o4i0n

[o4i0n]

NERD!SUKUNA HEADCANONS - Part 2

You can find Part 1 here

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). College AU. 3.5k words 18+, fluff + smut (sex on the kitchen table, oral (both receiving), cockwarming, cumshot). "Enemies" to friends to fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is shy and struggles with her grades. Sukuna is a genius but bad at feelings ;) Minors don't interact. Divider @/.lacedolliee. Credit for the super sexy fanart of Nerdkuna goes to my sweet friend @winterrbluess. The pic was used with Winn's permission 🖤

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to ignore that nagging feeling in his chest anytime he looks at the empty chair across from him, where you used to sit those last few weeks during your assignment.

Nerd!Sukuna, who lies awake at night, haunted by thoughts of you and the what-ifs, cursing himself because he can solve every academic problem and get top grades in all his classes but has no idea how to deal with his feelings.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't help but stare at you from across the room in the classes you share, feeling a heavy feeling in his chest when he sees you gnaw on your Hello Kitty pen and blink in confusion as you try to make sense of what the professor is explaining.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can feel your eyes on him, too. And he thinks it's fucking cute how you look like the deer in the headlights anytime Sukuna catches you staring. He winks at you and smirks, acting all cool, but there's this suspicious fluttery sensation in his stomach anytime you smile shyly back at him before looking away again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is secretly into poetry, and finally finds an outlet for all those strange feelings he has been experiencing lately when, one sleepless night, his gaze lands on one of the notebooks he always has on his nightstand, and he grabs a pen and starts to write, ending up scribbling poem after poem about a cute girl with bad grades who drives him insane with her messy handwriting, but who somehow managed to bring so much light into Sukuna's life.

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows he has to finally face the fact that he misses you and wants you back in his life.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finds the perfect excuse to get you back into his kitchen and into his life when you get a lousy grade in one of your classes, and Sukuna bumps not so accidentally into you after class. "That wouldn't have happened if you let me help you with your studies. Come over this afternoon. Usual spot, usual time. Don't be late, princess. A little dummy like you clearly needs me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who says all that with a lazy drawl and his typical rude smirk on his tattooed face, acting as if he doesn't care whether you take his offer or not. But his heart is beating too fast while he turns around and seemingly casually strolls down the hallway, hoping he will find you at his door this afternoon because he really doesn't know what to do if you don't show up.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to force himself to slow down and not run to the door and yank it open in under five seconds like a lovesick idiot when you knock on it a few hours later.

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks he's really lucky as fuck when you stand there in front of him nervously biting your lower lip and hugging a stack of books to your chest, as you look up at him with big eyes and ask, "Were you serious about helping me? Because I really think I need you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who almost breaks out into a triumphant grin because he could get used to hearing you say you need him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finally found his inner peace again now that you are back here in his kitchen, studying with him while sucking absentmindedly on your Hello Kitty pen and getting so cutely embarrassed when asking him questions that you think are stupid.

Nerd!Sukuna, who surprises himself with how patient and gentle he is with you, explaining the same topic over and over again until you finally understand it.

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves to teach you about topics he is passionate about, going into an hour-long rant about the smallest details, complete with big hand gestures and an excited sparkle in his maroon eyes behind his big glasses. And to Sukuna's delight, you don't interrupt him or think it's boring, but instead rest your chin on your hand and watch him the whole time with a dreamy little smile on your face, as if you think he hung the moon.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you you will need extra meetings to prepare you for your upcoming exams, even though he can tell he already taught you really well, but he likes the thought of spending more time with his cute little study partner.

Nerd!Sukuna, who joins you on your side of the kitchen table to explain maths to you until late in the night, until your head suddenly lands on his shoulder, and Sukuna hears your soft snores, making him gulp hard even as he murmurs hoarsely, "Did you really fall asleep on me, brat? In the middle of my explanation?", automatically acting annoyed even though he actually likes how warm you feel against him and how sweet and enticing your flowery perfume smells when you are so close to him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who doesn't get an answer because you really are fast asleep on his broad shoulder, and all Sukuna can do is admire your sleeping face, for once not having to pretend he doesn't care and averting his gaze again after a moment, but taking his time to take in your features, which he thinks are really fucking pretty to him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who, instead of shaking you awake, carefully lifts you up in his strong arms and carries you to his bed, carefully laying you down and tucking you into his blanket. He has to bite his lip hard because fuck, seeing you in his bed does things to him. To his dick and to his heart.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sleeps on the couch that night, which means he gets about an hour of sleep, and the rest of the night, he is lying awake, almost losing his mind because he knows you are in the next room, in his bed, so cute and sexy and his mind is showing him all the nasty things he would like to do with you. Like having you under him with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, sobbing his name and leaving scratches on his back while begging him to nut in you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't stop thinking about you in his bed after that one night, and only manages to restrain himself from really trying to hit on you by telling himself he wants you to be able to focus completely on your upcoming exam and not get distracted by how good Sukuna's dick is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who spends a whole Sunday preparing index cards for you with all the important topics you have to remember, all written carefully in his elegant handwriting, making him feel like he is handing you a love letter when he gives you the cards on Monday morning.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels so strangely warm when you run up to him after your exam with a big smile and an excited "Oh my God, Kuna! I passed!" and before he knows what's happening, you jump into his arms, laughing loudly as you hug him tightly, and somehow there's a smile on Sukuna's face and a buzzing in his veins that feels damn nice.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't get the way your smaller body felt pressed against his out of his mind again, but doesn't know how to get you to hug him again, so he just keeps teasing you to at least get you to playfully hit his biceps or push him away by placing your hands on his chest.

Nerd!Sukuna, who grins when you tease him back and lightheartedly make fun of how big of a nerd he is with his color-coded notes and know-it-all attitude and smartass remarks all the time.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you you are just jealous because you don't have such a big array of sticky notes and pens like he has, but he will be charitable and donate some to the ones lacking proper academic attire, aka you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who, for some unfathomable reason, really likes it when he sees you using his sticky notes in class. Maybe because it makes him feel as if you are his.

Nerd!Sukuna, who gets ridiculously pissed off when another guy tries to offer his notes to you. But the problem is solved fast when Sukuna strolls over and puts himself between you and that loser, towering menacingly over him and plucking his stupid notes out of his hands and tearing them into tiny little pieces right in front of him, "She already has me to study with. As if she could learn something useful from you anyway. Get lost before I do the same to you as I did to your sorry-ass notes!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to downplay it when you ask him why he acted that way, not ready to admit how much you mean to him and how possessive he is of you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself grabbing a sticker book for elementary teachers on his next shopping trip to the stationary store and starts gluing motivational stickers on your notes with playful comments from him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who discovers he really enjoys hearing your laugh, especially when you reach out and put your smaller hand on top of his much larger one, your soft fingers shyly playing with his while you smile and giggle about a rude but very fitting remark Sukuna made about one of your professors. And suddenly, Sukuna can't hold back anymore. You look so cute that it makes him drop all his rational thoughts and just act on his desires.

