone stop me.”

2018 – present day

after satiating his students with tales from his pining days, your husband comes home often clingier than normal (is that even possible?). the moment satoru enters your home, his arms envelop you, caging you in his hold.

you can't help but giggle as his hair brushes against the side of your neck, his embrace pulling you in close, as if he's inhaling your presence. his muscles flex when you attempt to slip away, keeping you in his tight embrace.

“sato– what is going on?!”

“is it a crime to show my wife some love?” he kisses your neck. when his flurry of kisses stop, he resorts to absorbing all of your features with those cerulean eyes of his.

you don’t bother pushing him away again, choosing to thread your fingers through his soft hair. even after all these years, you will never not feel the effect of satoru’s eyes on you.

“i was telling my first years about you today,” he says softly.

you smile, “is that so?”

he pushes his nose into your neck again, nodding.

“you’re so good to them,” you whisper. despite the initial shock behind satoru choosing to pursue education, you’re extremely proud of how far he’s come.

“mhm,” satoru inhales. “i’d be good to our little ones too.” one of his hands sneak to your stomach.

you delicately guide his face away from your form, your fingers tenderly urging him to meet your gaze. "is there something you want to tell me?" you inquire softly, your eyes reflecting the warmth of your affection.

satoru's smirk deepens, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "perhaps," he murmurs, his touch light as he guides you towards the bedroom. without hesitation, you yield to his lead, eager at his sudden intimate gesture.

from outside your home, three first year students stand, waiting for their sensei’s cue to enter.

“do you think he’s forgotten about us?” yuji furrows his eyebrows, hands full of grocery bags that were going to be prepared for dinner.

extra notes. had the idea of gojo and megumi crashing your date in my drafts for so long. maybe ill elaborate on it if the ppl want to see :,)

#jjk #gojo satoru

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kxgumi · 7 days ago

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King of the curses has no business to be this cute🫵

gn//f//m reader, fluff, established rl

sukuna who quietly takes up a hobby of pottery and slowly leaves his trinkets around his house :(

it starts small. a tiny figurine, barely the size of your thumb, placed on your nightstand without a word. it's your cat, belly perfectly round, little paws tucked in, an expression so accurately grumpy that you almost think it’s store-bought. but no, the slightly uneven texture and the faint grooves of fingers along its back give it away—this was handmade.

then come the plates. at first, just quarter plates for the both of you. then bigger ones. serving bowls. one day, a dish so enormous appears on the dining table that you stare at it in horror.

"who are we feeding, the entire neighborhood?"

"your fatass cat," sukuna grumbles, arms crossed, but the corners of his lips twitch. "he won’t eat out of anything else now." and sure enough, your cat is sitting beside it, looking absolutely smug, tail flicking as if to say, "finally, a bowl befitting my stature."

the jewelry tray appears next, a shallow ceramic dish with a slight tilt because, as he explains, he’s still "figuring out how to make the damn things symmetrical." you paint it gold and pink, his least favorite colors, just to be annoying. he doesn’t complain. "not bad," he mutters, picking it up to inspect. "at least it ain't neon green."

but it’s the ashtray that really gets you. shaped into a heart, of all things. you stare at it for a good minute before looking at him, one brow raised. "shut up," he says before you can even speak.

"i didn’t say anything."

"you were thinking it."

you paint the heart ashtray a gaudy red and put tiny, illegible gold lettering across the rim that just barely resembles the words kiss the chef. when he notices, he lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "you're real lucky i like you," he mutters, flicking ash into it without hesitation.

the funniest thing is how he never makes a fuss when you accidentally break one of his pieces. you nearly cry when you chip one of the quarter plates, apologizing profusely, but he only shrugs.

"eh, i’ll just make another one."

"but it took you weeks—"

"yeah, yeah, and i’ll do it again." he nudges your forehead with a clay-stained knuckle. "quit looking so guilty, brat. it just means i get to see you smile over a new one."

you do. every time. <3

#sukuna #jjk

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kxgumi · 7 days ago

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You've always known just how big Miguel is. No, not in that way; just big in general. There are short people, average people, tall people, and then there’s Miguel. Big and heavy. He’s reluctant when you ask him to be your “weighted blanket” because he always feels like he might seriously hurt you. Nonetheless, you always tell him how much you love the feeling. You love everything about his size and all the benefits it comes with. You wouldn’t change Miguel in the slightest. No way. . . But there’s this one thing.

It’ll be super late into the night, and let’s say it’s Winter to make things worse.

Well, you thought you started the night wrapped and bundled up in y’all’s down-feathered comforter, whipped out from the closet for frigid nights like these. You even wore your thermal pajamas, that’s how cold it was, so you definitely know you fell asleep extra cozy and toasty for the night. To go even further, Miguel always wraps an arm around you before drifting off, pulling the distinct aroma of your clothes and skin closer to his face. . . So why do still you feel cold?

You remain asleep until your skin can no longer bear the invasive crisp of the air. Dejected, your eyes open, your gaze leading from the wall down to the bed around you.

You twist your head to see behind you, your eyes following along the bed until you find the culprit.

So that’s why I’m cold. Sucker took all of the blanket to his side.

Your expression is a mix of reproach and borderline laughter. You hold it in so as to not wake him, of course. You did have to admit, despite it costing your comfort and warmth, the sight next to you was just too darn cute. You almost wanna take a picture of the precious crime scene.

You reckon that, deep in his sleep, Miguel had turned over, and in doing so, brought all of the blanket with him. With tired eyes, you turn your whole body now to face him, his back facing you. You lay there, looking on with a soft smile. Your eyes scan all the shapes and edges; how the mountain of his figure rises and falls. You hold in a chuckle whenever he snores significantly louder.

When you’ve had enough, you turn back around, and as quietly as possible, you get up to grab another blanket. The other move would’ve been to pull back your portion of the blanket, but there was the risk of waking him, so you settled for grabbing another one.

You come back, snuggled in your assigned spot on the mattress and allow sleep to take you for the second time that night.

It’s not long before you feel shuffling in the bed. Your eyes crack open when you feel a different, more familiar warmth. You see that the throw blanket you grabbed from one of the lounge chairs is no longer on you, but on the floor. Instead, on your body is all of the comforter that had been stolen from you, in addition to the arm that initially took it.

“Mmsorry, beba,” with eyes still closed, he mumbles through his half-awake state, ”I’ll buy us a bigger blanket”.

Your lips curl in your slumber, the feeling of Miguel’s body cocooning yours conquering any blanket or comforter in the world.

#miguel o'hara x reader

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kxgumi · 7 days ago

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a very tired miguel who gets home from work and gets babied by his woman

It's close to 9pm as you're lying on your bed. keeping your focus on the book you're reading, one that you failed to keep as a part of your routine due to your busy schedule with work. being a fashion designer has it's perks but it also has its dark sides too. especially when it comes to dealing with snobby ass clients

as you are about to flip to another page, you hear the front door opened. keys rattling against the ceramic bowl with a loud sigh follows after. a soft smile appears on your face soon as you realize who it is

“miguel? Is that you?” you softly call out your husband’s name while putting the book down.

"si, mi amor" he appears shortly by the doorway. your tall and handsome fiancee adorned in an unbuttoned white shirt that showcase a bit of his chest and paired with black trousers. a simple work attire but never fail to make your knees wobble. the sight could put any Greek Gods known to a man to shame.

your heart breaks a little seeing how tired he looks. his eye-bags are coming off too strong. a constant reminder on how he has been working himself far too hard despite you telling him to take it easy. but that's just how he is, stubborn.

"how's work my love?" you ask, watching him undress himself, revealing his exposed toned chest before putting the clothes away with the rest of his dirty ones in the bathroom. "I take it, it wasn't a good day?"

"you could say that" he replies tiredly, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the chair and slipping it on. "trying to get ahold with the new recruits is a fucking job, Peter's been getting on my nerves and I'm working on advancing the technology we have right now in order for it to be easier to identify every single anomaly's DNA we've come across to. But the amount of hypotheses and research I've done are nowhere near close to how I want them to be."

"i would ask Tony Stark for help but que cabron esta muerto" he breathes out a sigh, pinching the thick skin between his brows. "I'm drained, mi amor... i can't fucking do this shit everytime--"

"no hey.. stop" you shake your head, hate having to see your man fronting a distressed look in his face. “come here, Miggy” you pout at him patting your chest for him to lay his head,

he sighs heavily. plopping into the bed and carefully lays himself on top of you. pounding head finding comfort in the warmth of your chest, snaking his big arms around your waist.

you put your arms around him, locking him tightly as your soft lips kiss his forehead making him purr.

“my pretty baby. exhausted aren't you? hm?” you ask in a cooing tone. he hums -- which sounded like a growl to you-- with a nod before nuzzling himself closer. “oh my poor poor baby... my handsome man. always working himself to the bone” another kiss on the forehead

“come up a little closer, hm?” you ask as he barely shifts his body. too lazy and far too comfortable in your arms like this for him to move.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, moving a piece that’s covering his forehead. looking down to see him close his eyes, yet not sleeping.

it’s so funny to see how this freakishly large- broad man who always seems to bring a cold presence that scares everyone off at work—which is technically true— then turns into a huge softie and a love puddle for you in a split seconds.

it’s truly a privilege that you’re the only one who gets to see and feel this

“look how cute you are, baby… do you know how cute you are, hm?” you coo at him, lips kissing his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbone. trying your best to console him in hopes of washing his stress away.

he lightly shakes his head. “no” a curt reply rolls of his mouth, drawing your body closer to him if that's even possible.

you pretend to gasp dramatically at his answer. fingers still stroking his hair lightly. “you don’t?! oh no! we have to fix that! you’re the cutest *kiss* most handsome *kiss* hardworking *kiss* man I’ve ever known” showering him with compliments in between kisses. he breathes out a small chuckle that muffles against your chest.

it’s obvious that miguel rarely gets treatments like this, he’s no one to shy from things but you're his only exception. the only person who truly can get him blush like a little kid when he's shown the slightest bit of affection.

“who’s baby are you hm? are you my baby?” a smile graces your lips as your eyes casting down to his pretty features.

“me. I’m your baby” he mumbles, tightening his grip around you. "always be your baby"

inspired by @webslingingslasher their frat!peter work yall is making me [REDACTED] please go take a look!!

#miguel o'hara x reader

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kxgumi · 7 days ago

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MDNI, Mentions of sex but no smut, violence.

Thinking about baby daddy!Miguel O’Hara who’s scow immediately returned to his face as soon as you and your daughter were out of sight. Wasting no time to march to the elevator and hit the button to your floor.

Baby daddy!Miguel who couldn’t help but let out a scoff in disgust when he turned the corner of your hall and saw Henry sitting on the floor against your door. Not noticing until he was close enough that he was passed out, head lulled to the side, and an occasional snores leaving him as Miguel glared down at him.

Baby daddy!Miguel who had to resist the urge to wake him up with a swift punch in the face, and not stop until he wasn’t conscious again.

Baby daddy!Miguel that opted to instead nudged him with the side of his foot. Wanting to see what bullshit he’s spew out first.

—

What you ever say in this guy, Miguel will never understand, what you’d see in any guy that wasn’t him he’d never understand. Although to be fair, when you were with him, he probably wasn’t as pitiful looking as this.

“Not so much of a cocky ass now huh?” He couldn’t help but mumble to himself before taking the heel end of his foot and nudged the smaller male's knee. “Wake up.”

After a few more nudges, Henry woke with a loud snore, droopy eyes looking around in confusion before he finally noticed the legs in front of him. Neck cracking up slowly until he was met with the sight of Miguel’s body hulking over him. The overhead lights casting a shadow over his face so he couldn’t read his expression, and if Henry was just a tad bit less drunk, he’d feel the death-like glare being casted on him.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He slurred, remembering why he was outside your door in the first place.

“None of your business.” Miguel retorted, hands crossing in front of his chest. Despite his scary guard dog aura, Henry tsked in annoyance as he began to stand.

“I think knowing where my girlfriend is my business-“

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore.”

Silence filled the air as Henry was finally able to get himself up on two feet, before a scoff left his lips.

“She already told you. I’m not surprised.” Now it was Miguel’s turn to scoff.

“Of course she told me. I'm the father of her child-“

“I knew something had to still be going on with you two.” Henry’s finger jabbed into Miguel’s chest, his drunken slurring forming into a bit of a hiss. Not phasing the bored look on Miguel’s face. “I’m not fucking blind, I’ve seen the way you looked at her. You’re still in love with her.”

“Look, I’m not wanting to cause any problems,” that’s a lie, “but it’s obvious you’ve had too much to drink and are just talking nonsense. She doesn’t want to see you, alright? So how about you walk away and leave her and my daughter alone.” Miguel spoke calmly, not denying the allegations thrown his way before they both knew it was true.

Miguel’s hand found its way to Henry’s back, not-so-gently pushing him towards the elevator and away from your front door.

“I’m not stupid as you think I am, man.” Henry retorted, planting his heels into the wooden floor to stop himself, before turning around to face Miguel again. “You’re not over her, you don’t think I knew what you were doing at the barbecue when you were dancing with her? Practically fucking her in front of me.” Miguel’s jaw clenched to keep himself from acting irrationally as Henry hissed at him like a dog ready to attack. “The way you always try to one up me in front of her. I’ve seen your messages to her, the old photos, the Spanish nicknames-.”

“Alright that’s enough dude.” Miguel interrupted him. Tone returning to its harsher original one.

“I’m not surprised the minute the opportunity comes, she runs back to your ass!” Henry shoved against Miguel, causing no recoil from the larger man.

“I’m not the one who cheated on her.” Miguel snapped back.

“Yeah, but you were just waiting for the opportunity for me to fuck up. Look like some…knight in shining armor.”

“Okay, man let’s go. You’re not gonna be able to finish this fight. Go home.” That’s when he felt it, a harsh pain on the side of his face. He didn’t realize till he touched his cheekbone and hissed at the throbbing sensation that came from the area that had transpired.

Henry just punched him in the face.

“I wanted to be nice. You already put her through a lot of shit in the past few days.” He mumbled as he rubbed the stop that was sure to bruise black and blue. “But you decided to make this more difficult for yourself.”

Henry didn’t have a chance to reply before his back collided with the wall, air being knocked out from his lungs as Miguel’s hands found their way to Henry's throat.

“You wanna know what happened the night she caught your ass sleeping with another girl?” The question was rhetorical.