Nerd!Sukuna, who kisses you for the first time right then and there, leaning over the kitchen table to grab your chin with his hand and press his lips against yours.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels almost high from how eagerly you open your mouth for him and let him lick into your sweet, hot mouth. The noises you make get him feeling dizzy with adrenaline, like he usually only feels when he walks into a challenging exam. A cute, breathless "Sukuna..." sighed against his lips, and Sukuna's dick is so hard he thinks he will go insane.

Nerd!Sukuna, whose big, nerdy glasses get all fogged up from how steamy your kisses become. Deep and hungry and sensual, as if both of you have been craving this for weeks and don't know how to stop now that you finally gave in to your desires.

Nerd!Sukuna, who also fucks you for the first time right there on the kitchen table, on top of all your notes and books, not wasting any time because he can't go one more second without being balls-deep inside you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who doesn't care about ruining his notes because it's more important to fuck more of those cute mewls out of you that you bless him with any time he rolls his hips into yours and his cock caresses that spot deep inside you that makes your pussy clench so sweetly around him as if you never want to let go of him again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks this is absolute perfection, fucking you on his kitchen table with his and your study notes and books scattered all around you while you look up at him with that cute expression on your pretty face. And your little skirt that always drives him crazy, is flipped up to let Sukuna watch his cock slide in and out of your pretty pussy, so wet from your juices that it's dripping down onto your history book.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to hold back but can't when you cum on his cock with such sweet moans and loud squeals, making Sukuna barely manage to pull out before he nuts hard all over your swollen pussylips and puffy clit and the notes underneath you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't bring himself to care about the messed up notes and instead leans down to bury his tattooed face between your spread legs and licks his cum off your pussy, until you scream his name and tug on his hair and bless him with another one of your fucking cute orgasms.

Nerd!Sukuna, who asks you afterward if you want to stay the whole night and feels uncharacteristically nervous about it because sex is easy, but actually sleeping in the same bed with someone is a new thing to Sukuna.

Nerd!Sukuna, who, for the first time since he started college, doesn't go through his notes or read a chapter in one of his academic books before falling asleep but instead fucks you with slow, deep strokes on his bed and then holds you and kisses you until you both fall asleep snuggled tightly against each other.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't stop laughing when he walks into the kitchen the next morning and finds one of the motivational stickers he bought glued to his coffee mug, with a scribbled note in your messy handwriting: "Peak performance last night, not just at academics but also on the kitchen table and in the bedroom. A+ Keep it up!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who spends the next week not just studying with you but also fucking you thoroughly every chance he gets. He's analyzing every moan, every reaction of your body, learning what you like and committing it to his memory, striving to be the best fuck you ever had because he's ambitious, even when it comes to sex. (Or maybe he is trying to make sure you will never go to someone else to satisfy your needs.)

Nerd!Sukuna, who is super intelligent and always at the top of every class, but knows nothing about love or relationships. But what he knows is that he wants to have you around him as often as possible. And he really really likes spending time with you, studying together and kissing and fucking, and sometimes just talking for hours while holding hands atop your notes.

Nerd!Sukuna, who suspects you kind of like him because you crawl under his kitchen table one evening and give him such a thorough and loving blow job when he complains about being stressed as fuck. You let him cum all over your pretty face while suckling sweetly on his throbbing tip, and Sukuna kind of thinks he can actually see little hearts in your eyes when you look up at him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves it when you sit on his lap and keep his cock warm until he is finished with his studies. It gives him even more motivation to hone his reading speed because he only allows himself to move when all his work is done before he grabs your hips and fucks his cock almost desperately into you, fucking you silly, with his glasses hanging askew on his nose from how wild you drive him until you both explode at the same time with loud unrestrained moans.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself wishing your warm naked body was wrapped in his arms on the nights you don't sleep over at his place. And it's certainly not helping that he can smell your flowery perfume on his pillow, and it makes him downright yearn for you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows it's not just sex, but who doesn't know how to deal with all those newly discovered feelings, so he just keeps helping you study and gives you orgasms, and cooks for you and buys you all those pretty study supplies in your favorite color and with Hello Kitty stickers which you love so much. He hopes you know this is his love language.

Nerd!Sukuna, who outright refuses when his professor wants to give him a new partner for the next assignment. Sukuna's glare is poisonous when he uses his "my success reflects really well on your university, so you better not make me leave and sign up somewhere else" card to get paired up with his girl again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks this was a pretty good thing to do, judging by the way you cling to him that afternoon and shower him with kisses and smiles, and ride him slowly with your cute little skirt on, mewling his name into his ear and telling him how good he feels inside you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sits at his kitchen table with his chin resting on the back of his hand, watching you thoughtfully while you suck on your Hello Kitty pen and try to answer your history exercise, looking so cute that it's almost unbearable.

Nerd!Sukuna, who wants to tell you he never felt this way about anybody and never even thought he was capable of feeling this way. But this is a thousand times harder than any academic problem Sukuna ever encountered, and so he says nothing, and when you catch him staring and are about to open your mouth, he jerks his head sternly and drawls, "Eyes on your notes! I don't want to hear a single word until you have completed that question!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows you have become his weakness, when he can't stay strict with you and ends up shoving his notes across the table, offering to let you copy them. "But promise me you will read the whole thing, so you learn something at least."

Nerd!Sukuna, who regularly cooks dinner when you are over at his place, making sure to only use ingredients you like. Hell, he even puts your rice into a Hello Kitty shape because the way your face lights up with joy when he does that makes his heart feel so full it's almost bursting.

Nerd!Sukuna, who's standing at the stove making dinner, only wearing his grey sweatpants and no shirt, because he likes the way your eyes always stray to his muscles and tattoos. He smirks playfully over his broad shoulder when you comment on his half-naked state. "I'm only doing this for you, princess! Because I want to help you learn how to work in a distracting environment. And nothing is as distracting as my body."

Nerd!Sukuna, who laughs when you abandon your notes and walk up behind him with your Hello Kitty pen and start writing on him, using his broad back as a makeshift whiteboard. He can feel you are writing equations but still asks teasingly, "What is that, princess? Are you leaving little love notes on my back?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who, for the first time in his life, feels something akin to flustered when you giggle and suddenly stop writing equations and instead really start drawing little hearts on his back and placing soft kisses on his skin right next to your drawings and murmur against his skin, "Hmm maybe? Would you mind me writing love notes on you?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks you must feel how fast his heart is beating, when he answers, "I wouldn't mind at all."

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels a big smile spread over his face when he feels you write "I really like you, Kuna."

Nerd!Sukuna, who drops the cooking spoon and turns around and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his naked chest while saying, "I fucking like you too, princess."

Nerd!Sukuna, who finally knows what to do because there is no way you are beating him at being the first to confess. "You know, you should really catch up and be my girl because I've already been your boy for weeks, and this equation only works if you are mine, too."

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't believe how lucky he is when you hug him tightly and tilt your head to smile at him with happy tears in your eyes, telling him that, of course, you are his girl. And you get on your tiptoes and grab Sukuna's tattooed face with both hands, showering his cheeks and nose and lips with kisses until even Sukuna's glasses are smeared with your lipstick, and both of you are laughing breathlessly.

Nerd!Sukuna, who rolls his eyes playfully when you tease him later that evening, "Sooo, this whole talking about your feelings is pretty hard for you, huh? Looks like I finally found something my favorite super nerd doesn't excel in."

Nerd!Sukuna, who won't stand for that (even though you are right) and ends up getting his poetry notebook out of his nightstand and handing it to you with a grin that is a bit less confident and a bit more nervous than usual, "Here, for you, princess. I have to inform you that while I may not be that great at talking about my feelings, I am pretty good at writing about them."

Nerd!Sukuna, who has never felt as nervous in any exam as he feels now while watching you read the poems he wrote about you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is glad he is so tall and strong, or you would tackle him to the floor with how you throw yourself into his arms and cling to him like a koala with tears streaming down your face and crying about how sweet Sukuna is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has never been called sweet before but who feels like he could get used to this when it comes from you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who spends the rest of the day in bed with you, getting the best sex of his life and hours of kisses and cuddles, because apparently, yes, he really is very good at expressing his love for you in poetry form.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sits beside you now in every class the two of you share and who starts using your Hello Kitty sticky notes and sends death glares at anyone who dares give him a side-eye for it, asking them snidely, "What? Do you have a problem with Hello Kitty? Or with my girlfriend?", and then laughing softly when you elbow him and tell him to stop scaring people.

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows he has found his perfect study partner. The only one he ever wants.

Nerd!Sukuna, who never had a girlfriend before and never thought he could find someone who interests him as much as his studies do. But now that he has you, Sukuna found his favorite topic to study for the rest of his life.

AAAHHH I FEAR I NEED HIM 💗💗

I was smiling the whole time while writing those headcanons about Nerdkuna, and I hope he could bring you joy, too!! Thank you so much for all the sweet tags and comments on Part 1 💗 I hope you also enjoyed Part 2!

Comments and Reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[o4i0n]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ gravitational meet-cute / caleb x reader

synopsis; when you take your 2nd graders to skyhaven university for an activity aiming to teach them about space and gravity, you don't expect the faceless professor xia on the website to be a cute guy around your age, instead of an old man. as it turns out gravity isn't the only force that's irresistible around here, his charm is, too.

🍎 pomme's notes — caleb flirts with you in front of your class for nearly two thousand words basically :9

✴︎ 1.8k words / fluff / 2nd person & fem! reader — additional notes: reader is a 2nd grade teacher & has no evol, i gave the kids random names, caleb is a prodigy in the aerospace engineering field, reader & caleb are in their early thirties!

the kids in the school bus are buzzing excitedly when skyhaven university's towering buildings come into sight, and you can only helplessly ask them to remain tightly in their seat until the bus reaches its destination.

to be fair though, you can't exactly blame them. they're getting to go to the "big kids school", and they're gonna learn about space — something far too big for their little selves to understand yet. how cool is that!?

"noah, olivia and kai! sit down right now, or else all three of you are gonna stick by me the whole time we're there! everyone, this applies to you as well!"

with a resounding "yes miss!" the kids finally settle down and give you some time to gather your thoughts prior to getting off the bus. this was a big day for your kids, even though you were out of it.

just the week before, you were drinking yourself silly and lamenting your bachelorette life, and your best friend, tara (who just so happened to be the school secretary), had the incredible idea of signing your class up for an activity at skyhaven university to distract you.

"come on, it'll be fun! you love seeing the kids discover new things and get this — you won't even be the one teaching! just think of it as a break. besides, who knows, maybe professor xia is a hottie!"

"tara, the average age for aerospace engineers is like.. 70. professor xia's probably just a decrepit old man — his picture isn't even on the website! i bet you he's too old to even figure out how to upload it."

"you won't know unless you go, though! it doesn't matter anyways, your class is signed up already, so just have fun with it!"

so here you were, "having fun with it", otherwise known as watching over 30 overly excited children. thankfully, the driver pulls into the university's designated lot — though not without some squeals and giggles from the class. after disembarking and doing a headcount, you clear your throat in order to grab their attention.

"one, two, three! eyes on me!"

and in unison, all 30 students responded, "one, two! eyes on you!"

it was a cute call and response you'd learned from one of your mentors some years ago, and it got them attentive and ready to listen to your directions quickly — only this time, another sound cut through the silence, a whistle followed by a chuckle.

"woah! i'll have to use that on my own students, that sure was effective."

when you turn to face the voice, you're met with a handsome smile from an even more handsome man. a TA, maybe? before you can ask him who he is, the brunette seems to sense your confusion and beats you to the punch, introducing himself to you and your class with a dynamic expression.

"all right, kiddos, it's nice to meet all of you! i'm professor xia, but that makes me sound old, doesn't it? you can call me mr. caleb!"

there's no way tara was right. what happened to the decrepit old man you were envisioning? surely, there was a mistake. one of the little girls in your class quickly pulled you out of your thoughts, raising her hand and asking this.. too young of a professor a question.

"how come you teach at the big kids school? you're not even an old man! you're like miss teacher!"

right. 2nd graders' questions. you pinch the bridge of your nose, ready to apologize, but instead it seems like caleb finds it very humorous, throwing his head back and laughing before squatting down to your kids' eye level and explaining himself.

"yeah? i'm super smart, so i skipped a few grades and started teaching here after i retired as a pilot! how cool is that?"

a choir of ooh's and aah's emerged from the children, and caleb got up before pulling out his faculty card and handing it to you with a subtle wink.