“…What?” Henry asked, voice meek under the weight of Miguel’s hands.

“I got her to stop crying, comforted her… got her some food… then I started fucking her till she starts to cry again.”

“You son of-“ Henry began, trying to thrash his way out from under Migue, only to have more pressure applied to his throat. He quickly stopped when he felt himself become light headed, arms that were around Miguel’s wrist drop back down to his sides, and a cough left his throat when the hands around his neck loosened slightly so he could breathe a bit more properly again.

“You’re gonna shut up and listen, and listen good.” Miguel began, his voice dropping down to just above a whisper. Allowing Henry to let out a frantic nod before continuing. “I was the one who comforted her when you fucked up and broke her heart. I was the one who was there to pick up the pieces, not you. I’m the only one who knows her better than she knows herself. I’m the father of her child, me. It was always gonna be me. You weren’t the one who changed her baby’s diapers, you weren’t the one who taught Gabi to ride a bike, you weren’t there for her like I was. You never will, because when it comes down to it, she’ll pick me over you, every. damn. time.”

Miguel didn’t know what felt better, finally getting Henry to shit his smug ass up, for being able to get all his frustrated thoughts out in words.

“She’s mine, she’s always been mine, she's always going to be mine. So don’t for another second, think that you can just walk back into her life and act like you own her. You don’t own shit, you understand?” Miguel finally ended his rant, eyes narrowed as he waited for Henry’s response. Satisfaction flowing through his veins when the smaller male looked like he had just just been face to face with the grim reaper himself.

“I-yeah, yes-I understand.” Henry finally stuttered, face paled, and eyes wide.

“Good, now I want you to walk out of this building, and walk out of her life. If I see you or hear you trying to talk to her ever again, I’m not gonna do as much talking next time.”

—

Part 8<

Not proofread.

Word count:1.2k

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush

@queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker

@pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer @migueloharastruelove @krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart @stressed-cherry

@haveclayeveryday @leonsbimbogf @bmoplanet @carmison @c4rm1son

@scaleniusrm @ginnysculture @mishaglass @wusyanmee @bunnibitez @miguelzslvtz

@dahehow @sinners-98-world @othersideoftheparadise @toyfortoji @yeshajane @yvesbi @hanjisgf @deljojeisbackagain

@safixiovi @emmalandry @maxinemus3 @aaaaslaaaan @kenz-ee @esmedelacroix @whattheshock @syler-griffin

@comeonatmebruh @xwonderlandresidentx @m4dyy @the-pan-liquid @lilbrababe99 @jxstanemo @badbitchhour @freehentai

@sillysillygoofygoose @nj452896 @jadeloverxd @faretheeoscar @ce3stvu @scorpihoooe @blossomofbismuths @nxxav3rs3 @ilovespiderverseeee

@ghost-lantern @saaaaaaaaaaaamiiiiiiiiiiiira @lavenderslemonade

#my love #miguel o'hara x reader

639 notes · View notes

kxgumi · 9 days ago

Text

lovesick — ryomen sukuna.

"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is." "I see, I see." Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway. “Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"

Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;

Warning/s: Short Fic, General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Teasing, Volleyball, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 3.8k words.

Note: i wanted to see ryomen sukuna be someone that is pathetically in love with his lover, because i needed a break from my pattern of being angsty with sukuna, so here you go. that being said, i'm sorry this is shorter than what i usually write. i'm prepping a lot of things because im going to be back in uni soon and i need to make sure i fix the queue!!! that being said, i'll post tomorrow about the valentines special!!! thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IF THERE WAS ONE THING ABOUT HIM, ITS THE FACT THAT HE IS A STRONG PERSONALLY. He knew that too well, everyone knew that just as much. Ryomen Sukuna was just easily the most incredible force to be reckoned with. Whether that be meeting him personally or whether that be hearing baout him in passing.

Everyone would say the same thing about him — it's hard to find out what to say about him without going on a tangent for hours on end. And that was just the easiest thing to do, rather than finding anything definite to say.

The one and only captain of the top ranking college varsity volleyball team in all of Japan, Ryomen Sukuna dominated the court like it was his personal kingdom with that iron fist. He has such a stellar record of existence, that was to be sure, wearing the crown.

All his opponents could only quiver at the sight of his one of a kind powerful line spike. All the teammates he'd have since junior high could only respect and fear him with almost military reverence, like he was their general.

Of course, all his coaches over the years swore he could crush concrete if he so much as clenched his fists mid-serve. That perhaps, it would be good to gentle parent him as much as possible, knowing he's already quite the fire cracker of a man.

Or that he could end up cussing out everyone at the court as easily as one does breathing. That's of course, why the coaches would find him to be the "Cursed King." It was an intimidating title that had followed him since junior high school.

One moment he's someone that you curse because you lost a game because of him, another time you curse him because your team got fined because he ended up causing a fight. And with a name like that, Sukuna relished the air of invincibility it gave him.

Everyone had a box for Sukuna to fit in, of course. That continued over time, to be something that people couldn't avoid making for him and only him. That was just how it was, when you have someone as enigmatic as him.

To some of his teammates, he was "Cap"—the iron-willed leader who demanded nothing less than perfection. The one that would force them to run miles on end until they fell from exhaustion. The one who forced them to do hundreds of spikes until it took out the bottles he prepared on the other side of the court.

The rival schools referred to him as "Demon Spike" but this was mostly because he left a trail of destruction (and bruises) every time he stepped onto the court. One moment that's from the fact that his serves were just dangerously low and one moment it's because he heard someone bad mouth his underclassman.

Of course, even his many teachers and now his college professors had their own opinions for him one at a time over the many years. One of the most known nicknames for him by the professors in the college halls is “The GPA Crusher”.

To the younger underclassmen, who unfortunately still looked at him with bright eyes under those filtered glasses on — he was a mix of "Sensei of True Discipline" and "Volleyball God".

He was to them, a figure of unadulterated awe and of course, that desire to hope, that perhaps they would end up like him too. After all, he was always a star in the court. But in a different way, in the good way. That's how they think.

But this was because Ryomen Sukuna spent more time perfecting his jump serves against his opponent than ever having effort in writing essays for submission. Ironically, even though he was quite a smart young man. The fact that he shows up to exams more than classes and still passes with flying colors is quite certain proof.

But to you, his beloved girlfriend, Ryomen Sukuna was none of these things. He didn’t live in a box and he never wished to do so, no. Instead, he lived eternally, forever, even in the next life — in your heart.

Though he’d never say something that cheesy out loud. That part is not easy for him, but you didn't mind that. You liked to keep him to yourself most of the time. And he was satisfied with that.

The most you could hear from him about you is in passing. Sometimes practice would finish and he, still full of sweat, would immediately pack his things into his gym bag, almost suddenly becoming ignorant of everything else.

His underclassman would invite him to eat something like yakuniku and he would say with a straight face — "I can't. My girfriend wants to cook some authentic pasta for me at her place. Bye."

He would leave almost instantly, much to the shock of the underclassman each year. But most of his teammates, who were also somehow his friends, were not surprised. He and you were dating early on during junior high school. And he would be the same way.

When he wasn't looking, people could only surmise what he looked like when he towered over your giddy figure at every practice, at every game — 'Ah, I see. He's lovesick. And in a good way.'

To Sukuna, you were perhaps the only thing that could triumph against volleyball. You were his number one. And he knew that you thought of him the same way too. And everyone knew that too.

That's why you only ever called him one thing: my love. And to Sukuna, that title was worth more than any championship trophy. But of course, no one knew that. It's not like you don't call him that in public. It's just that no one asks, what that nickname is.

The look in your eyes was more than enough when he makes a wink for you at each serve was enough, the smile on your lips when he comes to greet you at the bleachers was more than enough. No one needed to hear the nickname to know that there was something loving between the two of you.

He knew this truth as well as he knew how to spike a ball with a precise edge. He knew this as much as he knew what would get him a championship. But of course, that doesn't stop curiosity at times. At times he humors them, at times he does not. It was a hit and miss.

That’s why, during a post-practice break, when the Vice Captain of the Volleyball team, Gojo Satoru, decided to start stirring the pot as usual with his antics. And somehow, today, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t mind it. There was something in the air. They could feel it.

(He won't tell anyone about this, but he has very happy about something.

He was after all happy that his girlfriend was staying at his dorm tonight to spoon on his bed after your finals kept you apart for nearly two weeks —

But no one needs to know that.

Otherwise, they'd use it against him.

And he can't have that right now.

It will spoil these bastards and make them too relaxed before championships again.)

Gojo leaned against the bleachers with that signature cocky grin. “Hey, Sukuna.” he drawled, as he watched the captain drink from his water bottle. "You’ve got about a million nicknames floating around. But what are you to your girlfriend?”

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t miss a beat.

He put down his water bottle swiftly.

He glared at Gojo Satoru with a passion.

He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded with that calm arrogance he wore so well. “Huh? My girl can only call me my love or nothing.” he said, his voice practically dripping with pride.

"Hehhhhh, really?"

“If she calls me anything else, I’ll disappear and leave no trace. Hell, I'll jump off a cliff and make sure I drown into the ocean and never be seen again."

Gojo barked out a laugh, his hands clapping together as if Sukuna had just told the world’s funniest joke. “Wow. Our captain sure is seriously whipped. Actually, that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

"I'm serious about my girl." Sukuna retorted back, snickering at the white haired vice-captain. "I'm serious, if she calls me anything else, I'll be nothing. Just how it is."

"I see, I see."

Before Sukuna could fire back something at him, Gojo’s attention shifted to something—or someone—over Sukuna’s shoulder. Gojo started pointing at the doorway.

“Oh, and here she is now, captain.” he said, smirking like a man who’d just lit a match in a fireworks factory. "Your beloved girlfriend!"

Ryomen Sukuna turned slowly, his earlier bravado evaporating the second he saw you standing at the gym door. Your arms were crossed, your eyes sharp, and your posture practically screamed, You’re in trouble.

“Sukuna.” you called out, your tone cutting through the gym like a whistle signaling the end of a game.

His entire body could only stiffen. He didn’t just flinch—he practically short-circuited. The other players and members, the entire volleyball staff, sensing the shift in the air, immediately stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfold. All of their eyes were glued on this moment, more than anything.

“Ryomen Sukuna!” you said again, each syllable landing like the sound of a referee’s whistle before a penalty.

Sukuna’s brain scrambled for an escape route. “What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath, frozen in place.

“Ryomen Sukuna, come here.”

“No.” His voice cracked as he stood up so fast he nearly knocked over a water bottle.

His scarlet eyes were shaking as much as his body was. No one has ever seen this before. No one had ever seen the panic on his face before. Not even in a hard game to win. This was the very first time their formidable captain looked so defeated and horrified.

“No, no, my name is my love! It’s my love! What did I do?” he asked, practically sprinting toward you like a volleyball rolling out of bounds.

Gojo Satoru, thoroughly entertained, cackled so hard he nearly fell off the bleachers. “Man, even the Cursed King has a leash!” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "This is how he is with her. That's interesting, isn't it?"

"He doesn't look like who he actually is in the moment, huh." Nanami Kento whispered under his breath, wiping the sweat with the towel over his shoulder. "We should have used this card when he refused to stop practice during last year's finals."

"Well now we can." Geto Suguru snickers, lounging on the floor as he watched the scene with mirth in his purple gaze. "Does anyone have objections?"

"None here!" The chorus of seniors and juniors retorted back at him.

"Someone save her phone number for speed dial!" Gojo said, pointing to one of the managers who nodded.

By the time Ryomen Sukuna reached you, he was a completely different man. The fearsome captain who dominated courts and crushed spirits was reduced to a panicked, apologetic mess. You continued to stand before him, rolling your eyes, his towering figure in tatters at what you called him.

“I swear I didn’t do anything! There's no girls or even guys! There isn't anything else. You can check my phone. Or you can ask everyone here too!"

"Sukuna—"

"Whatever it was, I’ll do everything fix it and make it right, babe—just don’t call me that again. Please!” he begged, his voice low enough that only you could hear the desperation in it.

"Calm down." You raised an eyebrow, letting him stew for a moment before finally speaking. “You forgot to text me that practice was running late. And I was concerned. I thought we were going to meet up at the cafe nearby so we can go to your dorm together!”

Sukuna blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” you said, though your tone suggested you might have a few more grievances stored up for later. "Well, I'm also hungry."

Sukuna exhaled so dramatically it was a wonder he didn’t collapse on the spot. “I’ll never forget again, okay?” he promised, his voice full of sincerity. “Babe, I’ll set an alarm—no, two alarms—just for you. And don't worry, we're gonna eat. Actually, take my card and buy something in the cafe while you wait for me.”

As he continued to rattle off promises, you couldn’t help but smile at him. Cursed King or not, to you, Sukuna was just your dorky loving boyfriend, forever trying to live up to his title of my love in your life. And if the rest of the gym wanted to watch him grovel? Well, that was just an added bonus. By the gods, you love him.

"I love you, my love." You whispered to him, taking his hand into yours. "I'm sorry I scared you like that."

"No, no, that was my fault." He grumbled under his breathe, taking a moment to settle in the warmth of your eyes, reserved just for him. "I should have noticed the time. I will never forget about it again, I promise."

"Hm, that's all that matters, my love."

"I'll make us dessert tonight as an apology." He says, moving closer to kiss your temple.

"That would be good, my love."

As Sukuna continued his frantic apologies, the rest of the gym erupted into poorly stifled snickers. Gojo Satoru, of course, was the loudest, slapping his knee like he’d just witnessed the greatest comedy set of the century.

“My love, huh? Big, bad Cursed King reduced to a golden retriever!” he teased, practically howling. “Hey, did you hear that, boys? If she calls him Ryomen Sukuna one more time, he might just cry.”

“Should we start calling him my love too, senpai? Y’know, in solidarity?” chimed Underclassman Itadori Yuuji, grinning as he leaned on his volleyball. The suggestion earned a chorus of laughs and a few enthusiastic nods.

“Yeah, Cap! Don’t worry, my love, we’ve got your back!” Underclassman Fushiguro Megumi deadpanned from the sidelines, his usual stoic face cracking into a rare smirk.

One of the first year underclassman, emboldened by the chaos, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “We love you, my love! You’re our MVP for all seasons! With so much love, my love!”