"just so you know i'm the right guy."

judging from his ID, it looks like he wasn't lying — caleb xia, one of the professors in the aerospace engineering department of skyhaven university. you flash him a smile before introducing yourself. after caleb gives both you and your class a quick rundown of today's activity, you get the kids to line up in two rows and follow caleb like ducklings into an empty auditorium. trailing behind to make sure none of them got lost in the halls, you pull out your phone and send a quick "fuck he's hot i owe you a drink girl" text to tara.

the kids were in awe at how cool mr. caleb was, and you were in awe at how calm they were. you're a good teacher, and your kids love you, but that took a bit of work, due to how rowdy they were. caleb on the other hand? it came to him too naturally — to the point where you felt a pang of silly jealousy. you'd have to copy some of his mannerisms with the class.

however, admiring his prowess with the kids, quickly turned into something more. your eyes landed on his face, and his cute freckles and bright smile while he interacted with the children made your heart swoon. his purple eyes were so expressive, and you could almost get lost in them — and if you did? you'd rather not be found. lowering your gaze a bit, you end up admiring his well-built physique, until you could feel a tiny index finger poking your arm.

looking to your right, one of the three troublemakers on the bus, olivia, was grinning at you, with a mischievous expression on her face.

"miss.. do you think mr. caleb is handsome?" she whispered.

you almost choke on your spit, and you can't help the faint warmth on your face when you tell her to focus on what the brunette at the front is saying.

"pleaaaase, i promise i'll listen after this!!" she begs with a lip jutted out, and you can't resist those puppy eyes. damn 2nd graders.

"you — fine! i think he's handsome, now go back to listening!"

olivia beams and quickly turns to the front, but not before whispering about her newfound discovery to her two partners in crime, noah and kai. somehow, this didn't look too good for you right now.

sighing, you focus your own attention to caleb — only to be met with his eyes looking at you already. there's no way he heard, unless he has the greatest ears mankind has ever seen. right?

"miss teacher! would you mind help me demonstrating how gravity works for the kids?"

his tone is playful, and his expression inviting, so you find yourself getting up from your seat to join him on the small stage. presenting both of his hands to you, he winks again, and you can feel butterflies in your stomach. somehow you can't figure out if it's out of anticipation for the demonstration or if it's because caleb looks so cute right now.

"if you could hold both of my hands tightly, please. it's for science, no ulterior motives," and more quietly, only for you to hear, he adds, "or maybe just a tiny bit of ulterior motives."

ignoring the kids' gasps and squeals at their teacher holding hands with the good-looking professor, caleb begins to explain gravity in simple terms.

"you guys are anchored to the ground because of this thing called gravity. it's a super strong and invisible force that pulls things towards each other, and right now, the earth is pulling you towards its center!"

suddenly you feel your feet lift off the ground, and with a gasp, your grasp on caleb's hands tighten. you look into his eyes, and you're met with a smile.

"i have a super cool power though — a gravity evol. right now, i'm making it so that miss teacher is no longer affected by the earth's gravity. how cool is that!?"

you can only laugh at the 2nd graders' amazed reactions, varying from "my turn", "that's so cool", "i want a superpower too" and "miss teacher is blushing". he slowly lowers you back down, but once your feet touch the floor again, you stagger a bit, and he moves a hand to your waist to stabilize you with a soft chuckle and a "zero gravity does that to you sometimes." caleb walks you to your seat before turning to face the kids' expectant faces and speaking.

"if you all come to the front — without running! — and link your arms together, i'll make you all float for a bit too! go, go, go, captain caleb's airline is about to take flight!"

with excited yells, all the students hold onto each other tightly — and when caleb makes use of his evol to make them float around for a few minutes, their laughter is filling your ears, making you laugh along. when he lowers them back onto the ground, it's almost time to return to school, and so ensues the QnA section of the activity. after caleb answers a few questions related to space and gravity, kai looks at olivia and noah before raising his hand.

"mr. caleb! do you think miss teacher is pretty?"

noah doubles down, and with a cute yet failed attempt at whispering, he lets caleb know that "it's a secret, but miss teacher thinks you're handsome!"

so that was what olivia was up to. that's why she was whispering and exchanging knowing smiles with them. you're about to intervene and save the brunette from this awkward situation before he hums and places a hand underneath his chin, as if pondering the situation.

much to your surprise though, he squats down to the kids' level, before gesturing at all of them to come close, like he's about to reveal a secret too. with a voice loud enough for you specifically to hear, he gives the kids a wink.

"this is a secret between all of us, okay? i think she's the prettiest woman i've ever seen. and this is top top top secret, but i'm gonna ask her out on a date after this. don't tell her!"

he looks over his shoulder, meeting your gaze with a smile and you can see the tips of his ears turning a soft crimson hue. he laughs at your flustered expression and red cheeks — all while your 2nd graders squealed and shook with excitement.

and now, here you were — riding the bus again with all all 30 of your rowdy kids, but instead of solely smiling at the songs they sang on the way back to school, you were also smiling at caleb's new messages on your screen.

— hey sweets. are you gravity? — because i feel a force pulling me towards you :P  — is saturday good for you? i'll pick you up at 7!

you really owed tara a drink after this. and you owed your class a pizza party.

🍎 pomme's final notes — i gave myself baby fever with this fic oh how i love the concept of caleb interacting with kids.. also this is just. caleb flirting and being playful. live laugh love loverboys. also if any 2nd graders feel poorly represented get off my damn blog

hey.. tagging those who were interested in this bad boy... love u guys….. — @abyssyby @codedove @30jades @shewrites247 @cantaloupewatch @vesearlee @iloveh4nge @philosians

[o4i0n]

something something sucking caleb off and he doesn’t want to cum yet but you tell him that if he does you’ll sit on his face and he comes immediately after you say that

[o4i0n]

cockwarming caleb while you visit him in skyhaven, because the colonel missed you so much. he wanted to wait, to come home to you in his apartment, looking ethereal, looking godsent, looking delectable… but sometimes his thread of patience runs thin. it’s weak. so he calls you to the fleet hq; a call directly from the vip in skyhaven. of course you’d abide by it. not just because the fleet’s colonel summoned you. but because caleb did.

caleb wastes no time when you get inside, gripping at your nape and bending you over his table. “oh i missed you pipsqueak.” his hands roughly touch every single part of your body, checking… feeling more of you. until his hands rake upon that familiar spot between your legs, your throbbing and aching heat. your drooling need.

“looks like i don’t even need to prep you for me.” caleb coos, talking to you like you’re his little baby. which you always will, whether you like it or not. hands swiftly sliding your panties to the side, good thing you chose a mini skirt today. his evol quickly locks the door, and just like that, the sound of unzipping, followed by his groan when he thrusts his big, veinny cock into your velvety walls echoes through. “don’t tell me your little cunt forgot how big i am angel.” caleb sighs, a deep chuckle like rubble flowing through the shell of your ear.

she really forgot, with the way she clamps around him, the deep ache of the big stretch against your gummy walls slowly deciphering into songs of pleasure. “caleb—“

you whimper out, pussy clamping again and again. you’re so needy, desperate, and you want more. but caleb missed you… and he gets petty when he misses you. “don’t move, y/n.” the sentence comes like an order. a warning.