Sukuna whipped his head around, his scarlet glare promising death, destruction, and possibly laps for everyone involved. “If anyone other than my girlfriend calls me that, I swear.” he growled, “I will personally make sure you regret it.”

“Sure, my love!” Gojo crowed, leaning back against the bleachers with a devilish grin. “Ooooh, should we get it printed on the back of your jersey? Cursed King on the front, My Love on the back—perfect balance, don’t you think?"

Geto laughs loudly. "You know what, I think we can make this happen. Coach! We got the budget for that, right?"

“Or maybe embroider it on the team banner!” someone else chimed in, sending the gym into another fit of laughter.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, doubling over as Sukuna turned a deeper shade of red than the volleyballs on the court. His sharp retorts and death glares only fueled the chaos, the once-commanding presence of the Cursed King now utterly eclipsed by the sheer hilarity of the moment.

Finally, Sukuna turned back to you, his expression a mix of betrayal and exasperation. “You’re supposed to defend me, babe.” he muttered, his voice low but desperate.

You reached up to pat his cheek, your grin as sweet as honey. “Oh, my love, I am defending you. I’m making sure they never forget how cute you are to me."

For the rest of practice, you sat down and watched everything unfold before you as you ate your croissant and drank your coffee from the cafe which you bought using your boyfriend's card, of course.

For a while, the gym echoed with the sound of volleyballs, laughter, and the occasional teasing chorus of “My love!” — especially when Sukuna found himself scoring a point, which of course led to him missing the next hit.

Every time someone said it later on, Ryomen Sukuna looked seconds away from snapping a net in half, but deep down, though he’d never admit it, he wouldn’t have traded his nickname or the teasing for anything in the world. Not when you were there, cheering it for him with that adorable voice of yours, loving him completely.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to be lovesick like that.

Not when it was you who loved him just like that.

That's just how he loved you too.

══════════════════

epilogue

After what felt like the longest practice of his life, one that was just peppered with relentless teasing from his teammates and the volleyball team staff — Ryomen Sukuna was finally free to leave with you, to enjoy the weekend together.

He barely said goodbye to the others, grumbling something about “making them run that suicidal hill again on Monday” before grabbing his bag and leading you out of the gym.

“Unbelievable.” he muttered under his breath as you walked side by side. “Gojo’s gonna be insufferable for weeks.”

You stifled a laugh. “Weeks? You mean forever.”

He shot you a look, but there was no real heat behind it. Instead, he sighed and draped an arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to his car. “You’re lucky I love you, y’know. Otherwise, I might’ve disappeared on the spot after what you pulled, babe.”

“Oh, come on, my love.” you teased, leaning into him. “It was worth it to see the great Cursed King turn into a puddle in front of everyone. Especially because he loves me.”

“You’re cruel, babe." he grumbled, but there was a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Can't believe I've loved you since we were in junior high."

You winked at him, smile on your lips growing wider. "And for forever too! You'll have to deal with it."

By the time you got back to Sukuna’s place, you immediately made the move to cook while he got into the shower. Soon enough, the air was thick with the scent of miso broth bubbling on the stove.

You’d planned this hotpot night earlier, since he was supposed to have gone home much earlier. But after the chaos at the gym and his long grueling practice, you just felt like it was even more well-earned.

Sukuna, finally emerging from the bedroom, rolled up his sleeves and helped you set the table, his mood softening with each step of the ritual as you hummed along the song playing on the radio.

“You got everything, babe?” he asked, peering over your shoulder as you arranged plates of thinly sliced meat, tofu, and an assortment of vegetables.

“Yup.” you replied, popping a piece of bok choy into your mouth. “And don’t even think about hogging all the meat this time.”

“Me? Hog it?” He snorted, grabbing the chopsticks and pointing them at you in mock accusation. “You’re the one who fishes out all the good stuff when I’m not looking.”

“That’s called strategy, my love.” you said, grinning as you threw his words from earlier back at him.

Sukuna groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Not you too…”

You waved your chopsticks at him. "Well, I say it more lovingly. You like it like that, you know!"

He grumbles under his breath, red appearing on his cheek. "You're lucky I love you like that."

"Hm, that's why I'm shameless!"

But any complaints were quickly forgotten as the two of you settled down around the simmering hotpot. The warmth of the broth, the crackling of the stove, and the quiet clink of chopsticks filled the room. Sukuna started to relax, his earlier frustrations melting away as he watched you happily dunk mushrooms and noodles into the pot.

“Okay, babe.” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “I’ve decided.”

You raised an eyebrow, chewing on a piece of tofu. “Decided what?”

“Next time Gojo calls me ‘my love’ in front of everyone, instead of just you, it’s on sight,” Sukuna said, leaning forward with a wicked grin that promised destruction.

He jabbed his chopsticks into a slice of tofu like it was Gojo’s face. “I’m spiking a volleyball straight at his stupid face.”

You burst out laughing, nearly choking on the piece of fish cake you’d been chewing. “Good luck with that. He’ll just dodge it and make fun of you even more. You know how he is—Gojo thrives on chaos. The man’s immune to consequences.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, stabbing another piece of tofu with unnecessary aggression. “Then I’ll spike two balls. One after the other. And if that doesn’t work…”

You looked at him curiously, mirth in your eyes. "What will you do?"

He paused, his brow furrowing in mock concentration. “I’ll add laps. So many laps. He’ll be running until graduation.”

You snorted, wiping a tear from your eye. “Right, because Gojo would totally listen to your orders. He’d just turn it into a race and leave everyone else in the dust.”

Sukuna grumbled under his breath, his scowl deepening—but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. “Fine. If volleyball and laps don’t work, I’ll come up with something else. Something evil.”

“Evil?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What, like stealing his Bottega Veneta sunglasses?”

“Too easy. He’s got like fifty pairs, babe.” Sukuna muttered, resting his chin on his hand as he considered his options. “Maybe I’ll prank him during practice. Replace his water with vinegar. Or set his alarms an hour early every day.”

"I forgot he makes his password too easy for people to guess." You murmured, drinking from your cup. You sigh. "Well, I suppose that would work."

"Right? Fool-proof!"

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, as solid as that is, what if he gets revenge? Gojo’s the type to double down, you would know best."

He hummed. "I'm way better at being stubborn than he is."

"I know that. But he might start serenading you in the middle of practice. Like, full-on ‘My Love’ with a guitar and everything on campus like it's 10 Things I Hate About You."

Sukuna froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he absolutely would.” you said, grinning. “And you’d never live it down. The Cursed King getting serenaded in front of the entire team? In front of the whole university? They’d be talking about it for years.”

He groaned, dropping his chopsticks and leaning back against the chair like he’d just been defeated in battle. “Why do I even put up with him? Or any of you, for that matter.”

“Because deep down, you love us.” you said, smiling sweetly as you plopped another piece of meat into the hotpot. “Even Gojo.”

“I do not love Gojo,” Sukuna snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Sure, sure, my love!” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “But admit it—you’d miss him if he wasn’t around to drive you insane.”

Sukuna gave you a flat look, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him again. “I’d miss you more.” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip.

“Aww, my love.” you cooed, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Good to know, babe.” he said, turning back to the hotpot with a satisfied grunt. “At least you don’t call me my love in front of the team like that.”

You smirked, swirling your chopsticks through the broth. “Not yet, anyway.”

Sukuna froze mid-bite, glaring at you with wide eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“No promises!” you said with a mischievous grin, earning a groan from him that was half exasperation, half affection.

"You're such a menace."

"Well, that's how you know I love you, my love!" You grinned, moving forward to steal his tonkatsu.

"Babe!" He groans, as he watches you eat the tonkatsu happily.

"I love you!"

Sukuna sighs, his eyes softening, watching you happily eat. "I love you too......"

#jjk #sukuna #much needed fluff

2K notes · View notes

kxgumi · 9 days ago

Text

how to baby trap marry your best friend!

best friend or baby daddy, one thing's for sure, you're not getting rid of him!

pairings: bsf!Geto x f!Reader

content: MDNI, smut and fluff and light angst, modern AU, mutual pining, heavy yearning, they want each other BAD, friends-to-lovers-to-parents, unprotected piv sex, mating press, creampie, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), lots of teasing and tension, taking pictures during sex, unplanned pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy/marriage, cravings, reader is a lil insecure, Suguru adores her anyway, short Gojo cameo, protective/possessive dilf!Suguru lol, idiots in love

part of this wikihow collab with @neovillains, art by @captainsalsaa divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !

Step one?

Comfort you after you dumped yet another boyfriend.

Or maybe the first step had been one he never meant to take. Falling in love with the girl who pulled on his ponytail on the playground at age five. And at twenty-five? He fell even harder at the thought of what sort of face you'd make if he pulled your hair now, if you'd throw him a glare or a laugh, maybe pout your pretty lips at him before he bent you over his kitchen counter and -

"Suguru," You giggled, glancing over your shoulder, a playful glint shimmering in your eyes as you nudged his side. "Are you actually drunk?"

On you, maybe.

"No," He murmured, a cold hand finding your hip, an excuse, really, to pull you closer, press your body between his and the marble edge of the countertop as he reached over your head to grab the bowls he started keeping on the top shelf so you'd need his help grabbing them.

He caught the way your breath hitched in your throat, spine going stiff for a second, before relaxing into him like it was second nature by now, your head tilting to twist back against his chest and look up at him.

"You don't seem very heartbroken to me," He dryly commented, to which you just made a noncommittal hm, blinking a few times.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah?" He murmured, a little lost in your proximity, how right it felt for your back to be against his chest. "If he lost you, he must be a fucking idiot."

"Oh?" You giggled. "You know, he actually said we were in love with each other?"

"And? Are you in love with me?" Suguru teased, setting the bowls down to cage you in closer, his hand cutting off your chance at wiggling away when it landed on the counter, the fingers on your hips gripping a little tighter, wrinkling your dress.

Wishful thinking or not, he could almost feel the heat in your cheeks from here, your eyes crinkling when you just shrugged.

"What movie do you wanna watch?" You hummed, eyes flickering from his down to his lips, like you wanted to watch him reply, or maybe, hopefully, something more.

The game of pulling each other in just to push each other away at the last second still in swing after two decades.

"Whatever you want," Suguru shrugged back, the steady pop pop pops! of the kernels on the stove filling the background, the half-empty bottle of wine waiting to be polished off perched between two glasses. Yours was nearly full, but there were only a few drops left in his, despite drinking being your idea.

Showing up at his door on a Saturday night, gift bag in hand with tissue paper sticking out, wearing your favorite little sundress, cardigan hanging off your shoulders when you grinned up at him and asked if you could crash for a couple days.

"Boo," You did pout, and he hoped your proximity to his heart didn't mean you could hear it actually skipping a beat. "What if I want you to pick?"

He wished you only wanted him, period.

You stared sometimes and he could feel it there, simmering underneath your smile and living in the lines on your face. But you were always dating some other dark-haired asshole or he'd find himself in someone else's bed (who always looked a little too much like you, sharing the same shade of hair or the shape of your eyes). Living off of lingering touches and secret jokes and the moments where the boundaries blurred, where you'd be snuggled against his side or a kiss on the cheek would stray closer to the corner of your mouth instead.

Both of you waiting for the day the other one accepted defeat, conceded victory and came clean about the festering feelings you shared.

"Fine," He sighed, moving the pot to a different burner, flicking the heat off before taking off the lid, having to smack your hand away before you could snag a still-hot piece from the top before he could add any popcorn salt. "Just go sit down before you manage to burn yourself, okay?"

You rolled your eyes, poking his side before pouring more wine in his glass, carrying both over to the coffee table, too distracted watching him to pay attention to where you were walking, the corner catching your leg and sending you stumbling.

He would laugh at you later.

But now?

He was dropping the bowl back to the counter, hurrying over to help you up, your dress soaked and stained, clinging to your body, broken shards of glass littering the wooden floor.

"Shit, Sugu, I'm sorry," You frowned, chewing on your bottom lip as you pinched the sticky fabric away from your chest. But he caught the little glint in your eyes, the way one corner of your mouth involuntarily tugged up, like maybe you'd done it on purpose.

"Careful," He sighed, grabbing you by the waist to move you away from the safety hazard just to take your wrist anyway after he set you back down, pulling you down the hall to his room. "I'll throw that in the wash. You can just wear one of my shirts."

Sure, you already had a drawer full of your clothes at his place. But you both knew you'd rather wear something of his anyway.

"You're not mad, are you?" You asked, your face still scrunched up in disappointment when he pushed open the bedroom door.

"When have I ever been mad at you?"

He wanted to be, sometimes. When you introduced him to a new guy who would check out other girls when he should be thanking the fucking stars you even looked at him. When he thought about the time you got a little too wasted on your birthday a few years ago and kissed him in the backseat of a taxi just to forget the next morning. But it the hurt could never hold it's shape, the anger could never set in, not when the need for you had engraved itself in his bones, to see you smile and hear your laugh at his jokes. No matter how much it ached to watch you offer yourself to others who didn't even see you.

Suguru went to grab a t-shirt off a hanger, glancing over his shoulder at you to find - fuck.

You already stripped out of your dress, perched pretty on the edge of his bed and staring at him almost innocently, your head tilted to the side as if to ask 'what?'

He shouldn't look, really, he absolutely should not, but his eyes don't know that, drifting down to the pretty swell of your breasts pushed out in a skimpy little lace bra that he was going to be thinking about long after you left, and his throat almost closes then and there.

"Here," He dryly choked out, his jaw clenching as he tossed you the shirt, dragging his attention down to where you discarded your dress.

"Thanks," You caught it, but barely made an effort to cover up your chest, your eyes following him as he bent over to pick it up, something that sounded close to a sigh escaping when he walked towards the door.

Suguru wouldn't crack. His composure couldn't. The only thing worse than you not being his was you not being in his life at all.

He could live with being in love with you. But knowing you didn't feel the same might kill him.

He didn't want a one-time thing, a single night spent in the sheets, but every part of you, every inch of your skin and second of your time. If you fucked him once just to say you couldn't be friends anymore, couldn't be anything, he didn't know what he'd do.

It was hard to know where the line was drawn when both of you had erased it so many times just to hastily scrawl a new one a little further back.

Carefully measuring out the laundry detergent and adjusting the settings on the washing machine before turning it on, the scent of your perfume and the wine clinging to him even after he turned away, glancing back down at the closed bedroom door. You were probably done changing by now, or close, at least.

He still knocked anyway, knuckles tapping against the wood, waiting for your reply.

"Can I come in?" Suguru called out, leaning against the door, trying not to think about what you looked like in his bed, the still image already burned in the back of his brain.

"Uh-huh," You hummed. Twisting the knob, he pushed it open, his stare locking onto you before he could even really process what he was seeing.

You were not done changing.

The hooks of your bra weren't even properly clasped, a tiny little thong hooked over your hips, your back to him while you rummaged through his nightstand. Something was in your hands that he couldn't see.

You glanced over your shoulder, a cute little smirk plastered to your lips that he wanted to kiss off of you, twist into a gasp, a moan of his name. "Hi."

"Hi," He echoed, low and gravelly, one corner of his mouth curling up to match yours.

You knew what you were doing.

And he was so tired of pretending he didn't.

"Say cheese," You giggled, holding up an old camera of his, finger hovering over the shutter while he folded his arms across his chest, his mouth set in a thin line even when you snapped a photo.

"Hand it over," He huffed, his focus straining to stay on your face while you walked over to him, bare feet padding across his floor until you were close enough to push the camera against his chest. The words were on his tongue before he could second guess saying them. "My turn."

The blush coloring your face made him feel warm, the sudden hints of shyness bleeding through when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, like you just remembered how little you were wearing, how close he was.

"Scared?" Suguru mocked, giving you an out he hoped you wouldn't take.

"N-no," You stammered though, a crease forming between your furrowed brow as you protested.

"Back on the bed then," He murmured, wondering if you'd pose for him, if this would be the only picture you'd let him take of you tonight.

You hesitantly perched yourself back on the end, glancing down at yourself then back up at him, swallowing hard as you tried to collect your confidence again. Scooting back, parting your legs just enough that he caught a glimpse of the small damp patch on your panties, chuckling at the realization you were more worked up than him.

"More," He instructed, watching the way your lips parted and froze, how slowly your limbs started to move.

He sighed, sitting the camera down on the mattress next to you before sliding his hands over your soft thighs, spreading them for you, pretending your little gasp at the contact didn't make his cock practically jump in his boxers.

"Lay down for me, okay, pretty girl?" Suguru requested, softer this time, and you nodded, listening as you laid back, your body stiff as it sank down on his comforter. Only starting to relax once his hands slipped higher, the feeling of your bare skin under his palm only fueling the burning need he'd been suppressing for so long.

Hooking two sturdy fingers under the band of your panties and slowly peeling them down your thighs, taking his time and waiting for some squeak of his name to leave your mouth, but you just watched him back, biting down on the inside of your cheek.

Once your underwear hit the floor, you hesitantly shifted, opening yourself up for him. "Like this?"

Suguru wasn't sure he was going to make it out of here with his sanity in tact.

Step two?

He was going to fuck you until you admitted you'd been waiting for this just as long as him.

"Look at me," He quietly said, picking the camera back up to hide the hunger in his gaze as he peered through the viewfinder at you.

Your unsure stare reflecting his own desperation, lashes fluttering as you tried to decide what face to make.

He could help with that.

Returning one hand to the inside of your thigh, tracing a soft path up to the slick on your skin as placed his hand over your entrance, his thumb dipping just barely in to the knuckle while he watched your face for every tiny flicker in your expression. Entranced by how easily he made you squirm, your pretty pout like you wanted more and knowing he wouldn't give it to you unless you asked.

And click!

Of all the candids he'd taken over the years, the collection of your smiles and scoffs saved in photo albums and in his phone's camera rolls, he knew that this would be his favorite.

"Sugu-" You started, the uneven rise-and-fall of your chest only drawing his attention the strap of your bra slipping down your arm.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" He breathed, stuck staring at the sharp edge of one of your canines was tugging on your lower lip, the glimmer in your eyes at how intimate the nickname suddenly felt despite how many times he called you that before.

"Are you sure?" You slowly enunciated every syllable, straining to speak as his thumb dipped deeper. Trying not to give away how much he was affecting you, like he couldn't feel the muscles pull tighter, see the twitch of your hips as they fought to buck up and force him in more.

"Always have been about you," Suguru simply said, pushing his palm down over your clit, watching you gasp at the sudden pressure, eyes fluttering closed as you harshly sucked in a breath.

"God," You hissed.

"Take your bra off," He instructed, and you listened, struggling to prop yourself up enough to reach around with one hand and fumble to undo the clasp, throwing it off with a clatter to the floor.

Fuck.

The way your breasts bounced as you moved, the way the buds of your nipples were already perked up and hard, begging him to roll his tongue over them, to pinch and grope and hold. Mark your chest and your neck with enough kisses to erase the fact that anyone else had ever touched them before him.

He wanted to be the last man who would.

How could he not when you were looking at him like you needed him?

"You wanna tell me what you want?" He hm-ed, slipping his thumb back out, the slick pad dragging up to trace a ghost of a circle over the swollen bud while you whined at the abrupt absence.

"You, please," You whimpered, and he didn't think he'd ever been this hard before. "S-Sugu, I wan' you."

It took every ounce of control not to pull his cock out and fuck you until you cried that out again and again, until pretty tears were collected in your eyes and all you could do was whimper.

He slowly slotted two fingers inside, the stretch making you shudder, thighs struggle to resist the temptation to close on his hand.

He clicked his tongue, once, twice, three times.

"Keep them open for me, baby," He teased, and you just pushed out your bottom lip, weakly nodding as all your muscles tensed again, muscles straining to stay in place when he crooked his fingers all the way in.

"Fuck, fuck, god, there." Your cute moan, the way your breath almost stuttered every time you sucked it in just for him to immediately force it back out, skin he used to try so hard to avoid staring at in swim suits now completely bare in his sheets.

Pumping his fingers in-and-out, the filthy fucking sound of how wet you were for him ringing his his ears, how right it felt to have you squeezing desperately around him, to be the one pushing you closer and closer to cumming on his fingers.

"That's it, pretty," He softly said, feeling you throb at his low voice, pausing to test it out again. "Come on, breathe."

You tried, sucking in a small breath and looking at him with glossy eyes, silently begging him to keep going.

"Use your words, sweetheart," Suguru purred, swiping his thumb back over your sensitive clit and you shivered.

"Please let me cum," You begged out loud this time, trembling at his touch.

He chuckled, dark and low, slotting his fingers back inside, already trying to memorize which spots made you whine louder, thrusting in, out, in, out, until-

"Suguru."

His name ripped from your throat right as his fingers found the spongy spot in the back, fingertips pressing against it just enough for you to cry out his name a second time, your legs snapping shut as you grinded up against his hand.

"Go ahead, baby," He murmured, letting you rut against his palm for extra pressure and friction, readjusting so his thumb was massaging circles over the swollen bud. "C'mon, cum."

And fuck, he never thought you'd looked more beautiful than right now - lashes fluttering, pretty lips parted as your back arched off the bed, his fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt while you came.

"Look so pretty like this f'me," He promised, his thumb rolling over your clit while you blushed and squirmed, still trying to catch your breath when he didn't immediately pull out.

"S-shut up," Your voice was small as you stammered.

"Can I take another photo?" He teased, slipping his slick fingers out, and popping them in his own mouth, needing to taste you on his tongue.

The image of him cleaning the ring of white off his fingers seemed to make you more flustered, your glossy stare searing through his heart.

"You want to?" You swallowed hard.

He climbed on top of the bed, pulling his fingers out with a pop! and grazing over your lower lip with his thumb, caging you in under his broad frame.

"That a yes?" He hm-ed, and you nodded, letting him tug your mouth open. He pushed the same two fingers that had just been in his mouth into yours, your tongue swirling over his knuckles, sucking softly and peering up at him with those pretty eyes.

"Mhm," Your muffled voice purred back.

He fumbled for the camera, holding it back up and hovering his finger over the button as you met his stare through the viewfinder, your own hand reaching up to hold his and push his fingers in deeper while he snapped the photo.

"My pretty girl."

His his his.

Pulling out his fingers while he leaned over to deposit the camera on the nightstand, your lips still open, waiting for a kiss or about to tease him for a sentiment so silly, but a soft smile curled up.

"Yeah, yours."

Suguru Geto was in love. Something he always knew, but only existed in the loops of his mind, the quiet score of his life, playing in the background of every scene. But this, with you here, it was loud. In every look and touch, in every breath he exhaled, the atoms crackling in the air between your bodies.

"I need to fuck you," He heard himself say, hoarse and thick with something caught between desperation and desire.

"Oh yeah?" Your airy little giggle was abruptly cut off with his mouth colliding against yours, wondering if his tasted like wine or you as he sucked softly on your lower lip.

Your hands were struggling to pull his shirt up, only breaking the kiss to shove it up and over his head, your warm palms skimming over his muscles and tracing over each ridge and curve like you'd thought about touching him half as much as he thought about touching you.

"Sugu," You giggled again, letting him pepper your cheek with kisses, his mouth leaving hungry sucks in a line down your throat, marks you'd probably have to wear a scarf or makeup to cover at work in a few days.

He really couldn't stop touching you. Caressing your face and groping your breast and tracing your collarbone and trying to find an excuse to catalogue what every inch of you felt like under him.

"Mm?" He barely paused, feeling your delicate touch start to tug down the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of you unbuttoning them next. He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, groaning softly as he dragged his tongue over it as you managed to slip your fingers underneath his jeans and the band of his boxers to feel how hard he already was. Swiping your fingertips over his leaking tip to collect the pre-cum there and wiggling back out to bring it to your lips for your own taste.

His throat went dry.

More than dry. Actually, it felt like someone stuffed fucking cotton balls down it and his pants suddenly felt two sizes too tight as you dragged your tongue over your fingertips and batted your lashes at him.

"I thought you needed to fuck me," You reminded him with the sort of soft sigh that made his head spin.

He was pushing off his plush mattress to finish what you started, discarding his jeans and boxers in one go, his composure not just cracked but crumbles into a million little pieces he couldn't clean up, the need turning him into the sort of man who couldn't care less about appearances or control if it mean he could fuck your brains out enough that you'd forget about all of that too.

His cock was practically pink, swollen and hard, swinging up to smack against his dark happy trail and muscles, your eyes getting even wider, glued to the thick length.

"Um, S-Sugu," You stuttered, and it was cute to see you lose your own cool, scooting back higher on the bed and propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Uh-huh?" He wryly cocked his head to the side as he climbed back on top of you, pulling you down by your hips as your head fell back on his pillow. Spreading your legs back open, glistening and gorgeous and all his.

"Kiss me again," You quietly requested, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Returning his lips to your own to press a tender kiss there while his tip nudged against your opening, your body jolting when he pinned you down with his weight. Slipping one hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the ridges of your teeth while his other hand held your waist, your wrists wrapping around his neck while you moaned in his mouth, unable to do anything but grind up where his cock was practically twitching against your clit.

Getting more desperate by the second, your muffled moan turning into a whine, bucking up harder to chase your high from earlier.

"Put it in," Your voice was a strained whisper in-between kisses, rolling your hips up again.

"Say please," Suguru taunted, kissing your frown away before he could even really form.

"Please."

He was letting go of your waist to grab the base of his cock, pushing the first few inches in and watching your body tense and stiffen around him, your thighs trying not to close as he pushed past the first ring of resistance, the gasp you attempted to stifle not going unnoticed.

"You okay, baby?" He paused, your body squeezing him sinfully before he hadn't even quite made it halfway in.

"You're, um, bigger, than I imagined," You choked out, and he wasn't sure if it was his ego or his dick that got fucking bigger hearing you admit you imagined him at all.

"It'll fit," He murmured, barely containing the urge to bottom out already, taking his time stretching you out, molding you to each vein and ridge. "Promise I'll take care of you."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locked them there with your heels digging into his back, and the feeling of your soft thighs against his skin, the squeeze of the muscle had him burying himself in fully before he could stop it.

"Shit, Suguru, o-oh, oh," You mewled at him, nails scratching at his shoulder blades while you buried your face into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin, teeth nipping at his collarbone.

He kind of hoped you would bite him. Leave little indents of your teeth on his skin so he could run his fingers over it in the morning.

"Fuck," He murmured, stalling for a second just to appreciate how it felt. The warmth of your body trapped under his, the taste of you still on his tongue while his cock was snugly sheathed inside you, raw and-

Shit, he wasn't wearing a condom.

You hadn't asked him to. And to be honest, he didn't even think he had one. It's not like he'd been seeing anyone recently or even considered the possibility he might need one tonight.

It would probably be fine.

He could just pull out or-

"Baby," Your voice, so needy, distracted him.

Suguru's brain shut off.

All higher reasoning had been abandoned, replaced only by the thought of making you cum again (and again).

Sliding out just to shove himself back in, gentle thrusts growing faster, harder with every one of your whines and broken rasps of his name, your hands running over his back and your mouth on his throat. Eventually un-hooking your legs from his hips to pin your thighs to your chest, angling himself to hit that same spongy spot he had before, half-incoherent murmurs whispered into your skin of how beautiful you were, how badly he wanted you, needed you.

And you were nodding back, tears brimming at your lashes and moaning his name, offering quiet little swears that you belonged to him like it was a secret meant for the two of you to keep.

"Oh, t-there, fuck," You whimpered, his cock practically grinding against your cervix as his hips smacked against your skin, planting another open-mouthed kiss on your lips while you both struggled to stave off your climax. Neither of you wanted it to end. "Suguru, m' so close."

"I know, baby, I know," He groaned, barely holding himself together, all the carefully assembled pieces of his life about feeling like they were about to fracture the second his restraint snapped.

There was no going back after this.

No mask he'd be able to wear now that he knew what this felt like. Knew what you looked like pinned under him in the filthiest fucking mating press imaginable, fucked-out and filled-up by his cock slamming again and again while his thumb made messy circles over your clit, rolling and pinching it just to see what sort of noises he could pull out of you next. Especially not after knowing what face you made when you finished, your shattered gasp and your glazed-over eyes focused solely on him and fuck-

Fuck.

He cumming before he could stop himself, your body wrapped up so warm around him, the sdelicious squeeze like you wanted to draw out every last fucking drop, painting your insides white before he even had enough brain power to start to pull out, but by then, only the last few drops were left to leak onto your thighs. Both dazed, blinking and breathing, his cock still hard in his hand while he stared down at his seed dripping out of you.

You were probably on birth control.

Probably.