“let me go through the tedious paperwork, and then if you’re good, which you’re always for me…” he kneads at your chest, big hands with long, nimble fingers groping at the flesh like his very own stress toy… “then i’ll fuck you my baby.”

you know caleb would fuck you anyway, if you start to whine & whimper a lot. you know caleb would relent the moment your lips start to quiver… but you enjoy this. the surrendering heat of the moment brimming in your womb. the power-play of it all… his colonel uniform…

you want it just as badly as he does.

[o4i0n]

‘EVERYTHING’ ON THE MENU nanami’s favorite bakery always serves… cunt? in more ways than one. ❤︎

WORD COUNT: 2,697

INDULGING: smut! afab and f!reader, close proximity, mild language, bakery owner reader, he’s a corporate slave w a 9 to 5, pússy starved kento, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, unprotected, food play, creampie, hair pulling (his), tense usage inconsistent. sorry.

ROMY’S NOTE: goooooood day/night nanami nation. the art you see in the header is by mineco000 on twitter, please go send them some love. heart divider is by enchanthings. happy reading!

CONTAINS EXPLICIT NSFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI

nanami kento was completely, and utterly, screwed.

he hadn’t expected the day to end like this: slouched in a corner of his favorite bakery, tie crooked, hair tousled, and his head — oh, his head was pounding.

it was meant to be a quick stop, a coffee or a pastry to settle his nerves before heading home. but somehow, merely walking into the place had set him off.

something about the warm, cinnamon laced air, the subtle wafts of vanilla, and- no. it was the baker. it always came down to you.

you stood there, apron tied loosely at the waist, a few stray strands of hair falling from the knot at the back of your head. your hands moved fluidly as you worked, effortlessly elegant, the tip of your finger brushing along the top of a pastry in a way that made his throat close up. you were so unnecessarily beautiful.

he should’ve known better. should’ve just ordered what he wanted and left, but your presence made everything else fade into the background.

“nanami,” you said, voice gentle, like you were pulling him out of some kind of daydream. your eyes flicked up from the lattice pie crust you were arranging, a flicker of admiration? worry? maybe it was his wishful thinking. “you look real tired.”

he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, though he knew it was a losing battle. it had been one hard fucking day, and now, for some reason, every part of him felt more exposed in this small, intimate space. “long day.” he said, keeping his tone even as he gestured to your current project. “came for a slice.”

you smiled, a smile that seemed to know exactly how much he was trying to hide, a soft weight pressing against him. “I see,” you said slowly, eyes trailing over his figure long enough to notice. he shifted uncomfortably, looking away, but not without catching the faint smudge of flour on your cheek.

he wanted to reach out, to brush it away. though he wasn’t sure how he’d explain it to himself if he did.

“you’ve been working long hours?” he asked, trying to shift the focus on something, anything else.

you looked to the clock on the wall behind him, then back to him. “a few,” you said casually, before adjusting something behind the counter. “but I don’t mind.”

you paused, “seems like you could use a break.”

a fork falls, and when you bend down to pick it up, the slight shift of your body catches his eye. the position, the curve of your back — it gave him ideas. unwelcome ones. blood rushed south, and suddenly, it wasn’t coffee he was craving.

entirely uninnocent, you continued. “you’re always in and out so quickly,” light but pointed. “you can take your time here, y’know. it’s nice and quiet.”

the moment stretched on, more awkward than it had any right to be. he could practically taste the tension when you reached for a plate by the register.

“I’ll take two slices and an americano,” he said suddenly, voice significantly hoarser than intended.

there it was again — the curve of your lips, the small, satisfied grin you sported that made him feel like a schoolboy confessing to his crush.

“coming right up,” you nodded, and he’s almost certain you slowed on purpose, taking your time slicing, each motion deliberate and unhurried.

and before either of you could fully process it, the lights above flickered, darkness swallowing the room. the hum of the machinery, the mixer blades, the ambience — it all came to a quick halt.

for a moment, it was eerily silent.

then he heard your voice, exasperated undertones evident despite the lack of visuals. “sorry, I know you need to get home. I swear I pay my bills.”

he could make out the sounds of you feeling around the tables to navigate the room. probably in search of the breaker box, if there was one at all.

in the pitch black of your company, he still couldn’t find it in himself to leave. at least not yet.

there was a shuffle — your footsteps barely audible over the stillness — followed by the unmistakable squeak of something giving way beneath you, the muted thump of your body hitting the ground, and the clatter of a metal tray toppling from the counter.

“shit-” he moved before he could think, reaching into his pocket and swiping his phone’s flashlight on. the glow sliced through the dark, casting long, uneven shadows against the bakery walls.

his beam found you sitting on the floor, palm braced against the tile, hands cradling your ankle. near your feet, a smear of something glossy: a dollop of custard or maybe an egg wash.

he crouched, assessing you. “are you hurt?”

you blew out a breath, turning over your hands, not so clean anymore. then your foot, which you carefully flexed. “I don’t think so,” you frowned, but when you shifted to stand, a quiet hiss escaped.

nanami didn’t hesitate. “stay put.”

you blinked at him, clearly taken aback. the dull throb in your ankle kept you from arguing. you pointed your thumb towards the back. “fridge,” said through a wince. “there should be an ice pack on the freezer shelf. do you think you could-”

without a word, he pushed to his feet, phone leading the way. he navigated past the swinging doors, slipping through the narrow doorway that led to the storage pantry. the air there was cooler, lined with metal racks and ingredient bins.

he spotted a blue industrial fridge and heaved it open, the faint chill seeping into his sleeves as he reached inside. a few conveniently placed ice packs accompanied by ziploc bags of strawberries.

less than a minute later, he returned, earnestly kneeled beside you once more, gingerly pressing the ice pack onto the afflicted area (your left foot).

“you really didn’t have to,” you mumbled, voice softer now, edged with something he couldn’t quite place.

“of course I did,” he said simply. and despite himself, despite the long day and the exhaustion catching up to him, he didn’t move away.

nanami propped his phone up against the closest cabinet, illuminating your expression — clearly very grateful, maybe a little surprised.

it also made him really want to kiss you.

you sighed, watching him. “you’re really good at this,” you said, quieter now, calmer.

“taking care of people, I mean.”

nanami exhaled sharply through his nose, grip tightening for a fraction of a second.