Suguru reached over to snag the camera off the nightstand, one hand still pinning your thighs down while the other half the camera back up.

"Say cheese."

Step three?

Show up to your apartment after you'd been avoiding him for what? Two months?

Work stuff, you said, already made plans, you bluffed, feeling sick, you excused.

You hadn't left his place upset - no, you showered and practically stayed in his bed in his bed until you had to go to work on Monday. Kissed him on the lips and brushed his bangs out of his face, but when he replayed the 36 hours of heaven, none of the words exchanged had technically been confessions. Or at least, nothing that would put a name to whatever the two of you were now.

It's not like you hadn't gone a couple weeks without seeing each other in person. But this was ridiculous - and exactly what he'd been worried about in the first place. He knew you were probably overthinking it, probably just as worried as he was that it'd screw everything up, judging by the still-constant stream of texts you sent him every day.

But he couldn't take it anymore - close enough to just calling it like it was and asking you out officially if it meant you'd stop whatever this was. He'd spent more nights by now fucking in fists to the photos he'd taken of you painfully-aware of how much better the real thing was.

He could tell by the sound of some shitty reality show playing too-loud that you were definitely home, but you didn't answer the first time he knocked. Or the fourth.

By the tenth, he was flipping through his keys to find the spare one to your place, his text messages to you left unread as he turned it in the lock, calling out your name as he stepped inside. No answer.

Panic had started to prick at his nerves, glancing around to see your stuff scattered around like you usually left it as he crept through your empty kitchen and living room. There weren't any dishes in the sink though, just a few empty packs of crackers, a small trash can by the couch, a blanket thrown over the side and a crushed pillow like you'd just been there. He heard it then - the sound of retching.

Shit. You were sick.

He followed the noise down the hall into the bathroom, the door already cracked open, softly saying your name as he approached so he wouldn't surprise you, but you coughed again, glancing over your shoulder clearly startled anyway.

"What are you-" You weakly rasped, a few stray hairs plastered to your forehead with sweat, tired circles around your eyes before you got sick again. He hurried to hold the rest of your hair back with one hand, the other rubbing little circles on your shoulder blade.

"Hey, it's okay," He murmured, concern replacing everything else he'd been preoccupied with when he showed up. "I was worried about you."

Something that looked like fear flashed across your features when you finished and peeked back over at him.

"Suguru," You slowly said his name, and just speaking sounded like it must hurt.

"Come on, want me to carry you back to the couch? I can go pick up some medicine for you, whatever else you want too," He offered, his thumb rubbing over your your shoulder blade in comforting half-circles. You didn't immediately answer, a small frown still stuck on your face. "You been to the doctor yet?"

"Suguru," You said his name again, more serious this time and he froze.

"Yeah?" He swallowed hard, and you refused to meet his stare.

"I'm pregnant," You murmured, so quietly that was barely audible over the bathroom exhaust fan.

His brain stopped working.

His body too - stuck in place, his thumb still pressing down on the tense muscles of your back.

"You're-" He started, then stopped himself. Each word forming its own separate thought, struggling to piece each of them together when weight of them all combined threatened to crush him. "Is it my baby?"

Fuck, it had to be.

You nodded, just a small bob of your head, and he could barely blink.

Baby. A baby. Yours and his.

"Don't hate me," You whispered sheepishly, shoulders shrinking together. "But I want to keep it."

"I could never hate you," He hoped it sounded reassuring, straining to keep his own happiness in check, struggling to be steady the way you clearly needed him to be. "Whatever you want, I'm here for you. And our baby."

"You mean it?" You turned, just enough that he was able to tug you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you.

"Promise." He pressed a kiss against your hair, cradling you closer.

Your breathing was still shaky, sniffling a few times before your arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed against his shirt.

"Have you been to the doctor yet?" He asked again, although it had an entirely different meaning now, one that still hadn't sunk in all the way yet.

"I called, after, um, I got the positive test," You talked into his chest, voice muffled but you refused to pull away either. "My first appointment isn't for another two weeks."

"I'll go with you," He muttered.

"You don't have-"

"I want to," Suguru chuckled. "Let me take care of you, okay?"

"That's kind of how we ended up here," You reminded him, and he didn't have to see your face to know you were pouting.

He still laughed though, because he'd still do it again.

"Want me to make you something to see if you can keep it down?" He decided to shift the subject, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes, content to play doctor or nurse (or husband) or whatever role you wanted from him.

Playing chef while he made you something warm, masseuse when he rubbed your back while you curled up next to him in bed, and boyfriend when you finally fell asleep, slipping out of your room to complete the chores that had started to pile up that you'd been too exhausted to do.

It was the least he could do when all your energy was already being devoted to his baby.

By the time he finished and crept back into your bedroom, you were still dreaming, the blankets kicked off of your body. The bed creaked as he climbed back in, settling next to your warm body.

His hand slipped down your side, readjusting so his chest was pressed against your back as his fingers drifted slowly over your stomach, just beneath your belly button, trying to picture it.

Would the baby be a boy? Or a girl?

A little mini-version of you running around, maybe with his eyes or hair?

You were already everything he ever wanted. Anything extra was just icing on top.

Step four?

Convince you to move into his place before the second trimester was over, it was bigger, anyway, had a spare bedroom he'd been using as a home gym he already started converting into a nursery. Spending the weekends building baby furniture and taking you out for dates disguised as shopping, buying little onesies and toys mostly so he could insist on treating you to lunch or dinner afterwards.

It was easier than he expected.

What wasn't?

Convincing you to marry him.

You were already carrying his child. Pretty and pregnant, the cute swell of your stomach you tried to hide under flowy dresses and oversized sweaters making his heart throb in his chest every time he saw it. His mouth would go dry, his eyes stuck staring if he caught you in the middle of changing, even when you shyly tried to turn away. Only having sex in certain positions where you could try to avoid letting him see it, although it usually ended up with him flipping you over on your back or pulling you on top.

"We're going to be late," Suguru sighed, throwing on a sweater from the closet.

"I just need a few more minutes," You pouted, halfway yelling from the bathroom.

He crossed over the bedroom, pushing the bathroom door open with two fingers so he could poke his head through. You were frowning at yourself in the mirror, readjusting your dress, like it'd make it any less obvious you were pregnant. Other clothing items were already discarded across the floor.

"Baby," He softly said, wrapping his arms around your waist, running a hand over your baby bump while the other slipped up to cup your swollen breast starting to spill out of your bra. Despite your insistence otherwise, your discomfort with your changing body, he still tried to offer to take you out to buy stuff for you instead of just the baby. "You look beautiful."

You did.

Everything in him ached to touch you constantly, and maybe it was protective or possessive or whatever you wanted to call it, but he hated that you wanted to hide it, the physical proof that you were his.

He wanted everyone to know it, wanted to slide a ring on your finger and have family photos on the fridge because you were carrying more of him with you now than just his heart.

You scowled at him in the mirror.

"I look pregnant," You muttered, like it was a bad thing.

"Yeah?" He chuckled, tracing the subtle curve of your stomach with his thumb. Twenty weeks. That was halfway there, wasn't it? He'd read more than a few parenting books in his spare time - looked up the latest articles on pregnancy and what to expect. He'd pour over the packets you left from the prenatal appointments with, asked off for each one in advance, absolutely refusing to let you go alone.

"I hate all my clothes," You huffed.

"You hated them before you were pregnant," Suguru sighed, pulling you closer and leaning down to plant a soft kiss against your throat. "You should probably wear something else though. Aren't they doing an ultrasound today?"

He phrased it like a question even though he knew they were.

You frowned again, wiggling away from him to slip out of his grip and walk over to the dresser, yanking out a pair of sweatpants.

"Everything fits weird," You complained, pulling your dress up and over your head, and Suguru stared, feeling the way his own jeans started to fit too tight at the sight of your exposed skin.

"We can go shopping for some new clothes after the appointment," Suguru absentmindedly said, still memorizing the pretty outline of your body.

He could kiss you, offer reassurance after reassurance that he did want you, but you were reluctant to believe him.

Your foot was still anxiously tapping the floor of the waiting room when you arrived, gripping his hand like it was a lifeline, your last tether stopping you from giving into the stress.

"It's gonna be fine," He leaned down to murmur in your ear, barely able to squeeze your hand back with how tightly you were holding it.

"What if it's not?" You were panicking, your other hand protectively placed over your stomach like you were shielding it from the rest of the world.

"Then we'll figure it out together."

His answer didn't seem to calm you much, the little circles he rubbed over your knuckles only making your foot tall a little slower.

"They keep looking at you," You eventually craned your neck up to whisper in his ear, frowning even harder than you had when you first walked in.

"Who?" He leaned down to whisper back.

"The other moms," You pouted, cutting a glare over to a woman who was, in fact, staring. She tried to turn away, but not before you both caught her blush.

"So?" He had to resist the smirk that wanted to creep up, lest he faced your wrath too. Like he could ever want anyone else when you were sitting next to him in the waiting room to see his baby growing inside of you, jealousy he probably would've killed to see you show over him six months ago.

"I'm probably going to be prying them off of you at the playground in a couple years," You huffed, and he couldn't help but chuckle picturing that.

But before you could focus your frown on him, a nurse called out your full name, his own forming at the reminder he was barely here as a boyfriend, that his baby might not even have his last name either.

He insisted on helping you stand, a hand on the small of your back even when you didn't really need it yet, following you through the hall and listening to you answer the same questions they always asked at every appointment until they led you to the small room that branched off the main hall. The lights were dimmed down already as he helped you lay back onto the table, the paper crinkling while you readjusted. He pulled the chair against the wall closer, slipping his hand back on yours while the nurse left and reassured an ultrasound tech would be there in a few minutes.

"Last guesses," You mumbled, chewing on your lower lip, breathing too fast. "Boy or a girl?"

"Girl," Suguru replied, although he didn't think it mattered much. Not as long as it was yours.

He did like the idea of the baby being a girl - if she had your eyes and your smile.

"I guess I'll go with boy then," You spoke quietly, eyeing the machine next to you. "I hope our baby looks like you either way."

Suguru didn't expect the way your sentiment made him feel - his heart practically stuttering as the words left your lips. Something squeezing tight in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

But there were two sharp knocks on the door and suddenly it was swinging open, a peppy woman in shrugs stepping in with cheery greetings, waving and taking a seat on the other side of you to get started. Asking questions about names you had in mind and if you wanted to know the gender while she got set up, and it was silly, but it was like he had a crush on you all over again, watching you chat about the baby, how your eyes lit up just to get sheepish and almost embarrassed when you looked back at Suguru to find him staring.

It didn't take long for you to be slowly pulling the band of your sweatpants down, tissues stuck under it to keep the gel from getting on your clothes while you held up your sweatshirt high enough for her to spread the gel over your stomach, pressing down hard with the wand as the image pulled up on the projector. Taking measurements and checking body parts until she paused right as the baby turned.

"You see that?"

Not really.

"Sorta," You squinted, trying to squint and figure out what it is.

"Looks like you're having a girl!"

And all the earlier anxiety had dissolved, melted into the shy smile on your lips when you glanced back at him, your warm palm giving him a quick squeeze and an excited gleam in your eyes.

"We're gonna have a daughter," You talked so quiet, so soft, like you were still holding your breath.

A daughter. You voice, those words played on repeat the drive home, while you traced the outline of your baby's face on the roll of ultrasound photos you got sent home with.

"Suguru, are you even listening?" You snapped him out of his thoughts, the idea of what you'd look like with a little girl swaddled up in your arms, already planning on taking you out shopping again tomorrow for more baby outfits than any kid could actually need.

"Sorry, honey? What?" He apologized, placing a palm on your thigh and rubbing it while you hummed.

"I asked what you thought of the name Kiyoko," You repeated, setting the photos down on your lap to pull out your phone and probably look up lists of baby girl names.

"That's pretty," He hummed, mostly just enjoying hearing your enthused chatter next to him.

"Or Yumi?" He caught a glimpse of you with your eyebrow arched up as you asked, your attempt at a serious expression falling flat from the thrill you couldn't hide.

He never thought he'd be able to love another girl as much as you - but he guessed his daughter was the only exception.

It wasn't until he started to climb into bed next to you that night that he realized you might not know that.

"Um, Suguru?"

There was something off in the sound of your voice, how hesitant you were to roll over and face him.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" He readjusted, propping himself up on his side as he brushed your hair out of your face.

"Are, um, you," You paused, frowning as you restarted your question. "Do you think you'll-"

He guessed you were giving up on whatever you wanted to ask as you groaned and buried your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Sorry, just, pretend I didn't say anything," Your voice was muffled, clinging to him, fingers wrinkling his shirt and forcing it to ride up higher until a thin strip of skin was exposed.

"You sure?" He stroked your hair, returning your hug as he pulled you in closer with one strong arm.

"Yeah," You huffed, wiggling free and rolling over till you were between his legs.

He was about to slip his hands under your arms to tug you back up, but then you let one finger skim under his boxers, looking up and batting your eyes at him and he paused, the question he was about to ask dying on his tongue.

Yours seemed to have an idea of it's own.

Fingers ghosting over his dark happy trail while you bit your lip, slowly tugging down his boxers just enough to pull his cock out, already hard from watching you undress and ditch your daytime clothes for a thin slip earlier that hugged your swollen breasts before you'd crawled into bed.

"This for me?" You hummed, running your fingers over the thick vein pulsing along the side while he sucked in a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile on its own.

"Always," He murmured, the lump in his throat bobbing as you dragged your tongue along the length of him, mouth slowly wrapping around the tip.

God, it wasn't fucking fair.

How could he control himself when every part of you felt so good?

Head falling back on the pillow, jaw clenched as you slowly took him in inch-by-inch, swirling our tongue over him and down across the vein, traced the ridges until he was pressed up against the roof of your mouth, bumping into the back of your throat.

His hand grabbing your hair to help guide you, careful not to make you gag or bruise your throat, your fingers wrapped around his base to stroke what you couldn't fit in. Your moan when he pulled your hair harder than he meant to almost made him snap them and there.

Opening his eyes was his mistake.

He wished he could take a photo of this, the bob of your head and the way you peered up at him so pretty, his cock throbbing in your mouth and how eagerly your mouth softly sucked on him.

He barely pulled out before warm spurts of cum shot down your throat, meaning to cum on his own hand, but it didn't quite work. The thick almost translucent white coating your lips and making them glossy, half ending up on your face and the rest coating his hand as he roughly jerked long strokes.

"Fuck, sorry, I-"

You giggled, licking a little off your lips before wiping away at your cheek.

"It's fine, Sugu," You laughed, wiping your face off on his boxers, nose nuzzling through the fabric against his thigh. "Little warning, next time?"

"Yeah," He muttered, still dazed as he studied your face.

It seemed keeping it together wasn't something he could do when it came to you.

"Wanna shower?" You offered, getting off the bed, the bounce of your breasts as you carefully pulled your little nightdress off reminding him how badly he wanted to repay that favor.

"Sure," He shrugged, standing up after you and stepping out his boxers off before tossing them into the laundry basket.

He watched you get the water started, humming to yourself as you grabbed a new bottle of body wash from the cabinet underneath the sink and checked the temperature.

"Hey," He softly said, distracting you before you could step in.

"Yeah?" You paused, glancing over your shoulder at him.

"Wanna get married?"

You didn't react. Or maybe your lack of reaction was one in itself. A blank stare. A blink. Your hands still on the shower curtain.

"What?" You eventually choked out.

Suguru panicked - or came as close to panic as he could. Falling back on logic, all the facts you couldn't argue with.

"I was paying the bill for the last appointment, and you know, your insurance is terrible," He reasoned, keeping his expression serious, stoic, like you'd have to see his side. "I just think it'd make more sense for us to get married, use my insurance and save our money for the other important stuff."

He actually couldn't care less what the appointments cost or how much he spent on the baby - because he would make absolutely fucking sure you were both spoiled but, he wanted you to say yes.

"I can just pay for the appointments if that's the problem," You quietly murmured, a look on his face he'd never seen before he barely caught before you turned back around and stepped in the shower.

Shit.

He didn't have to guess to know that was a no.

Step five?

Try not to maim every guy that ever looked at you.

It had to be something instinctual - how it made his skin crawled whenever someone's shoulder brushed against yours on the street or a stare lingered too long on your face. Fuck, even Gojo sitting too-close to you had started to get to him, the easy way he slung his shoulder over the back of the couch and blabbered to you about his day while you laughed.

Normally, Suguru would not be silently struggling to maintain his polite smile when you offered to let Satoru feel the baby kick, new cracks starting to form in his facade as his best friend eagerly out his hand on your stomach.

"That's freaky," Gojo scrunched up his face, pulling his hand away at the first flutters of the kick.

"Jerk," You huffed, smacking his arm before struggling to readjust the pillows under your back, your own brows knitted together in frustration.

"Need something?" Suguru interrupted.

"I'm fine," You muttered, despite your discomfort.

"So, like," Gojo started, squinting down at your stomach before glance between you and Suguru. "Am I like, the godfather or-"

"Why not?" You shrugged right as Suguru shook his head no.

"Why not?" Gojo repeated in a whine, cutting him a look that only ever worked if you were the one directing it at him.

"I'd prefer my daughter lives off of more than chocolate and candy," Suguru sarcastically dismissed, scooting closer to you in the couch to slip the pillow that had been beside him underneath your back to help support it.

"I can cook," Satoru defensively protested, looking to your for support Suguru hoped he wouldn't received. "Besides, I have a great dentist so even if-"

"Shit, do we have to find her a dentist too?" You were ignoring the rest of his rambling, glancing back at Suguru with a frown at yet another task on the growing list of items to take care of.

"We can worry about that when she's actually here," Suguru shrugged, a hand settling on your shoulder and massaging the tense muscles there. "And has teeth."

"Okay," You sighed, still chewing on your bottom lip. You turned to your other side, your attention focusing again on your guest.

"You guys pick out a doctor yet?" Satoru asked, spreading his legs and leaning over to grab one of the still-warm cookies you baked after dinner. The sun had already set aside, only the glow from the TV and the kitchen light still on.

"Yeah, think so," You hummed, a hand resting on your stomach when you tried to get one too, pouting at your body's refusal to do what it used to until Suguru reached over to get the cookie for you.

"Got your hands pretty full, huh?" Satoru mumbled with his mouth still full, cookie crumbs sticking to his face.

"Suguru says we should just go ahead and get married," You sighed, taking another small bite before talking again. "For insurance stuff, I guess."

It was the first time you mentioned it in the past couple months since he first brought it up.

Satoru threw him a look like he was the biggest idiot on the planet before actually laughing.

"Just for insurance?" He cocked a brow up, an annoying glimmer of amusement flashing in the blue of his eyes while throwing Suguru a look that made him consider strangling his friend on the spot. "You know, my insurance is really-"

"Don't even think about it," Suguru shut him up before he could continue.

But you were glancing between them, a small frown weighing your lips down and a subtle crease between your brow. Were you actually disappointed?

"I'm actually pretty tired, guys, I, uh, think I'm gonna crash for the night," You mumbled, pushing up off the couch and ignoring Suguru's outstretched hand to stand on your own.

He could feel it sinking in his chest before you disappeared down the hall.

Another misstep. Pushing you away when he was trying to pull you closer.

"Insurance? Really?" Satoru snickered once you were out of earshot.

"Shut up," Suguru groaned.

"Just tell her you love her already and put a ring on it," He shrugged, leaning over to flick his arm. "Unless you want your kid to have a stepdad some day?"

Okay, Suguru really wanted to strangle him for suggesting that.

And it was his own fault for offering excuses, he knew that, still he didn't want to tell you he loved you and you think it was just because of the baby, or that was the only reason he was trying to tie you down to him. He wanted you to know he meant it.

To know he'd been waiting for the moment he could claim you his entire life, to call you his in every form, sign the paper and hear the word husband leave your lips.

Just being your boyfriend the past few months when you were having his baby was torture, enduring your unsure glances, the unease he tried and failed to kiss away.

What were you so scared of? And why was it him?

He still hadn't figured out by the time Satoru left, or when he eventually got in bed next to you, careful not to disturb your sleep - even if he suspected you were already awake.

Suguru was pretty sure he'd never been scared in his until he woke up to an empty bed. Cold sheets, no lingering body heat or even the scent of your shampoo clinging to your pillow when he rolled over to the empty space you should be.

Stumbling out of the bed still half-asleep himself, squinting as he rubbed his eyes and pushed open the bathroom door, but no, the lights were off and it was also empty. Calling out your name and crushing the budding anxiety clawing up his throat as he padded through the hall into the living room, the dim light from the kitchen hurting his eyes as they adjusted to the yellow glow.

His ears caught up first.

The faint sound of your sniffling reaching him as he rounded the corner to find you on the floor by the entryway, struggling to slip on your shoes, wearing t-shirt and sweatpants that didn't do much to hide your baby bump as you wiped at your cheeks with one hand. Dressed like you were planning on going somewhere, purse laying on the floor next to you, phone and keys hanging halfway out of it.

"Baby," He yawned, trying to speak softly as he glanced over at the clock. "It's three in the morning. What are you doing?"

"Can't sleep. I want a slushie," You mumbled, blinking a few times, clearly just as exhausted as him. There was a faint shine to your eyes, a few teardrops still clinging to your lashes.

"You should've woken me up," He murmured, gently squeezing your shoulder.

"It's just a stupid craving," You dismissed, rubbing your own eyes as you gave up and threw your shoe back on the ground.

It was the first one you'd told him about. He wasn't even sure you even had any, but maybe you'd just been taking care of them yourself.

"I'll get you one," He stifled another yawn while he talked. "Let me get a coat and my keys."

You grabbed onto the hem of his pajama pants to hold him in place, peeking up at him with a pout.

"You don't have to."

"You think I'm going to let my pregnant girlfriend go out by herself to get one?" Suguru retorted.

Your pout only got deeper at the word girlfriend.

"Forget about it," You murmured, letting go of his pajamas to push off the floor, once again ignoring his outstretched hand to try and stand by yourself. "Let's just go back to bed."

He knew he could ask if you were sure and you'd grumble something sarcastic back before going to sleep upset.

"Hey," He paused, stopping you with a hand on the curve of your waist, pulling you into him, until your baby bump, his daughter, was pressed against the firm muscle of his own stomach. "Let's go together, okay?"

"You really wanna?" You hesitated, clearly wanting to say yes despite the streak of stubbornness that usually won out over your softer side.

Suguru pressed a kiss against your forehead, his hand appreciatively running over your stomach just for the mini-you inside to kick, the flutter under his fingers only reminding him how easily the two of you had him wrapped around your own.

"It's you," He'd remind you however many times you needed. "Course I do."

Step six?

Get you whatever craving or late night treat you wanted - even if he felt like he was sleepwalking.

Still groggy, he threw on his own shoes and grabbed his stuff, helping you over to the couch so he could get down on his knees and help you get your shoes on, tugging one of his sweatshirts over your head, although you didn't drown in it any more, he thought it was cuter now, stretched over your baby bump like this.

Rubbing his eyes with yet another yawn while he insisted on holding open the car door for you and driving you to the nearest gas station/convenience store combo that had a functioning slushie machine, keeping his mouth shut about the terrible food dyes in it while you picked out a cup and pulled the dispenser down on the blue raspberry flavor. It was nice. Your head resting on his shoulder and happily sipping through the straw while he paid the equally tired cashier, your hand in his after he pocketed the receipt while you walked to the car, his thumb rubbing over the bare spot beneath your knuckle where a ring should be.

The one that had been tucked inside a box in his closet, buried under photo albums and souvenirs of a lifetime you'd already spent together. One he'd seen through the window of a jewelry store on the street, the glittering stone and the thin band, the little offset gems, something about it that made him think of what it'd look like on you. He bought it even though Satoru laughed at him the entire drive home.

"You're not even dating her."

Who else would you marry if not him?

He glanced back over at you as he turned the key in the ignition, your sleepy eyes and your pretty smile, the way your other hand was settled over the swell of your stomach.

His girls.

The drive back home was filled with the sort of chatter that used to be casual for you two - your happy giggle ringing in his ears while you talked about some reality show you wanted to watch with him, swearing it was stupid but he'd still like it anyway, your hand drifting over to his leg, pausing on his thigh while you asked what him and Satoru talked about after you went to sleep.

Your slushie was almost empty by the time you made it back, taking the last few sips before tossing it in the trash in the kitchen and giving him a little look like you wanted him to help get your shoes off but didn't want to ask.

He did it for you.

Following behind you to the bedroom, tossing his stuff on the nightstand and flicking the lamp back on to bathe the room in low light.

"Thank you, Sugu," You softly said, yawning as you peeled the sweatshirt off first, shuffling out of your pajama pants until you were just in a thin t-shirt and panties, and all he could fucking think was how could you be thanking him? When you were giving him his dream on the prettiest platter he'd ever seen?

"You're so-" He started, but you weren't finished, shyly avoiding his gaze as your mouth opened again. The mood had shifted again, your face scrunched up like you were sad.

"I just feel bad, you know?" He didn't. "You're just, so, perfect, and so you, and you got stuck with me and a baby you didn't plan on."

"Stuck with you?" He echoed, blinking blankly at you while you kept stumbling over your words.

"I just, uh, I want you to know you don't have to marry me just because you feel obligated to, you know, if, um, you met someone else-" You looked like you were going to be sick just saying it.

Was this what had you so worried?

"There isn't ever going to be anyone else," Suguru bluntly cut you off.

"You don't know that," You argued, struggling to be the better person, not to be greedy when that was exactly what he'd waited years for.

"I'm in love with you."

You froze.

Glossy eyes wide with surprise, your lips parted and stained blue still, shoulders tense.

He turned back to the closet, snagging the box of the shelf and tossing it on the bed, shuffling through loose photos and little gifts you'd given him through the years he couldn't bear to break or lose until he found the velvet box at the bottom.

Getting down on one knee was the second-easiest decision he ever made in his life. The first was choosing you to begin with.

"Sugu," Your voice quivered, breath hitching in your throat.

"I bought this for you three years ago," He admitted, dark eyes piercing through to you, studying the way your face seemed to glow from the light of the lamp. And sure, of all the ways he'd imagined this moment going, he never once pictured it like this. But that didn't matter. Because this was real. Raw. "I love you. I did then, and I do now, and if you ask me again in fifteen years, I'm sure I will then too."

He popped the ring box open, and he didn't think your mouth could drop open any more but it did, your cute little gasp making his pulse thrum louder in his ears while your attention flickered back-and-forth between his sharp stare and the ring he hoped you'd accept.

"Marry me."

It wasn't quite a question, or a plea. An open statement of affection, a quiet promise of a lifetime of it.

You swallowed, barely bobbing your head up and down in a nod at first, a slow smile taking shape on your lips like you still couldn't believe it.

"O-okay," You stammered, an airy laugh slipping out while you tried to blink away the disbelief. "I-"

He grabbed your left hand where it was still hanging by your side, plucking the ring out of the box and slipping it on your finger, swiveling it a little around the knuckle for it to sit snugly at the base.

"You're really serious? No take backs, okay?" You murmured, holding your hand up to admire the way it glittered even in the low light while he laughed. You tugged him up to his feet by his hand, pressing yourself against his chest and glancing up at him, a hint of something unsure still lingering in the lines of your face. "You're mine."

That was supposed to be his line.

Then. Now. Always.

"We can go sign the paperwork Monday if you want, or a wedding, before or after the baby-"

"I don't care how we do it," You interrupted him this time, reaching up to cup his cheek. The gentle touch, your soft fingertips, the adoration in your eyes when you got up on your tiptoes to plant a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I always kinda wanted to see you in a white dress," He chuckled, grabbing your chin between his fingers to give you a proper kiss back, sucking on your lower lip, the taste of blue raspberry still on your tongue.

"Yeah? Seven months pregnant?" You laughed back when you broke away for a breath.

"You seriously have no idea what you do to me," He breathlessly murmured into your skin.

"You could show me," You tilted your head to the side, but your eyes flickered back to the ring on your finger, the proof of it already there.

"Tease," He muttered as his lips ghosted over your cheek, pulling you back over to the edge of the mattress. He used his free hand to tug the box back down to the floor, nudging it away with his foot.

Half past four in the morning and he was taking his fiancèe to bed instead of his girlfriend.

He made sure you were comfortable first, readjusting you until the pillows were nestled under your head, ignoring your giggles while he moved the blankets aside and climbed up after you, hooking a leg over his shoulder after he peeled your underwear down your thighs.