“you should elevate it,” he grunted, voice jaggy, words landing somewhere between nervous command and gentle suggestion.

you countered, tilting your head at him. “you didn’t leave when the lights were still on.”

he could have. should have. instead, he was here with you — pulse hammering in his throat, stomach twisting at the way you looked at him.

your hands moved with a mind of their own, fingertips brushing against his wrist. fleeting, yet it still burned. nanami was already stiff, and that simple contact made something snap inside him.

the ice pack is forgotten when he presses his palm flat against the floor beside you, leaning in enough to feel the warmth of your breath against his own lips.

“you must’ve really had a long day.”

the corners of his mouth twitched. god, has he always smelled this good? “you could say that.”

he hesitated, and then your fingers curled around the front of his tie, hardly grabbing, and he was a goner.

it wasn’t rushed. nanami kissed like he meant it. no frantic clashing of teeth or fumbling for control — he had thought about it for far too long, and now that he had finally allowed himself to indulge, he wasn’t going to waste a single second of it.

you made a soft sound against him; his forehead, like clockwork — rested against yours, breath uneven.

you swallowed, eyes flickering down to his mouth again. “not gonna blame this on exhaustion?”

his lips quirked — not a smirk, but close. “no.”

it was too easy, too natural. he’d been standing on the edge of this moment for far too long, waiting for an excuse to finally fall. and now that he had, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to find his footing again.

“good.” and before either of you could think better of it, you pulled him back in.

-

his hands, broad and greedy, spread you apart, thumbs pressing in, keeping you exactly where he wanted. a curse rumbled in his throat at the sight of you — glistening, open, waiting for him. so fucking pretty. he leaned in, let the heat of his breath fan over you, teasing, testing, before dragging his tongue up the length of you, slow, deliberate, savoring.

your thighs trembled at the first stroke, fingers clawing hard at his hair, tugging in pure, mindless desperation. he groaned against you, vibration sinking deep, right where you needed it. didn’t stop you. didn’t tell you to be gentle. he let you take what you needed, let you use him however you’d like. “nanami-”

his fingers dug in harder as he sucked. “call me kento,” he kissed the inside of your thigh, lips warm and damp, “go ahead, do it again.”

you barely had time to register it before he was back on you, everywhere — open mouthed kisses, slow, obscene drags of his tongue, sharp edge of his teeth scraping sensitive skin, just to see you jolt.

“if I’m doing this,” another deep, wet lick, “we’re far past formalities, don’t you think?”

your answer was in the way your body reacted, hips rocking into him, desperate little whimper breaking from your throat. it only spurred him on.

“that’s it,” he mumbled from under you, voice half praise, half tease. his tongue flicked against your clit, pressure building. “let me hear you.”

his hands kept you wide open, holding you still as he worked you over; he buried himself in you like he’d been starved. (he had been.)

he’d been letting his own discipline choke him, and you wanted him to lose it, he’s sure.

he yanked your top apart, fabric jerking from your shoulders. the buttons of your blouse popped free one by one. the clasp of your bra released with a quick, almost inaudible snap. a hand rested on your thigh as the other reached past you.

a cabinet door creaked open, and a slow hum rumbled from his chest, thoughtful.

“ah,” nanami mused, pulling down a familiar canister. he spun it in his palm, reading the label as if he hadn’t already made up his mind. his thumb flicked idly against the cap before he met your eyes, mischief replacing his usual composure.

“I assume this is for coffee,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners while he turned the label towards you. reddi wip, made with real cream.

“can I use this?” he coaxed when you didn’t answer, free hand skimming along your side. “please?”

you nod.

“I’ll be careful,” he murmured, eyes hazy as he bit the cap off. “unless, of course, you prefer otherwise.”

nanami’s jaw pulled taut as he watches the first dollop of whipped cream land. it pools, soft peaks forming against the curve of your chest.

his breath shuddered, a rough, unintentional inhale, fingers flexing. his cock gave the faintest, needy twitch in his slacks, heavy against the fabric, but he kept placid — for the most part.

his palm scaled up, fingers brushing under the swell of your breast as he leaned in, mouth a breath away from the mess he made. “can’t let this go to waste,” he murmured, voice thick, nearly lost to the sound of his own restraint. “stay still, sweetheart.”

a beat, then his tongue flickers out — devastatingly intentional as he licked a long, deliberate stripe through the sweetness, from your stomach up to your tits — lips trailing along the sticky trail.

you grappled at the neat blonde strands at the nape of his neck, tugging enough to make him groan again, the sound vibrating against you. he tilted his head, pressing his lips over the soft swell of your nipple, gently sucking and biting like he’s working overtime.

“mm- been thinkin’ about this all day,” he panted, voice dripping. “needed to get my hands on you-” another lick, another groan, “needed to taste you.”

the way he looked up at you, lids heavy, pupils blown — pooled between your legs. you swallowed, breath hitching as his lips brushed higher, dangerously close to your throat. “gonna take your time with me, kento?” you rasped out as he palmed at you again.

he chuckled, breath at your pulse. “oh, baby,” he murmured, kissed below your jaw. “you have no idea.”

he traced over the sticky remnants on your skin until he dragged his thumb over your lips, prodding.

“open,” he ordered, and when you did, he slid his thumb past your lips, watching as you closed around it. he staggered, hips rolling forward in insensible need. “fuck, sweetheart — gonna ruin you, y’know that?”

a hand slipped between you, unfastening his belt with a quick pull. the clink of metal echoed in the charged air, and then — zzzt! — the sound of his zipper sliding down, agonizingly slow.

and when he finally sinked into you, raw, he swore you were trying to swallow him whole. it doesn’t take you long to adjust, and it doesn’t take long ‘till he’s rutting into you, frenzied and desperate, spasming inside you.

“goddd- you’re so. hah- fucking. tight.” he leaned in to kiss you, practically drooling all over your tongue.

you were milking him, the strangled noises both of you made not exactly helping his case. he grinded and pumped into you until the cabinets start creaking, thrusts growing lazier and lazier.

soon enough — you were seeing stars. your back arched as his knees buckled, hand moving to brace on the counter while he fucked you through your high.

“juuuust like that, good girl,” nanami cooed, nipping at your collarbone as he started back up again, his precum collecting at his base as he did.

his forearms slipped under your thighs, tilting your pelvis up as his hips smacked over and over against yours. “so good to me, baby. you’re-” thrust. “so,” thrust. “good,” thrust. “f’me.”

nanami’s face grew hot as he chased his climax, muscles tightening as he emptied himself inside of you, spilling out and moaning into your mouth when your eyes rolled back during your second.

he gently pulled out, thumb grazing the back of your hand. “feeling okay?” his eyes were locked on yours, waiting for an answer.

you nodded, closing your eyes, letting yourself breathe. “better than okay.” he didn’t let go of your hand. instead, he reached over to where his button up laid on the counter, draping it over your shoulders.