"I was kidding," You laughed while he licked a long stripe up the inside of your thigh, the sound turning into a pretty gasp when he dipped his tongue inside.

"I wasn't," His voice was muffled into your skin, fingers dipping against the soft flesh on your thigh and hip as he held on tighter, his tongue slipping inside deeper, dragging the muscle along the inside of your walls.

A taste he missed, too long since you last let him try it.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, moaning as he practiced steady patterns, pulling him closer into your heat while he used your hips like handlebars to refuse to let you squirm away from him again.

You still tried, writhing under the weight of his palms, although he knew his clipped nails wouldn't leave a mark.

"Oh," You squeaked, a cute strangled noise escaping when he dragged his tongue out and ran it over your clit, tracing small shapes with the tip of it.

"Better get used to being mine, baby," He hummed, peeking up to watch the way you still shivered at the sound of his voice, how you were finally about to be his in every sense of the word.

"I always was," Your lighthearted laugh cut off by another lewd moan, your hips still trying to arch up.

Planting open-mouthed kisses along your swollen bud while your fingers tugged at his scalp, your gasps of his name cut through the quiet.

Your thigh still up on his shoulder to give him easier access, the muscles pulling tense under his grip and the way your breath had started to stutter let him know you were close before you managed to barely stammer it out.

"Please, please, please."

Your legs were trembling, soft whimpers that were almost incoherent imprinting themselves in his memory while you unraveled underneath him, his tongue cleaning you up like it hadn't caused it. Teasing you before you managed to piece yourself back together, sucking softly on your oversensitive bundle of nerves just for you to let out a whine of his name.

"Tired, baby?" He couldn't help his smirk, leaving a kiss on the inside of your thigh before climbing off the bed to snag you a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser, slipping it up your legs for you so didn't have to do the awkward shuffle of getting it back on.

"Maybe," You admitted, rubbing your eyes as you patted the spot next to you for him to lay. "I am growing your baby."

He smiled.

"We can sleep in, alright?" He could feel his own eyes crinkle, flicking the light off on the lamp, the faint moonlight cutting the dark of the room. He pulled the covers up as he got in his side of the bed, readjusting until your head was resting on his chest.

Suguru usually got up before you, made breakfast and brewed the coffee and started the laundry, but tomorrow (or today, technically)? He would spend the sunrise holding you close and wait for you to wake up to take you out for brunch or lunch or whatever you wanted.

"Hey, Suguru?" You murmured, stifling a yawn as you peeked up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

"Mhm?" He stroked your hair back, admiring his future wife snuggled up in his arms.

"I love you."

want more dilf!Suguru with his post-partum wife? here!

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#jjk #geto suguru

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kxgumi · 10 days ago

Text

How to breakup with your boyfriend — not a guide.

tw: mentions of food, just NSFW stuff, mention of periods, oral (m. receiving, f. receiving), p in v sex, no clear pronouns used for the reader, but written as a fem oriented person, insecurities, trauma responses.

If someone asked you what's your boyfriend like? — you'd say, "GREAT!"

And no it is not to compensate for the fact how badly you want to break up with him. It is infact that he is just great! No complaints really. Gojo Satoru was perfect.

He was kind, caring, attentive, and sweet. He knew when to just sit there and agree with you when you're telling him about this horrible fight you had with your parents, and not give you unwanted and unsolicited advice. He also knows exactly at what time to feed your cats, water your plants, how you like your coffee, which days you do your laundry — how you like them done. Which specific clothes are supposed to be sent for dry cleaning, and he drops them off on his way to work and pick them back up when they are done.

Satoru knows what foods you are allergic to, and which ones you're 'allergic' to (read: do not like to eat)—so he will be the first one at a table full of people you've known for decades, to say something like, "oh this dish has corn? Ah. Y/n can't have corn, allergies you know."

He also knows which detergent to pick up, which fabric softer you use. He knows your period dates and the brand of tampons and pads you use. He remembers your birthday, your cat's birthday, your parents' birthday, your bestfriend's birthday! He gets you your favourite cake to celebrate your promotion. He will watch every bad movie, every gore or horror movie and whatever you want, it doesn't matter if he doesn't like them.

He is one of those people who will cover the head of the car's entrence after opening the door for you so you don't hit your head there, he'll cover the corner and the sides of the table as you move around to find something you dropped and urge you to sit back up, so he can pick it up for you.

When you guys kissed for the first time, he let you take the lead, to make you feel comfortable knowing that you're quite inexperienced. He'd rather eat you out for days on, tongue inside you, on your clit, fingers and all than have you give him a head. Unless you want to! And sometimes you do want to. And when you do, despite his urge to push your head down on his cock, he resists. His hands are always in your hair, pushing it back in a comfortable ponytail. Always complimenting you and telling you how well you're doing. He won't leave marks on you if you don't want him to cause of an important work event, he'll even resist his impending urge to bite you. Even sex is just very sweet, he's the most gentle when pushing himself inside you. He simply worships your body and-

Ugh! You get it! He is absolutely picture perfect.

So back to the matter at hand. Why would you ever want to break up with a person like that? Maybe because he is just TOO perfect. There is a thing called overbearing, sometimes it feels like— he's too overwhelming, and all too consumed with you.

You do not really mind the last part—but maybe you don't want a man who's straight out of fiction! You weren't familiar with such treatment all your life really, this all can be too new. You do see him treating others more roughly when needed. But he's just so delicate with you. Not that it is a bad thing, but sometimes you'd rather he stayed rough around the edges. Being treated like a fragile doll to the maximum does sound great in theory, but in practice it can make you feel pathetic.

You have tried to breakup with satoru on multiple occasions. First you started dropping hints here and there, seeming to be uncertain about your future together —all he'd say is, "don't worry your pretty head about the future sweets, I'm planning accordingly."

You've started picking unreasonable fights with him more often, whether you'd get genuinely pissed off or not, you'd fight him over the most silliest things. "Why did you turn over the pillow on this side?? You should know I don't like this side! How could you not know!? It's like you don't even know me Satoru!"

All he'd respond with, "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I am genuinely so disappointed in myself. I hope you can forgive me please. I'll make sure to know which side you prefer better from now on. Please sit down and let me finish painting rest of your nails."

Yeah so that also didn't work out huh.

So you opted for for this weird strategy. You told him you wanted to get a nose job — to make it bigger! (No shaming anyone for wanting that just saying this is a very silly strategy you've decided upon). Satoru just smiled and kissed your nose, told you that whatever you'd like to do, he'd love you anyway (Insufferably loving man).

Then you stopped reciprocating his kisses, doging them even. You went as far as to try to not have sex with him. But this bastard is too good, and unfortunately for you despite wanting to break up with him you just still really love him. Too much. And he loves you. Too much.

You'd move your head away and he'd cradle your head in his hands and make you look at him, then let this staring contest go on until you just give in and pull him into a kiss. He'd be very sly about his choice of clothing, his touches, and get you all riled up that you can't just help it! "What happened to the sex ban sweets?" Satoru would whisper smugly in your ears while thrusting in you. Bastard! Even trying to control your expressions mid sex to make yourself seem disinterested was not on the table! He's just that good.

And infact satoru is better than what you think of him. And he's much more perceptive than what you give him the credit for. Because he picked up on this little mission of yours the exact day you probably thought to yourself —i need to leave him. You stayed up the whole night one day and silently went to the living room to go on the internet and search up articles about 'how to break up with my boyfriend'.

I wouldn't say he was not hurt. But he also understood you. He understood you more than yourself at times. He understands that you haven't had the best childhood and the best parents around, resulting into this hyper independent mindset you've curated. You'd rather bleed to death than ask for help. And he gets that you can sometimes get in your own head about things. But he was ready to tackle those things head on the day he signed up to fall inadvertently in love with you. And if you want to make excuses to your friends about him being too soft for the reason behind wanting to break up with him—

He can show you rough. As long as he gets to keep you all to himself, love you and cherish you. However you want.

A/n: dividers by— @/omi-resources. To check out more of my stuff click this.

#jjk #gojo satoru

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kxgumi · 10 days ago

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you don’t really realize you’re growing old with satoru until you spot a grey tress inside the roots of your hair as you’re looking in the mirror. the thing about marriage and life itself was that time really doesn’t stop—for no one. as you entrap the lock between your fingers, you murmur out to satoru with a cheeky grin. “satoru baby, c’mere.”and as he’s lying in bed with a wrinkled nose, he reads some book titled ‘three men in a boat.’ as he flips a thick page, his cerulean blue reading glasses crook down the bridge of his nose before he turns his attention toward you.

“yesss, honey?” he rubs his eyes, bringing a palm up to his growing stubble. as he got older, you noticed how he moved a bit slower. satoru was still fit as he aged, but he’d have a bit of a waddle whenever he walked. it was cute—how his limbs were getting more and more fragile, but he was still labeled as the strongest despite his inevitable aging.

he makes his way behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you make eye contact through the mirror that reflects you both, a happy married couple. “look, we’re finally matching now,” and his face softens once you bring the silvery colored strand up to his view. ‘matching,’ because his hair was naturally a snowy white . . almost similar to the strand of hair you just showed him.

although as the years progressed, satoru was growing ashen grey streaks too.

“i guess we are,” he replied in a gentle tone, his hands remaining on your hips. satoru’s touch was always gentle and ginger. he presses his lips near the back of your nape before letting off a soft sigh. “you’d look pretty with white hair, actually.”

“prettier than you?” you hum, glancing at him through the mirror. satoru towers over you as he holds you, the band of his wedding ring grazing against your hip.

again, you watch as the corners of his lips crease into a smile. a toothy genuine one where his dimples show.

“haha, veeeery funny,” and as he buries his face into your neck, he deeply ponders to himself for a moment.

to think . . how much time has passed, out of all the countless tiresome battles he’s had to face—

all those years at trying to keep the world safe and now, he could finally relax. having his arms around you gave him a peace of mind, and in the end it was all worth it because at the end of the day, satoru gojo—the strongest, came back to you. you were his personal safe haven and he was yours.

“but honeyyy,” he yawns with rosy pouty lips, shifting his chin up to rest against your left shoulder. satoru starts leading you toward your side of the bed. “ ‘s pretty late, let’s getcha back to bed, hm?”

“okay,” you mumble, already feeling your eyes starting to get heavy again. satoru’s still got his burly arms wrapped around your waist as he leisurely guides you back to bed. he was clingy, and that never changed. satoru gojo’s always been clingy ever since the two of you met. as he pulls down the cover for you to enter, you crawl back in and he gets beside you.

satoru slings an arm around you, pulling you close as his hooded eyes starts a staring contest with the swaying wooden ceiling fan.

it’s moving slow. . just like time was.

whenever he was with you, it felt as if time stood still. and as the both of you cuddled against each other with your head resting against his beating heart, he sighs. it’s a content happy sigh, and satoru’s hands find their way near the top of your head. his thin fingers maze it’s way near your soft grey growing strand before he leans in, giving the crown of your head a goodnight kiss. “mwah,” and he watches as your eyes briefly widen before glancing away, growing sheepish. “get some rest, my love. i’ll be here when you wake up. promise.”

you nod, too drowsy to reply and he pulls you closer. satoru’s heartbeat was steady and slow, and each pulse that bested against your ear made you felt more and more protected. as he holds you firm and close, a hand of his softly caresses your forehead—brushing against the soft hairs that cling onto your skin.

as your breathing starts to relax and your eyelids finally close, he realizes you finally drifted off to sleep. satoru exhales lowly, almost forgetting to take off his reading glasses. as he places them near the nightstand, he lies back down, giving your sleeping state once last glance.

“i love you,” he whispers against your ear before reaching for the pearled lamp switch. “so much.”your head nuzzles against his chest and he assumes that was your non-verbal way of saying it back, even in your sleep. cute.

the only sounds that could be heard were the faint tick tocking of the grandfather clock that stood near the hallway and your soft breathing as you deeply slept. satoru feels a smile tugging against his glossed lips yet again, but this time it’s different . .

it’s not the same smile from when you showed him that you were graying, it was a more genuine smile that was satisfied at everything—primarily at life. satoru’s long crystalline lashes gradually flap shut as he smiles to himself, a thumb brushing against your forehead. all those battles was worth it in the end, because right now, he’s at the only place he wanted to be . . with you.

life wasn’t a competition, but satoru finally felt at peace, true peace—and that peace was being in your presence. he wasn’t one for believing in good endings, but maybe this particular one wasn’t so bad.

“i . . won.”

#jjk #gojo satoru

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kxgumi · 12 days ago

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husband!sukuna wasn’t someone who liked touching all that much. of course, he loved touching you, and if he ever found out that one day he wouldn’t be able to (which would never happen because he’d find a way, no matter what), he’d burn the whole world down. but in general, he wasn’t the type to crave constant physical contact.

but ever since you got pregnant, his large hands never left your belly. whether you were watching tv together, out shopping when he saw men looking at you with filthy thoughts in their heads—making sure they knew exactly whose child you were carrying—or when you were sleeping, not letting you move an inch as he wrapped himself around your swollen stomach.

even when you wanted to be alone, he’d still follow you, just to get his hands on your belly, driving you insane. but for him, touching you there was proof of life. he had spent years thinking he didn’t deserve even the smallest good thing in this world. then you came along, and for the first time, he thought that maybe good things could find their way to him too. but knowing that he was going to have a child, knowing that a piece of both of you was growing inside you, made him realize he had to fight for the good things he had. because you and the son you were about to bring into this world deserved nothing but the best. you were his reason to keep going.

of course, that wasn’t the only reason his hands never left your belly. every time he touched you, he remembered that night—the night he was sure he got you pregnant. how he fucked you, how you moaned his name as you came, how you took all of his cum like a good wife and gave him a child. just the memory of it made power surge through him, made his blood run hot with satisfaction.

only his seed could take root inside you. and by putting his baby in you and keeping his hands on your belly, he made sure everyone knew it.

all rights belong to @/poisonousspiderlily. do not steal, modify, or translate

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kxgumi · 12 days ago

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"tears"

fluff for the sukuna fans bc i've been in a soft sukuna mood

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna isn't a stranger to arguments with you, but when he catches you crying after a particularly harsh one, he finds himself scrambling to fix it... in his own way

to sum it up: sukuna is an asshole but he loves you, so he tries his best

WC: 3,296

Warning(s): a lil angst

You knew exactly what you were getting into when you first started a relationship with the infamous king of curses, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less when his tendency to be an asshole hurt your feelings.

You know Sukuna isn’t a sentimental person who cares much for things like verbal reassurance, or consideration for the way the things he says can impact you, or anyone for that matter, but damn! Sometimes, he’s just too much of a jerk for you to handle, and Sukuna himself has no idea why your fragile human emotions sway you to be so affected by him. He doesn’t even think he’s said anything wrong the times in which you grow angry with him.

Now, Sukuna can handle your anger. Anger is good. Anger means that there is something he can react to, something he can tame or involve into your intimacies when he takes your mind off of silly arguments or subdues your attitude over what he deems to be small inconveniences. Anger is the only human emotion that he has felt himself in his many years of existence, so he knows what to expect. He understands it. He’s not, in the slightest, intimidated by it.

But what Sukuna finds he can not handle is the sound of your sniffles that resound from behind your door after you’ve just slammed it into his face. Sukuna angles his brows, pressing his ear to the door in confusion. Are you… cold? Coming down with a fever? What the hell are you sniffing your nose so much for?

Then he hears the meek gasps that intercept, the vocalization of pain that creeps into your weakened inhalations that accompany your damned sniffling. That’s when he realizes that you’re crying, and his pupils shrink slightly knowing that he has gone a little too far this time.

Hell, how is he supposed to handle you crying? He can’t fuck your sadness away like he can with your irritation. He can’t mirror your sadness, since he has no clue what the hell it’s supposed to feel like. He can’t empathize with it either, for he has no idea what he could have done to bring tears to your eyes and empathy, well, it’s not in his vocabulary to begin with. It’s pathetic, he thinks, the way you have allowed him to bother you this much…

Yet it kills him to know that he’s the reason behind your tears.

He stands there for some time, unsure of what to do. Should he get Uraume to handle this? No, that may make things worse. You may want to be alone.

He turns to leave, but something stops him. He feels an ache in his chest, pressing his hand to his bicep. What the hell? What is this feeling?

He can still hear you crying, and somehow, it sounds like it’s getting worse, louder, or perhaps that is all in his head. He can no longer tell, but that sound you’re making is the only thing occupying his mind, and it’s ruining him. It’s making his chest tighten, his brow furrow, his lips press together tightly. He should leave, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to abandon you like this.

Never once in his life has Sukuna felt remorse. Not even for all the times he has made you angry in the past when you two have had arguments. He is so quick to blame your reactions to things on your feeble human emotions. He is so quick to evade responsibility, or more so, refrain from guilting himself over the things he is responsible for. He is so quick to dismiss you, but it’s always fine because he has never witnessed you grow sad over his behavior, not until now.

Sukuna turns back to your door slowly. His hand flies to grab the handle to throw the door open, but he hesitates. He’s unsure of what’s happening to him, for he’s never hesitated before in his life. This, you crying, him second guessing himself, it’s all so new and he hates it. He needs to fix this immediately.

What do you humans like when you are upset? There’s a word that’s slipping his mind, one he always hears you pester him for but turns down repeatedly. He had found the concept so irrelevant that he hadn’t even bothered to recall what it’s called.

He crosses his arms and stares ahead harshly in thought, then it comes to him. An apology! Yes, that’s what it is. But of course, you can’t expect him to verbalize such a thing. You must want something as a gift. A physical representation of his desire not to see you cry. He rushes off to locate Uraume for preparations.

About an hour later, you’re curled up on your bed and facing the wall with a blank stare. Your tears stopped a while ago, and since you hadn’t heard from Sukuna, you assumed he just didn’t care about your feelings. Like always.

“Oi,” a gruff voice through the door startles you. You jump and turn over, curling your brows in confusion at the sound of Sukuna’s voice. For a moment, you don’t believe he is speaking to you, so you wait some time to see if he will speak again. “I know you can hear me in there,” his voice sounds again, and you groan.

“Go away,” you tell him, flipping back over.

Sukuna, on the other side of the wall, clicks his tongue in agitation. “Quit your pouting and come open this door.”

“No. Until you learn how to treat me better, I don’t want to see you.”

Treat you better? Sukuna doesn’t understand this nonsense. You live in his large estate, you’re pampered by servants, showered with gifts and homemade meals, you sleep by his side every night, and he allows you to disrespect him far more often than he should. Not to mention, he has his arms full of presents at this very moment that are preventing him from opening the door himself. How can he possibly treat you any better than he’s already treating you?

He growls lowly and closes his eyes in irritation. “If you open the door, your mood will improve.”

“I don’t want anything other than what I just said.”

Sukuna’s eye twitches. Why are you so damn difficult? “What is your-”

“Go. Away.”

Oh. Alright, then.

You sit up abruptly when Sukuna’s foot breaks in the door with a loud crash. You stare with wide eyes, the door, now off its hinge, creaking open weakly to reveal the king of curses with his arms full of several bouquets of flowers.

“What the fuck, Sukuna?!” you cry. He only stares frustratedly as he walks into the space univinted.

“This was going to go on for too long if I hadn’t done something,” he says, approaching the side of your bed.

“You can’t just- fuck! What is wrong with you?”

Okay… this is already going poorly.

This is not the reaction he had desired from you, and perhaps he should have revisited the idea of kicking in the door, but he had been growing impatient. Despite his big talk, he doesn’t like when you speak to him in such a cold way. He doesn’t like being separated from you. He doesn’t like not being able to see your face, and after all the work he has just done to collect these plants for you, he can not tolerate being turned away.

“Must you be so dramatic?” he tsks. “Do you not see what I have brought to you? Don’t you humans like these things?”

You stare at him incredulously, mouth agape. Sukuna can see the tear stains clear on your face, and his heart clenches again. God, why is that sight so abominable?

He holds his arms out, presenting the flowers to you as if you could have possibly missed them. “They are yours. Take them and be done with this.”

“Be done with what, Sukuna?” you shake your head, face scrunched.

“With your tantrum- your tears, and the sniffles. Be done with them now. Here.”

You scoff. “Do you even know why you're giving these to me?”

Sukuna raises a brow. “To cease your tantrum. As I just said.”

“I can’t with you sometimes, Sukuna. Honestly.”

“This is really the thanks that I get for bringing you these damn flowers? I thought you were supposed to like things like this. Why would you make me waste my time?”

“If you think it’s a fucking waste of time to bring me flowers, then there’s your problem right there,” you raise your voice, pointing at him accusingly. Sukuna’s face hardens. He thinks you’re getting angry again, but he can still see the sadness behind your eyes. You look almost… defeated. “And if you knew me at all, you’d know that I never cared about any of that stuff. I never cared about the flashiness or the gifts or whatever the fuck.”

Sukuna lowers his hands, letting the bouquets drop carelessly to the floor. “Now you are accusing me of not knowing you?” he seethes. “I’m not sure when you decided that it was acceptable for you to speak to me this way, but I will not tolerate it. I do nothing but dote on you, you ungrateful brat.”

“Yeah, sure, you dote on me, and then you turn around and berate me and call everything I feel stupid because you don’t care to even try to understand why some of the things you say are not okay!”

Sukuna walks closer to invade your personal space, leaning in to glare angrily at you as you do the same. This is what he knows. This is what he chooses to respond to. Not the curl in your brow, not the tremble of your lips, not the unsteadiness of your voice, but your anger. “Why should I care if all you do is whine,” he grumbles.

You clamp your mouth shut as a lump forms in your throat. Sukuna watches you unravel before him, and while he tries to keep an unmoved expression, he is internally panicking when he sees your eyes gloss over again and your nose flare.

Shit. He’s supposed to be making you feel better. How has he gone and made things worse again? Why is he incapable of understanding how to be what you want him to be?

You take in a trembling inhale as your hands clench and unclench at your sides. You don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t want him to call you weak, but you can’t help the tear that breaks past your lashes and dashes down your cheek, a physical display of your heartache.

Sukuna’s crimson eyes fly to the tear, and his brows smooth out against his intent.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You’re crying again, and it’s his fault. It’s always been his fault. What is this now that he’s feeling? Regret? Shame? Is that what is clawing at his chest and stripping him of his resolve? Making him wish to replay this entire interaction so that you do not appear before him with tears in your eyes once more? Is this what it is to fall?

You rub angrily at your eyes and huff, turning away from him and plopping back down on your bed, back facing him. You shut yourself away, close yourself off, and deprive Sukuna of your pretty face for the second time today. “Just leave me alone. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t give a fuck about me or anything, for that matter.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly with the deepening of his frown. That ache he has felt in his chest spreads throughout his body, serving as tension in his back, head, and shoulders. You think he doesn’t care for you? What nonsense. You’re the only being on this planet who has made a millennia of existence worth living, and you think he doesn’t care?

Sukuna can not even pin the blame onto you this time around. He can not accuse you of overreacting, nor can he evade such a thing that is so clearly his doing. He has made you feel uncared for, and while his temper may get out of hand, and his inability to fully comprehend the plagues of the human mind gets in the way, and he never tells you that he loves you, making you feel unloved is the last thing he ever meant to do.

“Hey,” he mumbles, but you do not move. You cling to yourself for comfort because you do not believe he can provide any for you. “Brat-” he starts, but rethinks. He reaches his hand out to you. “(Y/n). Enough of this.”

“I don’t want to see you right now, Sukuna. Can’t you respect at least that for once?” you croak.

His hand freezes and he lets it fall. Respect. Understanding. That is what you want from him, and he has not been giving it to you. He has not been giving you anything that you request of him emotionally, for that matter. He has been neglecting your mental needs whilst overpowering you with the physical, and it’s drawn you away from him.

He could force you to get up. He could drag you by your hair to his bedroom. He could make you look him in the eye, make you stay with him, make you stay silent about this from this point on and forever more. Sukuna has the power and the authority to do so…

But the idea is not appealing. Not in the slightest.

Sukuna wants you happy. He wants you to want to be with him willingly, and if he ignores your consent now of all times, it would be like throwing away the life he has built with you. Throwing away your desires, and Sukuna does not long for a world in which you are any more uncomfortable than you already are.

He takes a step back, looking over the flowers that he has dropped, and accepts the will of the mortal he fell in love with.

“I will be in my chambers if or whenever you wish to see me,” he says lowly, giving in. He moves to leave but stops himself once more. He never had stopped himself this much before. “...I apologize for making you cry. I will send someone to fix your door immediately.”

Sukuna is well on his way when he hears you shuffling behind him. He turns, admittedly hopeful for your reaction, and finds you peeking in confusion over your shoulder. “...What did you just say?” you whisper.

The king of curses stalls, looking directly into your eyes from across the room. He feels suddenly… weak. Vulnerable. For the first time, he has relented his power for you to take hold of, and it feels strange to say the very least. “Do you wish for me to repeat myself?”

You sit up slowly, turning around. You knuckle at your red nose, watching him suspiciously. “I do. I may have misheard you.”

He studies you for a moment until he realizes that you are being facetious. “You heard me the first time.”

“Maybe I just want you to say it again.”

Sukuna sighs heavily. “I did not intend to make you cry, nor did I intend to make you feel as though I do not care for you. That is a foolish thought, but I understand I do not convey the depth of my feelings for you the way you wish me to convey it.”

You look dumbfounded as you stare at him in silence. Sukuna clicks his tongue, unsure of how you are going to respond.

“Quit staring at me and say something, woman.”

“I just… never thought…” you trail off, swallowing harshly. “I never thought you would ever say something like that to me.”

“You will only hear me say such things when you are- when I’ve made you unhappy,” he clarifies firmly. Your nose twitches, an involuntary movement that Sukuna catches and finds entirely too adorable. Your eyes are still damp, but your breathing has evened out.

“That’s the first,” you quip.

“Enough.”

You press your lips together, glancing at the flowers Sukuna brought you. Just then, you notice that they are your favorite.

You tell yourself you knew what you were getting into when you first started dating the king of curses, but at times you forget that Sukuna is in fact a demon, and a king at that. He does not believe in any better than what he is.

“You hurt my feelings, Sukuna,” you say softly. “Don’t you get what that means? At least for me?”

“No,” he responds honestly. “But I do see now that you have different needs. And I understand that I refuse to watch you cry if there is something I can do about it.”

You try to remain angry with him. You try to keep yourself distanced, but you can not help the way that you are softening, and Sukuna notices. A hint of a smirk curves at the corner of his lips.

“Is that all I had to say to make this better?”

“Shut the hell up,” you hiss. “It wouldn’t have killed you to apologize for the hundreds of other times we’ve fought, you know.”

“You weren’t crying the other times, woman.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you roll your eyes.

Sukuna tilts his head, placing a hand on his hip. “You’re not still upset, are you?”

“Yes,” you pout, and he catches on.

“What is it you want now, to be pampered like a spoiled brat?”

He makes the suggestion as if to offend you, but the two of you both know that he is hardly making a joke. “What I want is for you to fuck off.”

A chuckle rumbles in Sukuna’s throat as he makes his way over to you. You immediately break and screech when he yanks you forward by your ankle and loops you up into his arms before sitting down on your bed and setting you in his lap.

He looks you dead in the eye and lifts a rough thumb, swiping stubbornly at your tear stains and your damp lashes. “Crybaby,” he mutters, and you swat his hand away.

“Whatever, asshole.” You push at his chest with weak contempt and he looks at you boredly.

“You’re pitiful,” he grumbles, gripping your chin securely and guiding it to him. His blood red eyes seep into yours, gazing intently. “No more tears, do you understand?”

“Then don’t make me sad.”

“I won’t,” he tells you confidently.

A smile twitches on your lips as you look over him, completely unfamiliar with this side of the king of curses. “Can you do one more thing for me, and then I’ll maybe think about forgiving you?” you bite your lip, pressing your finger to his broad shoulder.

Sukuna grunts. “More demands, huh? I suppose you know how to take advantage of a situation. What more do you want?”

You wrap your arms over his neck. “Tell me how much you care about me,” you sing.

“Did I not just do so?”

“No, I want you to spell it out. Tell me you love me.”

“I highly tolerate you.”

“Tell me you loveeee me.”

“You are the only human being I do not frown upon.”

“Sukuna.”

“Christ, woman, you’re mine. Isn’t that enough?” he grits his teeth and you snort, patting his cheek gently.

“For now.”

“Such a pest, you know that?” he mumbles, pushing in swiftly to press his lips firmly to yours in a swift peck. “Don’t ever say I don’t care for you again. It is the most false and offensive thing I have ever heard."

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