“I didn’t mean to—” nanami started, voice hesitant.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted, squeezing his wrist. you pulled it to your chest, your heart still beating, now a steady thrum. “I trust you.”

a breath of relief left him then, shoulders relaxing, weight lifted. he smiled, sincere. “thank you.”

his fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, touch anchoring you in the moment.

“if you need anything,” he whispered, “I’m here.”

you shifted, leaning in towards him, lips brushing his ear as you spoke. “and if i need more than anything?” you teased, laughing into another kiss.

nanami raised an eyebrow, lips curling as he fake-checked his watch. “I’ll need to check my schedule.”

he turned away to grab a clean towel, quietly dampening it with cool water. he looked like he belonged in there. in your bakery, your life. you fidgeted with his shirt, pulling it tighter around you.

nanami wiped the sweat from your brow, hand brushing against your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. he leaned in, pressing his mouth to your forehead before moving to grab a glass of water from the counter. you watched him, smiling as he returned to gently hand it to you, fingers lingering.

“same time tomorrow?”

romy 🐰 is typing… not the best thing I’ve ever written but practice makes perfect, right.. and not as long as I originally intended for it to be but yk what, hell yeah!

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[o4i0n]

◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ athlete!sukuna has a thing for your lips.

you don’t even get a chance to secure your cherry-flavored lip balm before a strong, calloused hand plucks it right from your grasp without warning.

“hey!” you protest, turning to face sukuna, who grins like he’s just won something. he twirls the tiny tube between his fingers, clearly entertained, his gym bag slung casually over his shoulder. dressed in his practice jersey, he’s all sweat and arrogance, the scent of exertion clinging to him.

“what’s this?" he muses, turning the tiny tube over in his fingers. “cherry-flavored? figures. you always taste just as sweet as you act, sunshine.”

heat creeps up your neck, caught off guard by the nickname. he’s never called you “sunshine” before. “cut it out. just give it back already.”

“nah.” he grins, applying the balm like he hasn’t just committed a crime. your entire soul leaves your body. “you did not just—”

“mm,” he muses, tilting his head as he smacks his lips thoughtfully. “not bad, but i have a feeling it tastes even sweeter from the source.”

before you can protest, sukuna traps you against the lockers, his presence overwhelming—fresh sweat, burning heat, and stolen cherry. he tilts your chin up effortlessly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“only one way to know if i got the full effect.”

his lips press against yours—slow at first, then hungrier, stealing the cherry right off your mouth. when he finally leans back, you barely remember why you wanted your lip balm back in the first place.

with a cocky smirk, sukuna steps back and tosses the lip balm into his bag, watching it land smoothly beneath his spare jersey.

slinging the bag over his shoulder, he grins. “guess you’ll have to work for it.”

“unbelievable,” you mutter, glaring up at him. “absolutely insufferable.”

“and you love me.” he grins, tossing your stolen lip balm in the air before disappearing onto the court, leaving you utterly flustered and questioning all your life choices.

––

unaware of the stares he was getting, sukuna strutted onto the court—meanwhile, his teammates were trying to figure out why he suddenly had glossy, cherry-kissed lips, as if he wants to look kissable.

( kiss me instead ᐢ ̥_ ̫ _ ̥ᐢ )

[o4i0n]

and if i say calebmc

[o4i0n]

"did you just spank me?" ☆

choso has wide eyes in the mirror's reflection as they meet yours. glossy and blown out with lust, but wide—nervous, like a deer stuck in headlights. you're bent over, back arched down as your boyfriends hands rest gently on your hips. there's a sting that lingers over your ass, and choso is holding his hand out like he's committed a crime with it.

it's not like he's vanilla—you're being fucked ass-up in front of a mirror so that you can watch him take what's his—but he's frozen still like he's appalled at his own actions.

"oh," he's flushing a gentle pink. "i'm sorry, i don't know why i did that. it was just so much and you were so—i mean... i wasn't thinking and—"

"do it again."

he's still balls deep inside of you—hips pressed tight against the flesh of your ass: his cock pulses inside of you, each veiny ridge filling you out like you're made for him. "why would i do that?"

“because it feels good,” you shrug, pushing back onto his cock a little. "cho, baby, i'm asking you to spank me, not commit a war crime."

"might as well be," he mumbles under his breath, looking down at the curve of your ass at his face scrunches up into an expression you've never seen on him before. is that... restraint?

your poor choso has never been all that good at controlling his wants and whims. he's a man whose body often betrays him: he couldn't hold an orgasm back to save his life, nor can he ever stifle those pretty moans of his. much like how he couldn't stop his hand from smacking against the flesh of your ass.

so, of course, you goad him on. clenching tight around his achy cock as you meet his gaze in the mirror. "i want you to spank me again, choso. be mean. make it hurt when i sit down tomorrow."

"i don't want to hurt you."

"don't you? you spanked me first, cho. i think you want it even more than i do."

his eyebrows furrow. its devastatingly cute for a man balls-deep inside of you. "shut up," he says with no real bite. "i didn't mean to."

"your hand just slipped and landed on my ass?"

"...yes."

you roll your eyes, and offer choso a smile in the mirrors reflection. “you look all embarrassed. just like that time you came just from kissing m—fuck!”

a sharp sting radiates over your ass cheek, and once you blink the shock out of your eyes, you’re met with a very sudden snapping of chosos hips into yours. he somehow manages to fuck you even deeper than before. with every thrust he sends you forward on the bed, until you’re no longer holding yourself up with your arms and your face is pressed right into the mattress.

“you always-” smack! “-make me feel-” smack! “-so nervous around you.”

your face screws up. “what?”

he stills, leans forward to take the sheet away from your face so you can look back at him properly. “i’m punishing you.”

“for what, giving you butterflies?”

“yes.” the sweetest of smiles pulls at his lips—you’d think it endearing if not for the way his hand slaps down onto your ass again, and he resumes his mean pace.

live and let cum, you suppose. choso drills into you in such a way that you’re cumming both quicker and harder than you ever have with him. your orgasm, the sweet way your pussy grips him in pleasured need, sends choso over the edge right after you. “mmm iloveyouiloveyouimsorryforspankingyouiloveyou”

of course with another mean spank to your ass, choso pulls out and exhales the prettiest moan you’ve heard from him as he releases all over your tender ass. you’re spent, and fucked so dumb you don’t chide him for then using his fingers to rub his cum around in soothing circles over your ass. you won’t admit it, but it feels kinda nice.

“sorry,” choso whispers as he reaches for something to wash you down with. “you should slap me as payback.”

“you’d probably like it.”

“…yeah.”

[o4i0n]

it starts with frustration.

your brows furrow as you stare at the mirror, a tie draped around your neck, hands clumsily fumbling with the fabric. you had watched tutorials, even slowed them down frame by frame, but no matter what, the knot kept turning out lopsided or too loose.

you sigh, trying again. loop over, under, through—

“what exactly are you doing?”

—you panic.

“nothing.” you yank at the tie, intending to rip it off, but in your haste, you only succeed in tightening the mess around your neck. nanami sighs.

“stop.” he steps closer, his hands replacing yours with ease, undoing the disaster you created. “if you choke yourself with my tie, i’m going to be very disappointed.”

you grumble under your breath, avoiding his gaze.

he tilts his head. “why are you practicing with my tie?”

you contemplate lying. saying something like, oh, i was just bored or trying to impress my reflection, but nanami would see right through that.

so, instead, you mumble, “i wanted to learn how to tie it.”

“for yourself?”

“…for you.”

there’s a beat of silence. then, quietly, nanami exhales something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

your head snaps up. “are you laughing at me?”

“not at all.” his voice is as even as ever, but the amused quirk of his lips betrays him. “i just didn’t expect that.”

“forget it,” you huff, reaching up to take the tie back. “i’ll just—”

nanami catches your wrist before you can snatch it away. “no.” he gently pries the tie from your fingers and loops it around his own neck instead. “if you want to learn, let me teach you properly.”

your heart stumbles. “you don’t have to—”

“come here,” he says simply, beckoning you forward.

hesitantly, you step closer, watching as he takes your hands in his, guiding them through the motions—loop over, cross under, pull through. his fingers are warm, his movements slow and patient.

“see?” his voice is softer now, his breath warm against your cheek. “it’s not so difficult.”

you don’t answer right away, too distracted by the way his hands linger over yours, steady and sure. you swallow, heat flooding your cheeks as you look at his handiwork in the mirror. neat, sharp, effortless—just like him.

“…show me again?” you mumble, glancing away.

nanami chuckles, softer this time. “as many times as you’d like.”

[o4i0n]

men who yearn😩😩😩😩😩😩

[o4i0n]

Was your star next to mine ?

[o4i0n]

CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of sweat from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an inexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asking him am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, gege.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that’s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

[o4i0n]

(misspellings are intentional to reflect yuuji's age, i wrote him as a 3-4 year old in mind)

it started with yuuji waddling into the apartment, clutching his tiny fists like he’d just returned from battle. he puffed his cheeks, brows furrowed in intense focus, before dramatically exhaling and declaring,

“papamin, it’s an emergengy.”

nanami, mid-sifting flour in his pastel pink apron (because real men wear pink, and real dads keep the household running), barely had time to process before his son—his sweet, sunshine boy—grabbed his hand with his chubby fingers and led him toward the crime scene.

“the bad boys outside—they call me a… a… a baby poop head.”

nanami, blinking down at his child, sighed deeply. he set down the mixing bowl, dusting his hands off like a man preparing for war.

“yuuji, what did i say about using words instead of fists?”

“i know, papa.” his son sniffled. “but my words not working. they just laughing, and then they say you prolly wear a diapee too.”

nanami was going to kill a third grader.

so there he was, the strongest dad in the trenches, still in his flour-dusted pink apron, walking out to the communal park outside their apartment complex where a group of grade schoolers had gathered. yuuji pointed, voice hushed with the weight of the situation, “that’s them, papa. the gang of doom.” they were just three mildly feral-looking children in graphic tees, but nanami knew that to yuuji, this was serious business. standing to his full height, he crossed his arms and called out, “excuse me.”

the gang of doom froze. one of them—clearly the ringleader with his messy cowlick and untied shoelaces—blinked up at nanami. “uh. yeah?”

“i heard you’ve been bullying my son.”

cowlick snorted. “we just playin’! he a baby poop head.”

nanami exhaled through his nose. there were many things he had patience for, but disrespecting yuuji was not one of them. he placed a firm hand on his hip, leaning slightly down.

“do you know what happens to kids who pick on others?”

the gang of doom exchanged glances. one of them—glasses kid—pushed his frames up. “they go to jail?” nanami smiled thinly. “worse. they grow up to be adults with bad credit scores.”

there was a silence as the weight of his words settled in. cowlick gulped. “what’s a credit score?”

“exactly.” nanami straightened, adjusting his apron. “you don’t know, do you? and that’s dangerous. imagine you’re an adult, trying to buy a house—”

“i don’t wanna buy a house!”

“—and suddenly, the bank denies your loan. why? bad credit.”

glasses kid gasped. “bad credit?”

nanami nodded solemnly. “it starts young. first, it’s bullying innocent kids. next, it’s missing payments on your first car. before you know it, you’re drowning in financial instability.”

cowlick shuffled back. “w-we were just playin’.”

“oh?” nanami quirked a brow. “was it fun?”

the three boys rapidly shook their heads.

“good. then i suggest you find a new game. perhaps, one that doesn’t involve making my son feel bad. do you understand?”

the gang of doom nodded so hard their heads might’ve flown off. nanami gave a satisfied hum before turning to his son. “come on, yuuji. let’s go home.”

yuuji, who had been watching with wide eyes like he’d just witnessed a masterclass in warfare, let out a deep, impressed “whoaaaa.” he grabbed nanami’s hand, giggling as they walked back inside. and that night, during dinner, yuuji climbed onto his chair and dramatically recounted the entire event to you.

“—so then! papa said, ‘bad cwe-edit,’ and the gang of doom got real scawed! like, so scawed! and then papa was like, ‘do you know what happens next?’ and they was like ‘nooo, please, we so sowwy, we don’t wanna go to the bad cwe-edit jail!’”

nanami sighed as he took a sip of wine. “i never mentioned jail.”

“and then—” yuuji smacked his hands on the table, voice full of wonder. “—papa walked away, and he didn’t even look back! it was like… like a movie! i think you the strongest dad in da world, papa.” his little face shone with admiration, and nanami, feeling a rare moment of sentimentality, reached out to ruffle yuuji’s hair.

“… thank you, yuuji.”

his son beamed, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.

then, with the crumbs still on his face, he pointed a chubby finger. “also, what’s a cwe-edit score?”

[o4i0n]

YOU HAVE TO BE THE THING THAT SAVES YOU

[o4i0n]

the healing adds up- everything is will be okay

[o4i0n]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from Utahime’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[o4i0n]

Lover boy season 💞

pt.1 / pt.2